Page 8 of Lady of Fortune

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Julia watched the starter, awaiting the wave of his flag, the anticipation building within her over every moment she waited. Come on, she urged him, as her eyes flicked momentarily to the grandstand where she was supposed to be sitting, though her glance was too quick and the green watchtower too far to determine whether or not her father was looking for her. Oh, what was he thinking at the moment?

When the flag waved in front of her face, Julia’s nerves jumped, and she reflexively dug her heels into Orianna’s side. Horse and rider knew one another well enough that Orianna jumped forward and into the fray. She had been ridden in mock races before, but this was the first time she found herself amongst horses who truly knew the meaning of racing, who were fighting as hard as their jockeys and owners were to win.

Julia could hardly believe the speed they were going, thrill coursing through her at riding astride, as she gave Orianna the freedom to run for all she could. Julia hunched low over Orianna’s neck, urging her on, encouraging her to show just how fast she could run as she tried to avoid the hollows along the track, knowing they were there but rather unsure of where from this vantage point. The Craven Stakes, here at the Rowley Mile, was a mile long, though the judge’s stand in the distance looked as though it was five times that distance.

Orianna quickly surged ahead of a few of the other horses, though there remained a few of them ahead of her as well. This was Julia’s folly — she had no idea exactly what strategy she should take. Should she urge Orianna faster, to take the lead? Or would it be better to wait and make a late surge?

Just then the track dipped ever so slightly, and Julia let out a yelp when a huge weight pressed against her leg, and Orianna stumbled ever so slightly to the left. Julia looked over to see another jockey flash the quickest of grins at her, and with another horse thundering on Orianna’s left flank, panic seized Julia’s chest as she looked left and right to determine where Orianna could go. They were actually beginning to near the finish now, with only a little over a quarter mile remaining. What should she do?

When Julia sensed the horse to her right slightly edging ahead of them, however, she gritted her teeth as anger and frustration at the jockey began to replace the fear. So this was how he wanted to race? So be it.

She urged Orianna even faster, and the horse responded, beginning to leave the horse to the left behind them, gaining on the horse to the right. The rest of the pack was spread out behind them over the track, and Julia had no idea how to judge just who was in the lead between the three horses running alongside one another. All she could do, she realized, was to run her own race as best she could.

If only she had more time to prepare. A mile had never felt so long and yet had gone so fast. Julia wasn’t sure if she could press Orianna any further, or if she had expended her energy far too soon. She refused to use the riding crop on her, but when it seemed Orianna could go no faster and the track itself began to rise on a slight uphill to the final post, Julia did as she had seen others do and cracked the whip in the air next to Orianna’s head in order to encourage her to run even faster.

It was the wrong choice. It was not how Julia had trained her horse, and while Orianna didn’t halt, she shied away from the whip, decreasing her pace ever so slightly. The white post of the finish line passed in a blur and Julia had no idea in what place they had finished. She allowed Orianna to keep walking as she tried to let her cool down, though she could feel the horse’s pulse beat as frantically as Julia’s own.

She saw the green colors draping the judge’s towers, heard the name of the winner echo on the crowd’s cheers around her, and it was not Orianna, though Julia hadn’t expected it to be. She knew she had destroyed her chances of winning, although she assumed they had finished in a respectable position. She would have to wait, however, to determine just what that was.

Julia looked up into the grandstand, seeing her father now craning his neck in earnest as he looked around, likely for her, which made sense as she had been anticipating this race for months now — what excuse could she come up with for why she had missed it?

And what did she do now? What did any jockey do following a race? She had never considered that before, and she looked around her to see that most of the outriders had come to collect the horses, the jockeys now conversing amongst themselves as they walked together carrying their saddles, back toward the building where the scales were held. It must be where they dressed, a club room of sorts.

There, she certainly couldn’t go, for she would be found out in an instant. As it was, it wouldn’t take long for it to be determined that the jockey riding Orianna was not, in fact, Sam Abney, for he was apparently passed out drunk outside a tavern, a fact which was likely already well known amongst the jockeys. She saw one of them look over at her, and she knew they were already questioning her identity. She would hide until the other jockeys were gone, then go for her weigh-in.

As much as she wanted to stay with Orianna, she handed her reins to the waiting outrider, took the saddle, and did the only thing she could think of — she fled as fast as her currently unsteady legs would take her.

* * *

Eddie sauntered backtoward the stables following yet another win, as he received the congratulations from his fellow jockeys — some more sincere than others, though he didn’t altogether care. That was the job — to win. If others didn’t enjoy the fact that he had found success, then they should do better next time.

He looked around for Abney. Last he had heard, the man was well into his cups last night at the nearby tavern. How he managed to pull off a performance like that today — second place, no less — Eddie had no idea, and he was looking forward to learning more.

He and Abney were not exactly on close terms, but he was well aware that the jockey was riding today for Lord St. Albans. Despite the fact that Eddie had left the Earl’s employ years ago, he still felt somewhat beholden to the man who had provided his trust in him for so long, and Eddie had regretted seeing Abney’s name next to Orianna’s. But the irresponsible new jockey had surprised him, even overcoming the unfair maneuvering around him.

Eddie paused for a moment for his final weigh-in, then began making his way to the clubhouse, stopping to speak with a trainer for a few minutes. He saw a figure come out of the scales, and he craned his neck as he saw a flash of purple disappear around the corner ahead of him.

“Abney!” he called, but the man was too far away to hear him. Eddie followed him through the corridor, outside and into the stable, maintaining his somewhat leisurely pace. None of the horses had yet returned, as they were still cooling down, leaving Eddie perplexed as to what Abney was up to. He was also being cautious and concerned — for clearly Abney had a reason to be in here, and it was likely not altogether honorable.

Walking through the stables, Eddie paused as he passed Orianna’s stall. Did he hear a rustling within? The outrider hadn’t yet returned the horse so there was no reason anyone should be inside.

He was concerned for a moment, the thought that someone might have tampered with the horse running through him. Orianna had done well, but one could never completely trust a groom — nor a jockey.

Eddie pushed open the door, seeing the silk back in front of him.

“Abney?” he asked, confused, but then stopped short, frozen where he stood.

For those were not Abney’s long golden curls descending down the back of the silk jacket. Nor was that Abney’s bottom, nor his legs so finely displayed by the tight cream breeches.

This — this was a woman.

The figure in front of him was as still as he was, though he could tell she held something in front of her.

“Go away — please.”

But now that he had come this far, curiosity overcame Eddie, as he needed to know what woman would deign to race, would replace Abney and not only know how to ride so expertly, but nearly beat him, at that.

He reached out a hand, grasping a tense, tight shoulder, and turned her around to face him ever so slowly.