The Romany Heiress by Nikki Poppen Page B

something.”

    “I bow to your wisdom, Lady Cate,” Alain said. “Let
us find a place in the stands to watch the races since
they are set to begin in a few minutes”
    There was much activity surrounding the makeshift
racetrack as they approached. People were laying odds
on horses and others milled about looking at the entries.
Giles handed Candice up into the stands and turned to
assist Cate.
    “I need a few moments of privacy,” Cate whispered.
“I’ll be back.”
    Assuming she meant to seek out a ladies’ convenience, Giles nodded and sat down next to Candice. To
assure her safety and direction, he followed Cate with
his eyes until she was out of view.
    Once out of sight of the stands, Cate doubled back
around to the stall where Cecile had seen the dark gelding. She took off her wide-brimmed hat and shook her
hair free of its pins.
    “Hello, Donovan”
    The barrel-chested man at the stall looked up, recognition dawning on his tanned face. “Caterina, I thought
that might have been you but I couldn’t tell with that
hat. It didn’t make sense you would be all those coves.
What are you doing?” He crossed the rope barrier and
enveloped her in a big hug.

    “It’s too complicated to explain.” Cate shook her
head at her long-time friend. “Are you really selling
King Charles here?” She motioned toward the horse,
who like the king he was named for, was shorter in
stature than most horses of his ilk.
    The man looked at the ground, dismayed. “Times are
tough, too tough. He’s a good horse although the stubborn old fella is putting on a good show with all his acting today. I can’t afford to keep him and some of the
others. I’m only keeping the ones I can breed”
    “But you can race him. He’s still fast enough for
these pony fairs. Surely, his winnings are worth his
keep,” Cate argued.
    “That won’t last forever and then where will I be
with a horse that’s too old for anything? In the meanwhile, he might pull up lame. These fair races are not
organized affairs.”
    Cate nodded in agreement. She knew from experience
just how unorthodox these events could be. She’d ridden
in plenty. The life of a gypsy ebbed and flowed with the
cycle of horse fairs throughout the English countryside.
    “What’s turning in your head, missy? I can see you
have a plan,” Donovan said, his own eyes sparking at
the thought of a game.
    “Can I ride King Charles today? I’ve seen the other
horses. They’re nothing special, just steady quarter
horses. They look a lot better than Charlie so the odds
on him will go way up. You can keep the winnings, and
I can guarantee a solid sale after the race”

    “Not to that snippy broad that was with you,” Donovan protested.
    “Oh no, but definitely to spite her.” Cate laughed.
    In truth, she’d had all she was going to take from the
uppity FoxHaughton woman, she thought, hurriedly
stripping out of Lady Isabella’s striped muslin and into
the spare riding breeches and shirt Donovan carried in
his trunk. All afternoon the woman had done her best to
remind everyone of her place beside Giles. Interestingly enough, Giles seemed to begrudge her that position. Yet, gentleman that he was, he had done nothing to
overtly dissuade her of the notion.
    The last straw had been her callous assessment of
King Charles. That horse was all heart, so attuned to
his rider’s feelings that he was practically human.
She’d ridden him on a few occasions and knew him to
be a mount that would do well with an experienced
rider or with someone of Cecile’s limited abilities.
    She tucked her hair up into Donovan’s borrowed cap
as best she could without the requisite pins and bloused
out the overlarge shirt to hide the hint of breasts beneath.
Then she swung up onto King Charles and headed him
toward the starting line with a wink for Donovan.
    “Look, it’s my gelding!” Cecile cried, tugging at
Alain’s sleeve excitedly.
    Giles smiled