Page 9 of Lessons for Marquesses
Charlotte peered anxiously from the coach window as Georgiana stuck out her hand to the first man.
The man’s hand was halfway to hers before he dropped it. “Egad!”
The second man came about. “It’s a girl!”
Georgiana made a meal of the inside of her cheek as they stared. Finally, she said, “Gentlemen, I am George St. Clair.”
The introduction not rectified, they immersed themselves in a lengthy study of her person from wig to top boots and then Minion. After gathering her confidence, Georgiana said, "She will win the Fordyce Stakes.”
The men shared a look.
“How fast are her times?” the first asked.
“It depends on the going. But under seven.”
“Fantastical.” The second nodded at the road which was between mud and dry earth. “And this going?”
“Her favorite.” If the weather held, it would be a few days out from rain with just enough turf to dig her hooves into.
“She’s not a cutter,” the second observed. “I can see from her heavy top. But if the going hardens…”
“She will still win,” Georgiana finished. Minion had to win.
Another rider approached, a wiry man with a hawkish nose and pale, sharp eyes under a brown tie wig and green cocked hat. By the two men’s deference, he was quality. He nudged his mount in a circle about them, his attention only for Minion.
“This horse is going to run the Stakes, Quiz,” the first man announced.
Quiz? The Marquess of Kimbrough? The president of the Jockey Club?
Quiz flicked his brow, the mechanics of thought working in his eyes. Only one mare was entered. He tried to maneuver closer to Minion and quickly retreated at Minion’s pinned ears. Yes, it was all a bit too much for her mare, but she’d have to learn to be tolerant.
“Minion? By Wild Squire, the Eastwick’s stallion?” Quiz graced Georgiana with a benign gaze and extended his hand. “Miss St. Clair?”
His acceptance overcame her with joy, even if it was lukewarm at best. She gripped his hand in a firm shake. “Please call me George.”
He did not offer the same courtesy of calling him Quiz but pointed at Minion. “So this is the Witch. By God. Do you know how many would pay to see her run?”
“I believe that’s called wagering on a horse race,” Georgiana quipped.
The second man laughed. “Who would have thought? A female making a jest!”
“Perhaps it is easy to speak wittily for an unnatural female,” the first man allowed. “Have I hit the mark,George?”
Georgiana wanted to put her fist in the man’s crooked teeth. “No, sir, but it is easy to speak as a fool, as you do.”
One and Two fell about themselves in full-bellied laughter. Quiz said nothing.
“Well done! Well done!” Two wiped his eyes. “An oddity to be sure! A female with a horse in the Stakesanda passable intellect. What next? Prime minister?”
“The question is if she’s really a female.” Man number one leaned over, his brows quirking at Georgiana’s chest. “Do tell,George. Are you or aren’t you?”
Charlotte had warned her, beseeched her to wear a gown and allow a groom to ride Minion.Men will not accept you, dear, simply because you pretend to be what you are not.
“I am,” she pushed out.
“What? Male or female? Or what are those creatures with both? Blast, too much wine last night.”
Georgiana pasted a smile over her mortification.
