Chapter Seven
She was late.
Not that Blaine was surprised, of course, since he’d long since become familiar with the female of the species and their relationship with time.
However, he didn’t have too long to wait before she appeared on Flora, saddled today, and with Jepson following slightly behind her. To his amazement, she rode side-saddle in an appropriate outfit. And looked every bit as spectacular in her deep blue riding habit as she did in breeches.
“Halloo,” she called, waving as they cantered across the field toward him. “Sorry I’m late.”
He grinned. That was a first. A woman apologising for such a thing. “No matter. I’ve not been here for more than an hour.”
“Bosh,” she snorted, her hair curling down either side of her cheeks after escaping from her riding hat. Those cheeks were pink with cold, her eyes smiled at him, and her lips curved in the most delectable way.
He had the oddest desire to tear her from her saddle, plop her down in front of him and kiss her silly.
He took a moment to pull himself together.
“Well, you’re here. And so is Jepson.” He nodded to the man.
“Thank you for coming with her. At least she won’t get into trouble with you as a chaperone. ”
“I wouldn’t be so sure o’ that, sir,” he grinned back. “This one’s got trouble written all over ‘er.”
“I do not.” She shot Jepson a laughing glance.
“Really? Should I ask that Rovington lad, then?”
Blaine, fascinated by the easy by-play, raised his eyebrows. “Your suitor. Of course. Did he…”
“I do not wish to discuss it.” She raised her chin.
Jepson grinned from ear to ear. “Kneed him in the bollocks and coshed his head with a poker.”
Blaine’s jaw dropped, and he blinked at Geraldine. “You didn’t.”
“I certainly did,” she retorted. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
” She caught her breath. “Well, not that I really intended to be quite so violent, but the damned idiot had his hands in all the wrong places. I had to…er…correct any misunderstanding. I was firmly refusing his offer.” She looked a little shamefaced.
“I’d have done it politely, of course, but what with an accidental trip, and the unfortunate location of the andirons…
you know how these things happen.” She waved a hand airily.
“I don’t, as a matter of fact, but now I’m definitely intrigued.” He spared a glance for poor Jepson, who was red in the face from trying to suppress his mirth.
She rounded on him. “And you can stop laughing. I have no idea who gossiped about this incident, and I’m amazed it made its way to the stables so fast. All that aside, it wasn’t funny at the time, so just…just stop.”
The old man shook his head and wheezed out a hiccoughing chuckle. “I’m sure ’tweren’t funny, Miss Gerry. But yer taught the bounder a lesson he’ll not fergit, and I only wish I’d been there ter see it.”
“Well,” she sniffed, and looked back at Blaine. “It’s done with, so let’s move on to something more interesting, shall we?”
“We shall indeed, Miss Gerry.” He grinned. “I rather like that abbreviation. However, I am making a note never to approach you and ask for your hand in marriage if there are any pokers lying about.”
She sighed. “It will take time for this story to fade away, won’t it?”
Blaine looked pointedly at Jepson, then back at her. “Yes. I’m afraid so. But you’re strong enough to ignore it.”
Jepson opened his mouth to reply but stopped at the distinctly unfriendly glare aimed at him by his mistress. He merely subsided, cleared his throat and settled more comfortably into his saddle.
“Now then.” She moved Flora to Thunder’s side, and they began to walk across the field. “You inferred that you had a plan for allowing me to participate in the Mistletoe Cup?”
“I’ve been thinking about it, yes.”
“Well?” She looked at him. “Let’s have it.”
Jepson cleared his throat again.
Blaine glanced over his shoulder. “You’re either coming down with a nasty cold, Jepson, or you’ve something on your mind. Which is it?”
“Well, sir, t’be honest, I can’t say as I like the idea of Miss Gerry ‘ere racin’ against all them other men.”
He sensed Gerry bridle at the comment. “Hush. Let him speak his piece.” He shot her a sharp look, and to his surprise, she nodded.
“’Tis a rough run. An’ I worry that a lot can ‘appen when t’blood’s up an’ runnin’ hot, like it do in these things.”
Blaine sighed. “He’s right, Gerry. The course isn’t a racetrack, and the racers aren’t professional jockeys.
From what I’ve heard, it could turn into a free-for-all at any given moment, and you could be seriously hurt as a result.
” He held up a hand to forestall her wrath.
“You know full well that local riders don’t always obey the rules.
I’ll wager there have been more than a few times when whips were used on other riders as well as the horses.
” He stared at her. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
She bit her lip. “I cannot. Damn it.”
“And yet you’re still eager to participate?”
“Yes.” The answer was immediate and resolute.
“Yes, I want a chance to ride Flora in this race. To show everyone that a woman is as capable as a man of racing a fine horse.” She looked at Blaine, her eyes bright and full of emotion.
“I am so tired of being treated like some fragile piece of china. As if we women are good for nothing but ornamenting a man’s life, breeding him heirs, and knitting. ”
“Embroidery.”
“What?”
“Most of the women I know seem to embroider.” Blaine shook his head. “God knows why, but they do.”
Her eyes narrowed. “It’s the only chance they have to stick a needle into something without worrying about screams and blood.”
He considered that notion. “You know, you may be right.”
“But all that aside,” she blinked, “and I have no idea how we ended up discussing embroidery in the first place, please tell me how you think I’m going to be able to get into the race?”
“Well…” he took a breath. “You’ll have to shave your head and dress as a man, of course…”
The shriek of outrage lodged in her throat and came out as more of a squawk.
“What?” Geraldine was torn between the urge to either slap him stupid or lean over and taste those lips which were curving into a brilliant smile.
“Just teasing,” he reassured. “I couldn’t resist, and I apologise. But…” he shrugged, “I see no way for you to enter if you’re not prepared to dress as a young man.”
She put her wrath aside. “That shouldn’t be a problem.
I’m not missish, and as you’ve noted yourself, I spend a lot of time around the horses in my breeches.
” For some odd reason, she felt colour rise to her cheeks as Blaine’s eyes drifted over her body, the curves of which were revealed today by the snug riding jacket.
“I have noticed.” His voice betrayed little of his emotions. “Which might be a problem in and of itself. We’ll have to procure a different pair of breeches, different boots – you will have to shed everything Miss Geraldine would wear and slip into a new persona. Become Gerry Smith.”
“Hmm.” She considered the idea. “And how would this Gerry Smith become a contestant in the Cup race?”
“I have a friend, a good friend, also fond of horses. He has, in his stables, a young lad with that name, who is interested in becoming a jockey. What better place to test the lad’s mettle than here, in the Mistletoe Cup?”
“I see.” This was getting more interesting every moment. “Does your friend know about this lad?”
“Not yet…”
She rolled her eyes. “So you’ve no idea if he’ll be receptive to your suggestion?”
“He will.” Blaine grinned. “He owes me.”
“I’m not going to ask for what.”
“Wise girl.”
“I would need silks in his colour…” She thought about the bright shirts the racers wore, boasting the mistletoe emblem, dutifully embroidered by the women of Upper Bicklesworthy.
The brilliant display added to the excitement and the festive nature of the race; few of the riders had ever had the luxury of wearing such an elegant fabric, and the shirts were prized within local families, often displayed proudly on the walls inside the cottages.
“I am aware.” Blaine nodded. “I do believe in doing a bit of research before making plans like these.”
“The ones involving cleverly crafted subterfuge?”
“Those would be the ones, yes.”
She thought about it. “May we canter for a bit? I need to think.”
Hooves pounded as they rode across the field, Thunder an excellent match for Flora’s stride, and Jepson keeping a polite distance behind them.
As comfortable in the saddle as an armchair in the parlour, Geraldine let her thoughts roam over Blaine’s suggestion, finding that it did have merit, if only she could remain anonymous. That was going to be difficult.
And then there was the matter of Flora.
As they neared the boundary hedge and slowed their pace, she turned to him and raised the issue.
“How on earth would you explain your friend’s jockey riding my horse?”
“That did give me pause,” he agreed, stroking Thunder’s neck as the stallion blew out happy puffs of air. “But I believe, with Jepson’s assistance, we may pull it off.”
Hearing his name, Jepson neared the couple. “Sir?”
“If word spread that you and Miss Gerry here were eager to let Flora race in the Cup, and I had a jockey who could ride her, would you think it would suffice to keep local curiosity at bay?”
The older man thought about it. “Yer knows, it might,” he answered finally. “I take it the jockey’d be Miss Gerry?”
“Of course,” she nodded. “I shall be thoroughly disguised, as well. And…” She warmed to the plan.
“I might even take Flora to Sir Blaine’s the evening before.
” She turned to him. “That way, it would be quite natural for me to come over to Kendall Manor to see her prior to the race.” She grinned.
“I change there, and presto. I’m a jockey running for the Mistletoe Cup on the best horse in the entire world. ”
Blaine’s sigh was accompanied by an eye roll. He glanced at Jepson. “Not at all shy and retiring when it comes to Flora, is she?”
“She’s right, though,” the groom replied. “That animal is a real wonder.”
“I believe it.”
“So, what do you think? Would that work? You could have my shirt made in the village, thus endearing yourself to the embroiderers of Upper Bicklesworthy, I could change into my other persona without anyone at Holly Grange being any the wiser, and your friend would be represented in the Mistletoe Cup.”
“A lifetime goal of his, I’m sure,” answered Blaine dryly.
Geraldine’s shoulders slumped. “Well, if you think this is all a bad idea…”
“It’s my idea, so of course I don’t,” he scolded. “But there’s a lot that could go wrong. Your reputation to consider, not to mention the possibility of injuries…”
“I’ll be careful, Blaine, I promise.” Her eyes begged him as she used his first name without even realising it. “And you know I can ride. Flora is like another part of me. She’ll take care of me.” She patted the strong grey neck and received a slight whinny in return.
Kendall Manor came into view, and instead of replying, he turned to Jepson. “I believe I will invite Miss Gerry in for a cup of tea. Will you mind visiting my stables for an hour or so? I promise I’ll keep her no longer than that…”
Jepson cast an eye upward at the clouds. “If yer doesn’t mind a suggestion, sir, why don’ I take Flora back ter Grange? If you’d bring Miss Gerry ‘ome in yer carriage…’cos them clouds looks like snow, right enough.”
Blaine deferred to the country wisdom, agreeing that the clouds were indeed ominous. “Good idea. If Miss Gerry is agreeable, of course?”
A delightful grin spread over her features. “Miss Gerry is most agreeable indeed.”
“It’s settled. Thank you, Jepson.”
They turned toward Kendall Manor, and not many minutes later, Blaine found himself handing over his reins to his groom and Flora’s reins to Jepson.
“Would you have someone let Mama know where I am, please?” Geraldine looked at her groom affectionately. “Otherwise, she’ll worry, I’m sure.”
“O’course, Miss Gerry.” He nodded.
“Don’t enjoy this too much,” she laughed. “I know you and Flora are quite fond of each other.”
“She’s a good gal.”
Blaine watched the wrinkled hand caress the mane and neck as Flora whickered softly, betraying her pleasure at the familiar touch.
“She’s in good hands,” observed Geraldine, as she stood next to Blaine on the doorstep of Kendall Manor.
“Indeed she is.” He nodded. “Come inside, won’t you? It’s too cold to be standing around outside.”
“But not too cold for a good ride,” she smiled, moving into the warmth of the hall.
Then he silently admonished himself for the quite outrageous thoughts that poured into his mind as his eyes drifted to her delightful body, swaying as she walked ahead of him.
“I must agree. It’s never too cold for a good ride.”