Page 91 of The Trouble with Anna

Anna calculated madly. The wild card was those fifty extra pounds. Eclipse was a champion and she’d treated him the whole race like a hack. The horse was angry and confused—would he have the heart to face a challenge now? Did Archer have anything left to give?

Only one way to find out.

Anna sent a prayer to the magnificent horse beneath her. Shegave him a tap with the crop and thrust her hands forward, asking for everything he had left, the last drop within.

Archer’s front legs reached farther, his back legs pushed harder, and he ran with his whole, glorious heart.

They gained, but slowly, so slowly, like the grinding of teeth.

It’s not enough, Anna despaired.

The crowd disagreed. They screamed in approval at Archer’s challenge, and the noise gave him one last shot of strength as they bolted for the finish line. They were gaining now, truly gaining.

“YES!” Anna screamed. “Run, Archer. RUN!”

Anna’s arms worked like pistons, her thighs screamed in pain, and still Archer ran, charging up the last few lengths, charging up to Eclipse’s sweating haunches, his stomach, his lathered shoulder, so close that Anna and Hartley were locked together as they careened over the finish line and—

Anna didn’t know, she couldn’t tell. Her chest heaved in and out like bellows and her head sank low as they slowed for the cooldown.

The crowd roared on and on, but the rolling thunder was drowned by the rush of blood in her ears. She closed her eyes, absorbing the slow rock of Archer’s canter, and began to cry.

She cried for herself. She cried for Archer. She cried for the perfect race, which she had trained for and fought for and chased so long. She cried for her grandfather, who couldn’t see it. She cried for Julian, who saw her completely and had given her the last jolt of courage she needed.

Win or lose, she and Archer had done it. They’d gone up against the horse of the century. Win or lose, they’d raced like champions.

“That wasvictory,” she whispered to Archer. “No matter what happens, hold on to that run.”

Anna clutched the feeling and held it tight as Archer dropped into a jog, and all through the cooldown lap, until at last she was ready to turn him back and face the screaming crowd.

A mass of people awaited them.

Charlotte ripped off her bonnet and tossed it into the air with much enthusiasm and very little accuracy. It landed on Marby’s shoulder, although he didn’t notice, as he was hopping around like a drunken rabbit. The Dowager was on her feet in the landau, a precarious position she maintained only by a death grip on Mr. Frith’s top hat. Everyone who wasn’t yelling at Anna or Hartley seemed to be yelling at Byrne and Locke, who were huddled together and whispering furiously.

But where was Julian? The crowd frothed and boiled, blocking Anna’s view.

Hartley trotted up next to her.

“Marvelous race! By god, I’ve never seen the like, let alone ridden in it!” His brow furrowed. “Though could it—Lady Anna, it pains me to suggest, but did you perhaps lose control of Archer, or did you bump my horse—?”

“On purpose?” Anna dragged her gaze away from the crowd and squinted up at him. “Did I have a choice, my lord, when you forced me to race against a ringer?”

Hartley looked astonished for a moment, but soon enough he laughed. “I believe you were the ringer today, my lady. I’ve been rooked! At least, I think I have. They’re taking their damned time calling the results.”

Anna gave a curt nod. She’d lost, hadn’t she? Even Archer’s huge heart, her tricks, and Hartley’s mistakes were not enough to prevail over a horse like Eclipse. They’d been so close at the end, but surely not even Hartley’s extra weight—

Byrne and Locke stepped apart at last, and four hundred heads snapped toward them. Byrne took one final, harassed glance at Locke, who threw his hands up with the hunted look of a man whowanted to make clear that nothing was his fault and he wanted no part of it.

Anna leaned over toward Hartley, as Byrne waited for the crowd to settle. “It’s yours. It was yours from the beginning. I’ve never seen a horse to match him.”

Byrne raised his hand for quiet and drew in a deep breath.

“THE WINNER IS—”

CHAPTER38

LONDON FIZZED LIKE A SHAKENbottle of champagne and Anna was the cork.

At least, it felt that way, as she elbowed her way through the bubbling mob in the Dowager’s ballroom. Her back ached from all the slaps, her cheeks felt hot from the endless pinches, and one of Marby’s wretched cousins had sneaked up behind her and snipped a souvenir lock of her hair.

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