“I see. Money,” Marjorie finally answered. “It always has to be about that, doesn’t it? And if you had no money but dare not say so, what better way to end a contract than with a heinous accusation?”
“Many of us are fearful for our positions, I’m heartbroken to say,” the maid said by way of an answer. “Not only that I don’t wish to leave, but where would any of us go with that kind of accusation marring our reputations? No one in the country would hire us on! We would nae find work as so much as a washerwoman, let alone serving in a noble household!”
“Diana, dearest Diana,” Marjorie said, shocking the other girl by taking her hands in hers, “it will not come to that. If I cannot prevent anyone’s dismissal, please know that you will receive the most glowing letters, all of you! I will write them in my hand personally, extolling your virtues and recommending you throughout the region. The Queen herself would employ you when I’m finished!”
Diana laughed weakly but nodded her head. “It does me much good to hear it, My Lady. It takes a great weight off of my shoulders, and I know it will do the same for the others.”
“Think nothing of it. Every member of this household has served us with the utmost care. I will not see that ruined for whatever reasons my Father cooks up! Now, I must dress and make my escape.”
“Escape? I did not imagine you were running away! My Lady,” Diana cried, “you would break the engagement and be gone?”
“Oh no! I shall return presently. But I intend to enjoy some moments of freedom before I’m shackled before the vicar!”
* * *
The house was quiet when Marjorie crept down the servants’ old wooden staircase and stepped into the kitchens. The midday meal had passed—she herself had taken a tray in her room, on the pretense that she was so bothered by the news of her marriage that she couldn’t come down—and the preparations had not yet begun for the evening meal.
Marjorie took a moment to glance into the larder and the pantry, wondering how dire their situation might be. She was taken aback to see it fully stocked with fresh fare, much of which did not grow in their own fields. She was relieved to see it as it meant there must be some misunderstanding in the books, then faltered when she realized it might have been purchased on credit.
“Father will be selling Harriet to the butcher before long,” she mumbled bitterly, then reminded herself not to be unkind. If there was any truth to the fear that he was in dire straits, he could have made a far worse match for Marjorie than the Duke of Fenworth.
She continued on her way through the kitchens and out into the yard. Beyond the gate, she took a long footpath that wound past the washing house and the storehouse to the stables. The path was seldom used and had become overgrown in places, but thankfully her boots were up to the task. She stumbled once or twice in them as they were much too big, but the heavy bottom and thick heel would do her well in the stirrups.
“Longer strides,” she reminded herself, keeping Diana’s coaching in her mind. “Drop your arms, swing them some, lead with the heel. Shoulders slumped, you’re no lady today!”
She laughed lightly and then shushed herself lest anyone hear her delicate voice. Diana had given her fits of laughter while correcting her stance and her gait. It had taken the better part of an hour before Marjorie could comport herself with even a passing resemblance to a male.
Worse was the task of undoing years of good manners. She was no highborn daughter today and must not act as such. A haughty tone and erect posture were required of a firstborn daughter to a marquess, but as a stable boy, she smelled too fair and wasn’t nearly filthy enough, despite the smears of soot Diana had applied to her face and clothes from the fireplace.
Marjorie reached the stable door from the side and peered in, looking for anyone who might call her out. Even Mr. Colin was to be avoided, simply because she had no intention of burdening him with her secret. If she should be found out, or worse, if she should be injured, it would be upon his head for not stopping her.
“Whoa there boy, it is only me,” Marjorie said in a soft voice when Valiant kicked at his stall door. At the sound of her voice, he calmed. “Are you ready to go for a ride?”
There was no time for his bucket of oats, she had to trust that he’d eaten well that morning. Instead, she hurried to saddle him and put his bit in place, then positioned his bridle securely. She left the reins dangling from his tack while she opened the great door, then hurried to lead him outside.
Keeping her head down under the brim of the cap until she was well away from the stable door, Marjorie flung the reins over Valiant’s head, put her left foot in the stirrup, and pulled herself up over the saddle. She kept the horse to a trot as they turned away from the stables, forcing herself to keep it slow to avoid catching anyone’s eye. As they neared the hedgerow the followed to the main road, she allowed Valiant to gallop at a faster clip.
It was only once she reached the road that she urged Valiant into a full cantor, intent on making it to the local race on time.
Chapter 4
The afternoon sun hung over the dusty track like a beacon to all who placed their hopes on the horses. The queue to place a bet—from a meager shilling to a king’s ransom—wound around the entrance to the humble track. There were no viewing stands here, no terrace from which to view the rounds while enjoying a brandy or cigar. This was a place of vagabonds and ruffians, one without a single female in attendance, let alone a young lady of refinement and nobility.
This track served one purpose: to take the savings from the unlucky and to dole out a small measure of hope to those whom fortune cared for that day. In between, there were riders and owners to compensate from the wealth the unlucky had lost.
Marjorie had dismounted as soon as the racing fields had come into view, wanting Valiant to be well rested and not wishing to draw suspicion. She felt as though everyone was staring at the newcomer, but quickly realized she was not the one who’d drawn their attention.
The men waiting in line were sizing up Valiant, judging the length of his strong legs and the rippling chords of muscle in his long neck. They gaped at the shine of his coat, the sleek brush of his mane. In short, they were gauging his fitness for its ability to make them a fair amount richer that day.
She led her horse to the stablemaster, a foul-smelling man who cared little for his own appearance and even less for that of the horses he tended, and inquired. “Good sir,” she began before remembering to rough up her voice and drop her diction, “where can a bloke sign up for the race?”
“So you’re throwing your hat in with this lot?” he asked, ignoring the rider to look Valiant over carefully. There was a brief flash of appreciation in his eyes. “Where’d ya steal such a fine animal?”
“Tis me own horse,” she insisted, looking away.
“And who wouldja have ride him?”
“I’ll be ridin’ him meself.”
