Just Deserts (20 page)

Penelope smiled, but fleetingly. She gave him her hand,
however, and allowed him to tuck it into his arm.

‘
But this is barefaced piracy,’ Rossendale
protested.

‘
Assuredly,’ Leopold agreed. ‘Think you I should send my
seconds to wait upon him?’

Penelope twinkled. ‘No, no, Leopold. If you fight Fitz,
everyone will think he has condemned some item you think
beautiful.’

‘
Mein Gott,
you are right! A misapprehension
insupportable.’

‘
But all too believable, dear Leopold,’ sighed
Fitz.

He then adroitly removed Penelope, ignoring the inevitable
outburst behind him. Once out of earshot, he leaned close to
murmur, ‘Are you feeling quite the thing?’

‘
I was never better, Fitz,’ she responded, glancing up at
him in frowning surprise. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘
You looked at me so oddly.’

Her gaze dropped. ‘Did I do so?’

‘
Yes. I felt
impelled
to come to
you.’

There was no peal of silvery laughter, and her eye, as it
flew to meet his, held no twinkle.

‘
Did you?’ Then, before he could answer, she removed her
hand from his arm. ‘You must excuse me. I see Lady Buckfastleigh
signalling. She is ready to go, I believe.’

Turning from him, she walked to the carriage and accepted
the arm of Lady Buckfastleigh’s footman to assist her to climb up.
A moment later the carriage moved off and Fitz was left to gaze
after it, a look of perplexity in his face and an unexpected hollow
feeling in his chest. It was a moment or two before he identified
it.

The race parties were breaking up, and as he joined the
throng leaving Newmarket Heath, the feeling of desolation
intensified. It was not dispelled on arrival at the Buckfastleigh
mansion when he discovered that Penelope had retired to her room
with a reported headache. He was left to join the racegoers who, in
jubilant mood, had set up a demand to see Chiddingly’s wonder
horse. The hue and cry was being led by Billy Bolsover.

‘
Come now, Chid, you’ve had mystery enough. The beast is to
run tomorrow. It is high time we had a sight of this famous
Indigo.’

Persephone, who was removing her leather gloves, jerked her
head up to stare at him.

‘
Indigo?’

‘
Don’t blame me, Miss Winsford,’ laughed Billy. ‘That is
what Chid calls him.’

Persephone’s eyes sought and found the baron’s. For a
fleeting instant as they met she read the rueful acknowledgement in
his. She could not but be gratified that he had picked up her
random thought and a warm glow pervaded her veins.

Others were taking up the
cry.

‘
Billy’s in the right of it, Chid. There can be no need now
of secrecy,’ said Clermont.

‘
You’ll get no peace, Chid, until you show him,’ declared
Fitz, ‘and so I warn you.’

‘
Very well,’ Chiddingly sighed, with an air of weary
boredom. ‘Let us all repair to the stables.’

But when presently he personally brought Indigo out of his
stall and led him into the yard, his pride in the animal was very
evident. Of the really knowledgeable men only my lords Clermont and
Egremont were present, but everyone was naturally staggered by the
beauty of the dark stallion.

‘
No longer surprised at your caution, Chid,’ said Billy
Bolsover, looking the horse over with obvious approval. ‘I don’t
wonder you wasn’t interested in selling.’

‘
Did you want to buy the stallion, then, Mr Bolsover?’
Persephone asked, low-voiced, her suspicions aroused. For why had
he been so hot to view a horse she knew well he had already
seen?

Recognising that dangerous note, Chiddingly glanced at her.
What in Hades was she getting at?

‘
And what is your opinion, Miss Winsford?’ demanded Billy,
successfully deflecting attention from himself.

‘
Yes, ma’am, tell us,’ Clermont said eagerly. ‘You were
right about poor Egremont’s Galway Wonder, it seems.’

‘
Miss Winsford is obviously expert,’ smiled Egremont, a good
loser. ‘I’ll warrant she’ll favour this Indigo,
however.’

‘
I wonder?’ Chiddingly murmured, unable to resist casting
her a challenging look. He had not quite forgiven her for sneaking
a preview of his horse at the trial at Epsom.

Indigo, who, due to Tidmarsh’s ministrations, was less
mettlesome than at first, was still inclined to sidle and toss his
head. The baron, finding he could not both control him and
participate in the conversation, handed over the reins to a
groom.

‘
Well, Miss Winsford?’ he demanded, finding the
desire to goad her quite irresistible. ‘Your opinion, I
beg
of you.’

Persephone, with the memory of the violent quarrel provoked
between them upon the last occasion she had seen the horse
vibrating in her mind, recognised his veiled taunt, but yet had
difficulty in refraining from rising to this obvious
bait.

‘
I cannot think you need my opinion, being yourself so
competent a judge of a horse,’ she said evasively.

‘
No, no, ma’am, I positively insist,’ he purred, a malicious
glint in his eye.

Her own eyes flashed. ‘Very well, sir. He looks well, I
grant you, but he shows too much muscle.’

‘
Too much muscle?’

‘
Far too much,’ Persephone lied recklessly, a most dangerous
glitter in her eyes. ‘Oh, I make no doubt he will be a front runner
and lead the field at first. But he will probably blow up at the
second mile.’

After seeing him in action, this was sheer
heresy, but Persephone did not care. Doubtless Chiddingly had
expected to confound her, trip her into saying something which
would show plainly that she had already seen the horse in action.
Well, she was not such a fool to be embarrassed so easily.
Let
him
be confounded by the condemnation. On his own
head be it.

Chiddingly was not confounded. He was furious. Forgetting
his own challenge, he at once thought this ridiculous indictment
represented her considered opinion. After he had begun to believe
her knowledgeable, too. And she had seen this horse run.

‘
You cannot know what you are saying,’ he told her, with
careful restraint.

‘
On the contrary. You have but to look at the
beast.’

In fact, most of the rest of the company were indeed
looking at Indigo, and with questioning eyes. Could Miss Winsford
be right?

‘
Stuff and nonsense,’ exclaimed Billy Bolsover, who had good
reason to know. ‘The animal is clearly a stayer. See but his
girth.’

‘
Exactly,’ snapped Chiddingly. ‘Plenty of heart there, you
may depend upon it.’

‘
I’ll warrant you,’ agreed Billy. ‘Why, I’ll stake my oath,
I am in a veritable tremble for my Magnet. And he is a
champion.’

They both glared at Persephone, but she hit back with
defiance.

‘
He is too short in the back, and Roman-nosed to boot.
Likely he will drag his jockey all over the field, if he is not
left at the starting post.’

Indigo’s ears flicked and he tossed his head fiercely,
showing his teeth as if he resented these insults. His owner’s
sentiments were in no doubt.

‘
Oh, indeed? Let me tell you, ma’am, that I will back this
horse against all others, at any price you care to
name.’

There was a concerted gasp of shock from the onlookers.
This was unprecedented. With these words, Chiddingly threw to the
winds the killing he had hoped to make on Indigo’s first run. If he
was this certain, no one would bet against him.

Billy Bolsover grinned. ‘Well said, Chid. But damme, you’ve
put me properly on my mettle. Well, well, nothing for it but to
hold by my entry. Gentlemen,’ he added, addressing the company at
large, ‘I am in honour bound. I will cover all bets against Magnet,
at whatever the odds.’

Fitz whistled. ‘Upon my soul, Billy, you will be all to
pieces by tomorrow’s eve.’

‘
Not I,’ laughed Bolsover. ‘I’ve faith in Magnet
yet.’

Chiddingly stood silent, the muscles of his jaw working.
Livid that he had allowed Persephone to prick him into that
imprudent challenge, he gave her one scorching glance and turned to
his groom with a curt order to return the stallion to his
stall.

Persephone, dismayed by the outcome of their
stupid argument, felt his burning glance like a whiplash. She
turned to eye Billy Bolsover with acute suspicion. The man knew,
must know, of what Indigo was capable. What possessed him then to
open his mouth so strongly in the stallion’s favour? Now here he
was faced with a vast loss of capital. Was he stupid, or merely
improvident? Unless—Persephone’s eyes narrowed—could he have done
it by
design?
But to what
purpose?

Puzzling over it, she edged out of the crowd, vociferously
laying bets, and made her way back into the house. She did not
reappear that evening, but Penelope, her headache apparently
better, came down to dine and to join in the impromptu dance that
was got up by the other guests.

As she came off the floor after an energetic gavotte,
shaking out the skirts of her pink tiffany overdress in an attempt
to release the petticoats which had become entangled about her
ankles, Fitzwarren stood in her way.

‘
The next dance is mine,’ he said, in a tone that brooked no
argument.

Penelope looked up. She had never heard him speak so. Her
own voice was sharp as she answered.

‘
Indeed, Fitz, I am engaged with Leopold.’

‘
No, you are not. You are engaged with me.’

Her mouth fell open. ‘Have you run mad?’

Suddenly Fitz’s eyes lit and he laughed. ‘Yes, I
have run quite mad. Dear Pen,
do
dance with me. Else
I shall be wretchedly cut up.’

At that she gave a crow of laughter and twinkled.
‘In that case, what can I do but acquiesce? I
could
not
have that on my conscience.’

She turned to look about for Leopold to make her excuses.
But Fitz took her hand and led her on to the floor.

‘
I have already sent Leopold about his business. For the
next half-hour at least you are entirely mine.’

She looked up at him, and saw behind the smile an
expression in his eyes that was very disturbing indeed. A little
flutter began in her breast and, as she took up her position next
to him for a fast minuet, she was aware of her fingers trembling in
his light hold.

As they went down the dance, she stole a glance at him and
found his eyes fixed on her, still with that look in them of
something more than friendship. Penelope could not tear her own
eyes away. They performed the steps of the minuet with automatic
grace, turning and twirling each about each, both pairs of eyes
split by necessity apart for the barest minimum of instants, only
to meet again and stare intently one into the other. They danced in
a silence fraught with unspoken dialogue that set Penelope’s head
in a whirl and her cheeks in a glow. For those precious moments she
was certain that the answer to her questing heart reposed in Fitz’s
bosom.

But when the minuet at length concluded, though he bowed
over her hand and kissed it, thanking her prettily, he released her
into the company of others and did not seek her out
again.

Penelope attended the races next day in a mood of somewhat
brittle gaiety that fooled everyone but her twin. Persephone
glanced narrowly at her once or twice, resolving to tackle her at
the first opportunity. But when Fenwick, Chiddingly’s personal
groom, came riding hell for leather on to the Heath, he brought
tidings that banished all thought of Penelope from her
mind.

‘
Sir Charles! Sir Charles!’ called out the groom, as he
urged his mount to where Bunbury and his friends were milling
about, waiting impatiently for Chiddingly to arrive on the ground
with his new stallion.

‘
What is it, Fenwick?’ Sir Charles demanded, riding forward
to meet the man.

‘
My lord—bade me ask you to—to tell the stewards, sir,’
Fenwick panted. ‘Indigo cannot run!’

‘
What
?’
shouted Billy Bolsover, cantering over. ‘Does he dare to
default?’

‘
No, sir. Indeed no, sir. But the horse is sick.’

‘
Oh my God,’ Bunbury exclaimed. ‘Tell Chid to have no fear.
I will square the stewards.’

‘
But what ails him?’ came Persephone’s fearful
voice.

Fenwick looked at her, at them all, and it was plain that
the news was bad.

‘
Well, man, out with it,’ ordered Sir Charles
Bunbury.

Fenwick licked dry lips, and then out it came.

‘
Indigo is dying, sir. My lord
believes—
poisoned.’