Page 11 of Lessons for Marquesses
Georgiana paused at the livery entrance where grooms hurried at their duties. She waited for Charlie, her groom, to scramble down from the trailing coach.
Charlie straightened his cap over his red hair. “Lord, miss, I ain’t never seen nothing like this.”
The livery groom approached. Georgiana offered a slip of paper listing the reserved boxes for Minion and her team which had cost her two guineas in advance.
The boy trotted off.
“You’ll watch over Minion until eleven.” A racehorse could not be left unattended. Opponents and betting men, keen to win wagers against a horse, were known to “water” or slip a horse a dose of laudanum to slow their times. “Then I’ll relieve you.”
The livery boy returned with a man who had a definite air of consternation as he read the paper Georgiana had provided.
“Mister…” He looked up at her and then at Charlie and back to her. “Miss… there’s been a mistake. Me boy here put you down for week after next. I’ve got no accommodations for your horses.”
Georgiana pointed at the paper. “But it says right there what days I paid for. Today through Sunday.”
The man rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Our mistake, miss.”
“Very well, undo your mistake. My team requires stabling and my horse is riding in the Stakes. She requires a box.”
He shook his head.
Georgiana smiled. What else could one do but smile and wait for the mistake to be rectified? “Good sir, please find accommodations for my horse and team. I’ll wait here.”
“Miss, I don’t have one box, let alone five of them.”
“The team can share two. Or if you have a sheltered yard, they’ll be quite pleased. But a box for my racehorse will be required.” Minion despised rain. It was enough that she was to bed alone without her pony, Bitsy, beside her.
The man was already eying the other customers standing behind her. “They’re all taken. Even if I were to give you one already reserved?—”
“Mine is reserved.”
“Yes, miss. But I’m filled up.” He gestured to the row of boxes through the whirling dust of straw and dander stirred up by the boys grooming the horses.
“Well.” This could not possibly be happening. How was one to conquer without a place to bed their steed? “Sir, I must have at least one box. I paid for five and all I ask is for one. My horse is, as I said, running in the Stakes.”
“I understand, miss. I’ll refund your coin.” The man fished in his leather waistcoat and held out two guineas.
CHAPTER THREE
Georgiana inquiredat the other liveries as well as the makeshift accommodations. No one had a box. None could spare an inch of Newmarket earth. Not even when she offered four guineas. Five, at the last.
Back at the grounds of the cockpit, she looked enviously at the homes upon the hill where she was certain empty boxes with plush layers of straw awaited.
A slight man in shirtsleeves, leaning against the roundhouse, knocked his pipe and ambled toward them. He smelled dusty and sweet, like chicken feathers and tobacco.
“Ain’t found a bed for yer horse, have you?” he asked over the squawks and cheers emanating from the cockpit.
Georgiana lifted her chin. “A momentary obstacle.”
“Five guineas,” he said. “And I’ll let you the cockpit between the last match and the first of the next afternoon.”
Georgiana swallowed the speck of pride which felt like the driest slice of roast expanding as one chewed. One night only and by morning she would find her cousin Julian who would surely have a box for Minion. “When is the last match?”
“Should be over by eleven. For six guineas, I’ll have my boys clean up the blood and bed it with straw. You supply the feed.”
Charlotte wrapped her fingers about Georgiana’s wrist. “We should be going.”
Ignoring Charlotte, Georgiana gestured to an adjacent tent. “You will allow my groom to shelter there with my horse. And my team and coach can rest behind your establishment.”
