Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPSOM DOWNS, A WEEK LATER
As a member of the haut ton these last five years, Saskia had attended many a horse race.
This horse race, however, was the first one she’d ever given a toss about.
It was Derby Day, the biggest racing day in the sporting calendar, given its proximity to London and the public’s ability to watch the race for free from the hill.
Saskia couldn’t help feeling infected by its energy, even from her elevated place in Prinny’s Stand, which was occasionally made available to those high-ranking aristocrats who had achieved favor with the King.
It just so happened the King had taken Gabriel’s advice regarding a few investments and earned a pretty penny.
As an expression of his gratitude, the King had granted Gabriel access to the stand for the Derby, along with any family and friends he chose to invite.
Which was how Saskia found herself celebrating Derby Day from the most exclusive viewing point at Epsom Downs, alongside Gabriel and Celia, of course, but also Viveca, Blaze, and Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster.
One of the most popular ladies of the ton, Mrs. Lancaster was Celia’s cousin and best bosom friend, and known to her closest intimates as Eloise.
She’d been instrumental to introducing Saskia and Viveca into society five years ago, and they held a deep affection for her.
Everyone who met Eloise felt that way, in fact.
Her smile was that warm and gracious and genuine.
Eloise slid into the chair beside Saskia, who was using her field-glass to scan the grounds. Only a few Thoroughbreds had made their way onto the turf, and none carried a jockey wearing the spring-green and midnight-blue silks she sought.
As Eloise took in the grounds alongside Saskia, she said, “It’s so wonderful to see you outside of Sirens.”
A slight frown turned down the corners of Saskia’s mouth. It couldn’t help itself. “Don’t you like our library?”
Eloise gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. “I adore Sirens. But it requires so much of you, doesn’t it?”
Saskia lowered her field-glass, unsure how best to express her feelings on this subject… “Sirens is the most worthwhile part in my life that requires anything of me.”
In other words, she left unspoken, being a lady wasn’t an occupation. It was merely a title, and while a title had its uses, it wasn’t enough.
Eloise’s eyes shone with understanding for all Saskia left unsaid. “You’re young, my dear, and we’re deep into the season. Attend a few balls and musicales. Let yourself be young and beautiful and gay. Let yourself be the belle of the ball.”
Saskia playfully shoved her spectacles up her nose. “Does the belle of the ball wear spectacles?”
Eloise nodded. “In your case, yes.”
Saskia shook her head, even as she smiled. Oh, the loyalty of a friend. “I see you’re very close to becoming quite occupied yourself.”
Eloise’s smile somehow grew warmer as her free hand rubbed her much-swollen belly. “The physician estimates this little one will arrive next month.”
Before Tessa started producing babies a few years ago, Saskia hadn’t considered herself a baby person.
But the birth of her first niece, Clara, changed that.
The fact was Saskia adored babies—their chubby legs…
their slobbery kisses…their bright, curious eyes—and the prospect of another baby entering her orbit filled her with both anticipation and joy.
“Do you have a preference whether the babe is a he or a she?”
“My only preference is good health.”
Such a typically Eloise answer. He or she would be fortunate to have her as a mother.
“But, Saskia”—Eloise had more to say—“Sirens has been operating for four years. It’s become one of the most popular circulating libraries in London.
You’re publishing the novels of that writer Harriet LaPlume, which must be bringing in a mint.
Hasn’t the time arrived that you can allow Mrs. Dunlevy more responsibility in the daily running of it?
And you can get on with being a lovely young lady? ”
“A lovely, young, marriageable lady?”
“Well, yes.”
On the other side of Eloise, Viveca lowered into a chair and angled forward, joining the conversation. “Saskia isn’t only spending all her time running Sirens. She’s writing, too.”
Saskia only just didn’t gasp. But her stomach did plummet to her feet. She suspected her brow of darkening into a thundercloud. “Viveca—”
Eloise’s luminous brown eyes went wide. “Is that so?”
Viveca continued in her breezy-as-she-pleased manner. “Oh, yes, she’s writing Liam Cassidy’s memoir.”
Saskia could somewhat breathe again. While Viveca hadn’t exposed her as Harriet LaPlume, she had introduced Liam Cassidy into the conversation. She supposed her involvement in his memoir wasn’t precisely a secret, and Eloise was all but family, but still…
Viveca continued. “Sirens will be publishing his memoir next year.”
Eloise glanced back and forth between Saskia and Viveca, her smile broadening with delight. “Truly?”
“Aye,” said Saskia, her tone flat.
The frothy giggle of a debutante trilled from Eloise. “I must confess to finding him terribly dashing.” Another giggle. “We can keep that between us ladies, of course. And, Saskia, have you met the famous Mr. Cassidy?”
“I have.”
“And what have you learned?”
She should’ve been prepared for this moment with a list of appropriate details that she could rattle off at a moment’s notice.
Instead, it was the inappropriate details that pushed to the forefront of her mind.
He snored.
When he was engaged in a conversation, his pupils flared so the hazel-green of his eyes disappeared and all that was left was a golden ring.
It happened in the instant before he delivered a kiss, too.
His mouth… It was divine, whether pressed against her lips or her earlobe or her neck or her breast…
Even today, a week later, her body was still alight from his exploration of the boundaries of a kiss upon her.
But that last part was more about her than him, wasn’t it?
And, anyway, none of it was anything she could say.
Blaze strode up and tipped his sky-blue silk hat, as he lowered into a chair.
The man grew more sartorially ostentatious by the year—and Viveca loved it.
He angled forward, his head cocked. He was listening.
Saskia’s audience had grown. She’d never been one for audiences attending her every word. That was more Viveca’s territory.
She cleared her throat. “Well, Liam Cassidy is the greatest jockey of his generation.”
They all waited.
Specifically for her to tell them something they didn’t already know.
“He has a few superstitions.”
Viveca’s eyes lit up. “I knew it.”
“He doesn’t eat or drink on race morning.” She didn’t feel she was betraying his confidence with these revelations. After all, they would be going into the memoir. “He doesn’t speak to anyone, if he can help it. He brushes his mount and checks the straps himself.”
“I have another morsel for that memoir of yours,” offered Blaze.
“Oh?” asked Saskia.
“You’ll never catch him at the betting post or any other den of iniquity you can think of.”
“You’re saying he’s not a gambler, then?”
“A stand-up fellow to my way of thinking,” said Blaze. “I can spot a rotter from a mile off.”
While Saskia had no doubts about the latter, she would form her own opinions regarding the former. Blaze tended to adhere to his own systems of values when it came to “stand-up” folk.
Before she could relate more on the subject of Liam Cassidy, the rest of their party arrived and everyone shuffled around so Celia could sit closest to the corner, as she was the most avid horseperson amongst them and had a contender in the race, Lady Midnight.
Gabriel lowered into the seat beside his wife, and Viveca and Blaze moved down one seat each so Mr. Lancaster could sit beside Eloise.
“Oh, look,” said Viveca, pointing, “they’ve assembled at the starting line.”
Saskia’s head whipped around, field-glass already affixed to her face.
At the far end of the U-shaped track scrambled a great scrum of Thoroughbreds, their riders brightly fitted out in the owners’ silks, every color in the rainbow accounted for in a wide assortment of patterns ranging from solids to stripes to polka dots to cross-hatch.
But it was spring-green and midnight-blue stripes she searched for…
There, close to the railing, muscling into what was clearly his preferred starting place.
Gone was Liam’s usual smile. Even from here, she could see how serious he was in this environment—focused…
determined…all business—the entirety of his attention on his horse and their mutual goal of winning this race.
How attractive it was—his seriousness…his capability… his confidence.
A hush swept across the crowd, the collective breath bated with anticipation. Every muscle in Saskia’s body knotted with tension, as she waited…
The starter’s gunshot cracked through the air and the pack lurched forward, urged on by the jockeys and their own competitive drive.
The crowd’s collective hush roared into a collective frenzy.
As the horses thundered up the ascent to the top of the rise, Morningstar was in the lead pack, but not running first. Saskia intuited this would’ve been by design, for Liam had a race plan and he would surely execute it.
She felt as if she were split into two people: the self who watched with near primal excitement, that urged Liam and Morningstar faster…
faster…to win. Then there was her other self.
The one whose fingernails were digging half-moons into her palms with anxiety and no small amount of fear.
The thing was while she’d attended several horse races, she’d never known a jockey personally.
She’d never conversed with one or shared a room with one.
She’d never kissed one. She’d never explored personal boundaries with one.