Charming the Vicar's Daughter by Aileen Fish

always,” said Peter. “He’s got a bit of the devil in ’im. He’ll be after showing them other horses who’s king.”
    “Just as long as he wins. I’m counting on him.”
    Peter put the tools into a bag and opened another, removing the carefully folded shirt made in the colors of Fernleigh Stud, the orange body with yellow sleeves. He donned the garment and the black hat that completed the uniform.
    David stepped back as the youth saddled the horse and then freed the reins from the iron ring on the side of the stall. Together they led Triton out of the stables and to the examination area. Other grooms and horses milled about in preparation for the race. David glanced at the schedule. “We’re entered in the third race. You’ll have him warmed up?”
    “Of course, sir. He’ll be ready to race ’is best, never worry.”
    Peter’s cocky grin said his boss always worried, but David didn’t reprimand the lad. Peter was the best groom and rider he’d come across, with a natural knack for understanding what a horse was thinking. He could bring more out of an animal than any of the trainers they’d paid good money to, and the animals seemed calmer around him.
    “You see that he does race his best,” David called out with a growl. A useless effort. There was no sense trying to sound more authoritative when Peter knew who paid his wages, and showed due respect when the situation called for it.
    Assured his horse was in good hands, David crossed the grounds, nodding and calling greetings to those he recognized. His brother Adam, Viscount Knightwick, should have arrived by now. As he scanned the gathering crowd, his gaze landed on the last face he wanted to see at the Spring Meeting, or any other race event.
    Northcotte.
    Blast it. David’s gut knotted at the sight of the man. Ducking behind a pair of gentlemen walking in the earl’s direction, David darted around the corner of a building where he could eavesdrop without being noticed. He peered out into the lane. Robert Hurst, Lord Northcotte, stood with a particularly handsome young lady, and their sharp exchange reached David’s ears.
    The young lady folded her arms across her chest, and the tiny, pale blonde ringlets framing her face trembled with tension. “I am going to ride him. No one will know. I’ve trousers in the stable, and I can wear Bruce’s shirt and cap. With my hair tucked up, no one will recognize me.”
    Northcotte jerked her arm. “You will not consider it. Do you want to risk everything I’ve left? I’ll find a jockey and Patriot will be entered as planned. You may tell Bruce his services are no longer needed.”
    “I’ll do no such thing! That boy needs the wages for his family, and it’s not his fault he is ill. You cannot hire some stranger to ride Patriot. You know he’ll never allow a strange man on his back. I must be the one to ride him or we may as well scratch him from the race.”
    “I’ll hear no more of this, Joanna. Go find Mother and let me handle this.”
    Northcotte released her arm and strode off toward the stables. The young lady must be his sister, Lady Joanna. She stood for a moment and watched him go, then spun on her heel and stomped off in the opposite direction.
    David smiled at her forceful steps in the dirt. She seemed much like Hannah. Stubborn, impulsive, and too daring by half. He chuckled and shook his head. Those qualities could make Hannah’s search for a husband drag on for years. Even her beauty would not compensate for her strong character in the minds of many men. He’d have to make certain Mother didn’t expect his services as chaperone to run beyond one Season.
    Northcotte’s sister had to be dicked in the knob to suggest she wear trousers and ride in the race. Northcotte had the right of it—he’d be disqualified, and laughed out of the Jockey Club books, if not actually banned from competing. If Hannah ever dared such a thing, David would have her sent back to Bridgethorpe Manor for