The Trouble with Anna

Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

C HARLOTTE WAS WIDELY ACKNOWLEDGED TO be devious, clever, and daring, but she rarely got credit for her relentless practicality. She knew Julian would discover the race—it was only a matter of time—and all it would take was one slight shake of his head to send all the other gentlemen scuttling off, taking their lovely money with them.

Her only chance was to hold the race as quietly—and quickly!—as possible. That, and to pray that heaven was on their side. Which seemed to Charlotte rather doubtful, unless heaven’s position on gambling had undergone a recent, radical change.

“Next Friday? That only gives us a week!” yelped Marby when Charlotte cornered him in Hyde Park and told him of the plan. “Are you mad?”

“Simply ambitious.” She cocked her head. “Interesting. Does ambition look like madness to you when you see it in a woman?”

Marby reddened. “Dash it, Charlotte, you know it’s impossible!”

“All I ask is that you secure a track and inform a few of the sporting set. Poor Marby, is that really too much for you?”

“Of course not! That is, perhaps if… dash it all, Charlotte. One week?”

“One week!” Charlotte agreed cheerfully. “And discretion, Marby! Remember, discretion.”

The Honorable James Marby was not immune to the lure of mischief and he did his best. Securing a track was the work of two days, and finding a gentleman to ride against Lady Anna presented no problem at all. The young bloods of London all bayed for the job, and Marby soon had more would-be jockeys than he could count. But the request for discretion was doomed from the start.

Marby chose only the most reliable of his set to tell, but the word of Lady Anna’s challenge spread with the swiftness of any good scandal. It wasn’t long before Marby couldn’t enter his club or even cross the street without being mobbed, and in the last few days before the race he had to confine himself to his apartments.

On Wednesday afternoon, with two days left to go, Marby sneaked over to the Dowager’s. Lady Alice was at her garden club, Julian was out on business, and the three conspirators had some much-needed privacy to finalize their plans.

“Who am I riding against? Is it decided?” Anna asked.

Marby drew himself up and puffed out his chest importantly. “Harrow was the front-runner, of course, but none of us could bear his crowing. So Wycombe put forward Count di Cavour. Imagine! Have you seen his Bellario? A beautiful stepper, but much too short in the—”

“Good lord, Marby!” said Charlotte. “We need an answer, not a speech in Parliament. Who’s the rider?”

Marby gave a wounded sniff. “Lord Byrne, riding Saltram.”

Charlotte looked at Anna, her face a question.

Anna answered with a cool nod.

“And the odds?” Charlotte asked, turning back to Marby.

“Ten to one against.”

“Ten to one?” Anna’s voice dropped dangerously. “Ten to one, in favor of Byrne ? Have they seen him sit a horse?”

Marby hiccupped out a nervous laugh. “I’m afraid it was ten to one before a rider was chosen.”

Anna leapt to her feet. “It’s an insult!”

Charlotte tugged Anna back into her seat. “It’s a profitable insult. Immensely so. We’ve laid out more than half our funds on this race, Anna.”

Anna skewered Marby with her gaze. “Tell me you didn’t bet on Byrne?”

He offered a weak smile. “I believe the majority of the young ladies are betting on you, Lady Anna.”

“Why, you rat! You feebleminded, lily-livered little—”

“I’ve never seen you race!” Marby returned hotly. “I’ve seen Saltram, though, and a better chest on a—”

There was a clatter in the front hall and Charlotte shushed them. “Quiet, both of you. Gran’s back and she has ears like a bat.”

The Dowager did in fact hear everything, which was why she’d known about the race since the previous Sunday.

“Yes, Maggie, the odds are ten to one,” she whispered to her dear friend Dame Margaret FitzHerbert that night at the Wexford rout. “I ought to scotch the whole endeavor, but Lady Cardiff ran through the numbers with me the other night and—well! You can’t imagine the bills for my new orangerie. If I lose, I’ll sell a brooch and no one will be the wiser, but if I win—the glazing I could pay for then!”

Dame FitzHerbert fixed her friend with a look. “But can the girl ride?”

“Like the wind, or so Julian says.”

“Hmm.” Dame FitzHerbert considered. “And does she have the courage for it?”

Lady Alice snorted. “She survived ten years under Lord Barton’s care. If that doesn’t speak to courage, what does?”

Dame FitzHerbert clapped her hands. “Oh, Alice! Think of the money we’ll make!”

“If only Julian doesn’t find out.”

“If only,” Dame FitzHerbert agreed fervently.

Lord Ramsay, had the Dowager but known it, was at that moment pressed against a dark wall in an even darker alley, trying his hardest to retain his ignorance.

It was not, Julian was aware, his most dignified moment. The long, illustrious line of Ramsay earls before him were surely turning up their noses, if not at him then at the foul mix of rubbish and rat droppings at his feet. Yet here he was, his pride in tatters, his back pressed against grimy brick, and the immaculate black of his coat sullied by a dusting of crumbled mortar.

“Ramsay!” called a drunken voice. “Ramsay, where’ve you gone? I swear I saw him, Chumley. I’d bet my life!”

“Shouldn’t bet your life, not as drunk as you are,” the one called Chumley responded, sounding more than a little pickled himself. “P’haps a few guineas. What do you say?”

“Say to what?”

“A bet. Five guineas?”

“Chumley, you blister, what bet?”

“A bet on Ramsay.”

“Could have sworn I just saw him. Been missing all week!” There was a faint thrashing sound, as if someone was throttling a bush. “Wanted to ask him—”

“You won’t find him in the shrubbery!”

Julian shut his eyes and strained for patience. Was this what his life had come to? All because of one small, tart-mouthed, and decidedly wrongheaded woman who—

There was a faint sound from the inky depths of the alley, and Julian whipped around.

A man lounged carelessly up against the wall, the light tipping his tawny hair gold and catching the smirking gleam of the lion’s head atop his walking stick. Even the polished black buttons of his greatcoat shone with what Julian took to be mockery. The man straightened to his full, considerable height and stepped forward, his eyes unholy with glee.

“The great Lord Ramsay, grubbing in an alley? How you surprise me.”

“Shut up, Warrick!”

Warrick lifted his eyebrows. “What a greeting! The striplings are much too soused to hear us. Besides, they’re moving on.”

The young men were indeed wobbling, arm in arm, down the street.

Warrick clapped Julian on the back. “The drunken puppies can no longer harm you, my friend. Besides, I’m here to keep you safe.”

Julian straightened as well. He was aware his jaw was tight and his cheeks were dark, though he hoped the blighted alley was even darker. Any show of discomfort on his part would only increase Warrick’s delight. “What devil dragged you back to London? I thought you were heading to the Continent.”

“I’ve been to the Continent and now I’m back. In fact, I was on my way to pay you a call when I saw you duck in here. Naturally, I doubled around to join you.”

“Naturally. I would have done you the courtesy of walking on.”

Warrick laughed. “Yes, but you’ve always had more discipline and I’ve always had more fun. Tell me, how is your young lady? Never say you’re hiding from her.”

“No. In fact, this week she’s avoiding me.”

“Ah! You said she was a woman of great intelligence. I assume there’s some connection between your fiancée and finding you among all this”—he looked around and his nose wrinkled—“splendor?”

“Perhaps.”

“And I was worried I might miss all the fun.” Warrick hesitated, his face pained. “And your sister—how is she?”

“A bloody menace, as usual. I’ll send her your regards, shall I?”

“No need.”

Julian was poised to follow that promising lead when a crack of laughter from the head of the alley distracted him. He flattened himself against the wall again and Warrick joined him, with a raised eyebrow and an expression of naked enjoyment.

Julian gnashed his teeth. He hadn’t felt this ridiculous since he was a boy and Cook had found him, curled up and clutching his stomach, with six portions of rhubarb fool gone missing and a bright pink circle around his mouth.

“Ten to one!” called a merry voice as a group of London bucks began to clatter by. “That’s not what I call sport. I wonder Ramsay hasn’t put a stop to it already.”

“Shouldn’t think he knows!” chimed another. “Marby’s been plenty discreet.”

James Marby, discreet? mouthed Warrick.

Julian ignored him.

“Assuming the race is on, does the chit stand a chance? Stop howling! Her grandfather was Barton and she knows horses. She and Lady Charlotte have been taking your money all Season, Bixby! Though my father says the real brains at Chatham is a chap by the name of John Strongman.”

A fourth voice spoke, low and full of venom. “Ladies keeping betting books, ladies riding races. It’s sick, that’s what it is. Someone needs to pull those trollops over a knee and teach them a lesson!”

Warrick’s laughter faded and he turned to Julian, his face full of questions.

“Steady, Throckton!” said the first buck. “You better shut your mouth before Marby shuts it for you.”

“I’m not afraid of James Marby!”

“Maybe not, but I wager you’re afraid of Lady Charlotte,” said Bixby. “I dare you to go up against her sharp tongue!”

“Afraid of Lady Charlotte?” Throckton yelled back furiously. “I’ll get her on her knees and teach her what to do with her tongue!”

Warrick made not a single sound but all at once his great muscles went tense, like a lion about to pounce. Julian was reminded that his old friend had been a cavalryman and rode seven charges at Waterloo.

“Don’t!” said Julian.

“You’re going to leave that comment standing?” hissed Warrick.

He started forward and Julian grabbed him, holding him back with an iron hand.

Only when the bucks moved on and Julian could no longer hear their raucous shouts in the distance did he release his friend.

Warrick stepped back and straightened his coat, his eyes hot with disgust. “I never thought to see the day when you fail to defend your family.”

Julian eyed him coldly. “In the interest of our long acquaintance, I’ll forget you said that.”

“What the devil was that all about, then?”

“As I’m sure you gathered, my fiancée and my sister intend to run a horse race.”

Warrick stared and his anger drained away as understanding dawned. “They don’t know you’re onto them.”

“It’s cost me no small effort to remain in ignorance.”

“But you intend to put a stop to it, of course?”

Julian’s expression gave nothing away. “I have everything well in hand.”