Chapter 15 #2
Constantine observed the gray brows and hairs peeking from the stout man’s top hat, along with slight wrinkles and a rounded jaw, and guessed the man was in his fifties. Still, his muddy brown eyes were sharp, matching the coy smile that lingered on his thin lips.
Constantine smirked as he glanced toward Elara.
“Has she now?” he mused, wasting no time in taking the vacant seat. “Pray tell, who are you and what have you been talking about with my wife?”
“This is Mr. Albert Preacher, darling. He is one of the bookkeepers for the race’s bets. I have been telling him how you have yet to explain the rules of betting to me, and he was kind enough to provide me such an education.”
Constantine’s demeanor changed immediately. He had been looking for Mr. Preacher all week, somehow always just missing him. His name had been written several times in the accounting pages Constantine had discovered.
“Ah, a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Preacher,” Constantine greeted, tipping his hat toward the man. “Yes, I suppose I have been remiss in teaching my wife how to place bets, though I am not sure where I stand on women gambling.”
“Ah, but if money is made, whether it be the husband or the wife, is it not overall good for the household?” Mr. Preacher remarked with a smirk.
“You tell him, Mr. Preacher,” Elara goaded, making both men chuckle.
“Your wife is a lovely, spirited woman with a sharp eye,” Mr. Preacher praised. “She told me how she has been studying the horses all week, and I believe her assumptions on today’s winner may very well be correct.”
“Is that so?” Constantine mused. He glanced toward Elara, then handed her his glass so he could reach into his jacket for his wallet.
“Very well then, Mr. Preacher,” Constantine stated, counting out bills, “Put two hundred on my wife’s bet if you would. Make the odds twenty-to-one. Lady Elara Harcourt, Duchess of Ashworth. I have already placed my own bet beforehand.”
Constantine heard Elara gasp as Mr. Preacher’s eyes lit up. He then reached into his own jacket and procured a notebook and pencil, quickly jotting down the bet.
“Harcourt, was it?” Mr. Preacher mused. “I am familiar with the name, Your Grace.”
“Yes,” Elara spoke up, “Mr. Preacher was just telling me of how he knew your brother, darling. Is that not a funny coincidence?”
“Very funny indeed,” Constantine murmured. A moment later, the sound of a horn blared through the air, announcing that the race was about to begin.
“I should get back to my regular seat in case anyone else wishes to make some last-minute bets,” Mr. Preacher stated as he tipped his hat toward both of them. “Best of luck on your bets, Your Graces. I shall hopefully see you both afterward.”
Constantine and Elara dipped their heads respectfully toward him and watched together as the man waddled off.
“How on earth did you manage that?” Constantine said under his breath as they both turned toward the track.
“A woman has her wiles,” Elara replied, grinning. “You would know them if you allowed me to work with you more often.”
Constantine smirked as they glanced toward one another, and he felt a surge of pride as she cockily winked at him. He had to admit that she had accomplished more in a few minutes than he had been attempting for the better part of the week.
“How much do you know about horses, then?” he asked.
“I know that they are large and that they are beautiful,” she answered. “And I know that Houndstooth has very kind eyes.”
The sound Constantine made beside her was not quite a groan, though it was close enough that she had to press her lips together to keep from laughing.
“You placed a wager based on a horse’s eyes?” he laughed.
“I placed a wager based on instinct,” she corrected, with great dignity. “Which is an entirely different thing.”
“Have you done this before?”
“No, my brothers never brought me to the races,” she said. “They never taught me very much about horses at all, truth be told. I was not permitted to ride alone until I was nearly seventeen, and even then, only in the park, with a groom following close behind me.”
“So they were overprotective of you,” Constantine murmured.
“Tremendously,” she agreed, and though her voice came out fond, there was an ache beneath the word.
“Evander especially. He had very firm ideas about what was safe and what was not, and I fell firmly on the side of things that required constant watching over.” She paused, her eyes on the track but her thoughts elsewhere.
“I used to find it maddening, you know. I would argue with him terribly about it. And now I would give anything in the world to have him standing over my shoulder again, telling me what I ought and ought not to do.”
“I understand that feeling more than you might expect,” Constantine said at last, his voice quieter than usual.
“Augustus used to tell me I was too involved in his affairs. He said it so often that it became something of a jest between us.” The line of his jaw shifted slightly.
“I never thought it was funny, though. When you are the eldest, the responsibility of them never truly leaves you, no matter how loudly they insist that they do not need you.”
“I think I am beginning to understand this feeling more now that I take care of William. It is distressing to think that this little boy you raised will one day decide to leave and start a life of his own,” said Elara.
Only you will not be there by my side to see him grow into a man.
The second horn blared through the air, announcing that the horses and their riders were in place and ready. After one more lingering look at one another, Elara and Constantine turned their focus toward the race as the third and final horn blew.
Cheers erupted from all around them as the riders took off.
“Come on, Houndstooth, come on!” Elara urged, getting up from her seat as she clenched her hands into fists.
Her excitement was contagious, and Constantine, as well, rose from his seat as the horses made their way around the second bend.
“What number is he?” Constantine asked, watching as three horses broke from the pack.
“Twenty-three,” Elara hastily replied, her eyes focused on the race.
Constantine looked for the number, and he felt a shot of adrenaline move through him as he saw that Houndstooth was in the top three. He could not believe it. Elara had not only been looking for Augustus, but had also bested him at betting on the horses as well.
“Come on, twenty-three,” Constantine found himself chanting as the horse broke from the third spot to the second as they rounded the third and final bend.
“Come on,” they said in unison as Houndstooth drew neck and neck with number eleven.
“Yes! Yes! Go, boy, go!” Elara shouted excitedly as Houndstooth broke into the lead.
Despite the riveting race, Constantine found his eyes drawn to Elara as the horses closed in on the last few yeards, and he watched, spellbound, as Elara let out a shout of glee and bounced on the balls of her feet.
Her cheeks were flushed from excitement, her plump lips pulled back into the most beautiful grin he had ever seen, and those eyes—those ice blue eyes of hers were full of so much mirth that they actually glowed.
“He won!” Elara crowed, turning her blazing beauty toward Constantine. “He won, he actually won!”
Well, I’ll be damned.
The sound of her giggle was like a bolt of lightning to his heart, which struck him twice in a row as she suddenly jumped toward him. Without a thought, he caught her mid-leap and brought her to his chest, letting her wrap her arms tight around his neck as she continued giggling.
Contentment washed over him as he held her close, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other tangled in her silky tendrils.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling her feminine scent and holding it in his lungs.
He was not sure how long they remained like that.
Probably only seconds, but time seemed to stand still as he sank into the feeling of being whole.
Then, as if only realizing what she had just done, she gasped and let go of his neck. Longing poured through him as he slowly lowered her to her feet and unwound his arms. Elara’s blush was deep and beautiful as she stepped back and pressed her hand to her cheek.
“Forgive me,” she murmured, casting her eyes to the ground. “I do not know what came over me.”
Constantine cleared his throat and straightened his clothing.
“Worry not. The excitement of winning can overcome anyone,” he assured her.
“I... See? I told you I would win!” The smile she gave him was small and appreciative, but she still did not look up at him.
“Come,” he said, offering her his hand. “Let us find Mr. Preacher. Now that the race is over, we can collect your winnings and perhaps question him further.”
Elara nodded and took his hand, and as they made their way through the excited crowd, Constantine focused on that now-familiar static feeling in his palm—the very spot where his hand connected with hers.