Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Money, horse racing, and women: three things the boys just can't figure out.

—Will Rogers

V eronica imagined Mama's eyes popping wide open at the mention of the word racetrack , right along with her mouth. Before Mama could sputter a response, chairs scraped back from the table, and Veronica's sisters followed her out of the dining room, murmuring similar excuses. They clustered in the foyer, putting on hats they'd left at the hall tree. No need for one, though. She'd only lose it in the race.

"Where are we going, Veronica Jo?" Gladdie asked as she tied bonnet ribbons beneath her chin.

Before Veronica could answer, Edward's voice carried from the dining room. "Thank you for the delicious meal, Mrs. Lyndon. Rupert and I will join the young ladies and then catch up with you all on the tour of the farm."

Oh no! Must the New Yorkers follow them?

"As I said, the racetrack." Veronica swung the door open and stepped outside. The girls spilled onto the veranda. She stood there for a moment, breathing in the fresh air and releasing as much tension as possible. Sight of the mares grazing in a nearby corral gave her a sense of freedom. She had survived her duties, unscathed thus far. Surely, out here with a hundred places to hide, she could slip away unnoticed once their parents caught up to them for the tour.

Avoiding the trap of spending time with Edward remained high on her priority list. Hadn't he figured out how much she disliked the idea of this arranged marriage from her behavior in the dining room? If not, hadn't she at least proven she lacked the necessary etiquette for the kind of bride he needed?

Maybe the stakes for the race would prove it. Perhaps he would finally realize she and her sisters were entirely the wrong kind of females to present to his circle of refined society.

Edward and Rupert caught up to them, and the veranda became too crowded near the front door. Mother's containers of petunias, phlox, pansies, and snapdragons wafted in the air. It had paid off to plant them from seeds indoors, well in advance of the first signs of spring. They had fragrant blooms everywhere to enjoy, including the window boxes, where a few tender sweet potato vines draped amid the velvety petals. Too bad there was nothing poisonous planted that she could offer in a bouquet for her guests. It was unlike her to think such a thought, but she had been pushed beyond her limits. Even morbid humor kept her from unleashing her temper at this point.

She sighed and led them toward the stables.

"Remind me why we're going to the racetrack again." Delia finished tying the bow of her wide-brimmed straw hat to one side of her jaw and wore a questioning look, but she dutifully followed along.

"I remember." Gladdie laughed, taking the lead with a bounce in her step, looking pretty as a picture with the puffed sleeves and bodice of her fashionable white tea party dress, its periwinkle skirt matching the bow in her braid. Of course, Gladdie looked carefree. She wasn't being married off to a perfect stranger. "We're racing to decide who sits with Grandmother Spencer at the Phoenix Stakes. Whoever comes in last will have the honor."

"Yes, that's right. Because we know it's not an honor." Veronica picked up her pace to fall into step beside Gladdie lest she end up paired off with her tall and handsome guest. Bravo to Gladdie for clarifying the stakes. Had Edward heard their unladylike quest? Hopefully, he found the reason for their race completely inappropriate.

"It's not fair to race against Veronica Jo. She always wins," Delia complained, a pout appearing on her face.

"Not always ." Gladdie smirked. "Sometimes I win."

"You've won before, Delia." Veronica took her sister's arm, effectively closing out the handsome fellas behind.

She didn't care how handsome Edward J. Beckett appeared—she still would refuse him. Only because she'd received a very short and bland letter from him stating that he looked forward to getting to know her and bearing his signature did she know his middle initial was J . What did it stand for? Jonathon, Jared, Jason, or James, perhaps? James would be nice with a name like Edward, but what did she care about his middle name? In fact, she hadn't penned a reply because his letter had only arrived the day before his train did, and now she had no need to respond to it. Why encourage him? The dandies. He and his brother dressed so fine for a tour of their stables, they would surely decry a speck of dust messing up their fine suits.

"I don't win often enough. You always seem to choose the best horse in our stables to ride." Delia sighed, persistent in pouting.

"It goes with the territory when you're the oldest. If you'd stop hiding your nose in a book, you'd know which horses will beat my choices more often. Besides, it's not always the horse alone. Sometimes it's how you ride the horse, as Father has said many a time." Veronica elbowed Delia, hoping Edward saw her as less than refined in so doing. She looked forward to their race. A good race always took her mind off stressful situations, such as the fact her entire life might be falling apart before her very eyes.

"I suppose you're right." Delia checked her skirt. "Bother. I forgot my gloves. But I'll go ahead with the race because I don't cherish the duty of playing companion to Grandmother again. I sat with her through the Derby, and she had me fetching one thing after another."

"So it's decided. Whoever comes in third will sit with Grandmother on race day." Gladdie pulled two pairs of riding gloves from a pocket hidden in her skirt. "Here Delia, you may use my extra pair. And I don't mind sitting with her. I may lose on purpose. She makes me laugh, and she has an uncanny ability for predicting the winning horse."

"I'll give you that. Thank you for the gloves. Who are you planning to ride?" Delia asked Gladdie.

"You know I like Diamond Comet, and he likes me." Gladdie rolled her eyes at having to remind her sister which horse she preferred.

"But last week you liked Midnight Sunburst," Delia protested.

Couldn't they just hurry along and pick a horse and race so Veronica could get away from Edward? Then she would find a way to disappear from the tour and leave her sisters and parents to entertain their guests.

"That was last week. Which horse are you going to ride, Delia?" Gladdie pulled her elaborate braid over her shoulder as they passed the carriage house.

"I'll ride Silver Streak." Delia's lifted chin and firmed lips showed her competitive side.

Neither of them asked which horse Veronica would ride, nor would the groom or any of the stable hands. They all knew she would ride Gunpowder Fury, and their jockey and trainer would always let her—or any of the Lyndon daughters, for that matter—unless illness, injury, or a strict training regimen due to an upcoming race prohibited them.

"An excellent choice, Delia. He's beaten Gunpowder Fury several times." Veronica quickened the pace. If they didn't saddle up soon, she might burst. She toyed with a plan to confront Edward and tell him she had no plans to marry him, especially since he insisted upon tagging along.

When the group neared the open horse barn, Edward circled around to face them. "We'd enjoy observing your race, ladies, if you'll pardon our intrusion."

Veronica bit her tongue. Couldn't Edward and Rupert take a hike? Plenty of trails existed at Velvet Brooks. She ought to point them in some other direction.

Gladdie tossed a sideways glance at Veronica and Delia. When neither offered a reply, she smiled pleasantly at the gentlemen on their behalf. "Sure, we don't mind."

Veronica certainly did mind, but she couldn't exactly say so, could she? Shrugging, she kept her eyes forward. "Whatever suits our guests is fine with me."

"Thank you. We're looking forward to your race," Rupert said as he caught up and adjusted his tweed English cap.

Edward offered a genuinely warm smile.

Before Veronica could kick herself for not being a little friendlier to their guests, Gladdie spun around to face them with a wide grin as they entered the barn, walking backward but leading them to the center of the barn. A mischievous look of excitement in her eyes, she asked, "And how far shall we conduct this race?"

"Hello, ladies. How are you all doing on this fine spring afternoon? Did I hear the mention of a race?" Carter Mitchell greeted them with a friendly expression. The rest of the staff in the horse barn ambled forward to see to their needs—except for Hank Parker, the farm's manager, who remained at his desk, always jotting down something or another about one of the horses into their records.

"One mile and a quarter, or a longer race of perhaps a mile and a half?" Delia rested her hands on her hips, looking from Veronica to Gladdie.

"We're fine, Carter. Thank you for asking." Although Veronica didn't feel fine in view of her predicament. She turned to answer Delia. "One mile and a quarter," she said firmly, stepping toward Gunpowder Fury's stall. "It's spring. You know as well as I, Delia, they're not ready to race for much longer after being cooped up most of the winter." She reached up and patted the stallion's nose, producing an apple slice she'd swiped from the luncheon out of her pocket. She held it out to him on the palm of her hand, and he nibbled it right up, nudging her hand for more. "I have more of these for you if you win today, my sweet friend."

"Will the gentlemen be riding today?" Carter nodded toward Edward and Rupert as they admired the horses in the stalls, each compartment bearing a metal engraved nameplate and generous piles of golden straw for bedding.

"No, not today, but thank you. We'll enjoy observing the ladies race for now." Edward spoke gently to one of their horses. The change in his tone from strong and confident in his reply to sweet and gentle with the horse caused Veronica to slowly turn toward him. She hadn't expected this from the city boy.

"No side saddles for us today, Carter," Veronica instructed.

"I know you ladies could race side saddle as well as any jockey, but I agree, it's safer to race on a regular seat." Carter liked a good race but always kept their safety in mind. The trainer for Velvet Brooks, Rutherford Brickman, whom they called "Red," brought a saddle over for Gunpowder Fury, and Veronica opened the stall for him.

"Thank you, Carter." Delia stood on the tips of her toes and patted Silver Streak's mane. "I'll ride this beauty today. He's looking a bit frisky and ready for some fun."

"A fine choice, Miss Delia." Carter grinned and headed toward the tack.

"That's far more bedding than we keep in our Charleston stables," Rupert commented in a quiet voice to his brother, pointing at one of the stalls in front of them. "See the way the straw is tufting? It fills almost half of each of these stalls. Must be a Kentucky thing."

Plenty of clean straw made for a more comfortable environment for their horses. A more comfortable environment meant better rest. Better rest meant healthier horses and better performance. For as long as Veronica could remember, Hank had always kept the stalls filled with more bedding than other horse farmers did, but her father said it constituted just one of many of their trade secrets.

Delia and Gladdie looked as though they would burst into giggles at overhearing the observation, but Veronica gave them a stern look in time to save their guests from embarrassment. Once she worked up the nerve to speak her mind to Edward J ., it would be hard enough on the man.

Come to think of it…why was she delaying? It was so obvious Edward did not belong here.

Veronica began putting on her riding gloves and stood as tall as her five-foot-two-inch frame would allow. "Just so you know…" She waited until Edward met her gaze to continue. "I appreciate the fact you and your family have come all this way, and I'll play along with the charade so we don't cause a scene with our parents, but I'm not for sale like one of my father's horses. There will be no wedding. You can relax and enjoy Velvet Brooks and all Kentucky has to offer."

Red brought Gunpowder Fury to her, saddled and ready to ride. Veronica accepted the lead and mounted her horse in a flurry of skirts and petticoats, settling into the seat.

All eyes and ears focused on them. Hank had abandoned writing his notes to lean in the doorway of his office, staring at them with an arched brow. Nathaniel Hartley, a burly, large-framed stable hand, stopped saddling Diamond Comet for Gladdie. Carter, taking his sweet time selecting a seat for Delia from the tack corner, looked their way, his mouth hanging open.

Edward had taken up a confident and relaxed stance, his hands in his pockets, one foot crossed over the other as he leaned against the stall near him. Did he exude a calm, aloof, indifferent, or arrogant demeanor? She couldn't tell, but something about him drew her attention. As she had done, he waited until Veronica's gaze met his from astride her horse. For the first time, she took in how blue his eyes looked, how tall and lean he appeared, possessing a sense of steadfastness and easy strength.

"I can't imagine your father would think he could succeed in making such a transaction. You are a woman of far greater value than a horse, and one who knows her own mind. I'm sure he has your best interests at heart, but he and my father are sidetracked with their own notions and motives. I can't imagine a lady like you happy anywhere but here."

The barn grew so quiet, everyone could surely hear her accelerated heartbeat as she tightened her hold on the reins. Gunpowder Fury flicked his tail and did a bit of a sidestep, his hooves clicking on the new cement floor Pa had ordered installed last spring, breaking the silence.

Maybe Edward could understand her position. Although she could have spoken privately to him, she had to live at Velvet Brooks amid the looks and whispers about Pa orchestrating her future as if she were a horse. And why let Edward have his hopes dashed if he intended to acquiesce to the arrangement?

He'd taken the high road in returning a compliment in the face of her declaration, but instead of him bristling at her statement, did he appear relieved to have the ice broken between them? She couldn't tell if Edward intended to pursue a courtship with her or not from his reply. Maybe he, too, felt cornered into compliance because of his father.

Either way, nothing more could be said now…given their attentive audience. She tilted up her head and clicked her tongue, urging the beautiful bay forward.

Once outside the barn in the warm sunlight, she tugged the reins gently to lead Gunpowder Fury toward the one-mile oval dirt racetrack her father had installed beyond the corral, a pricey endeavor. And one Veronica did not take for granted. She steered her horse to the starting line and patted his neck. Thankfully, she'd have a chance to recover from the exchange with Edward while waiting for her sisters.

Charlie Ford, their jockey, leaned on the rail from the outer edge of the track as he talked to one of their other horses which would participate at one of the many races the day after tomorrow at the Phoenix Stakes. Judging by the way the rider grinned, the horse had just completed a successful run around the oval. Most jockeys had to train their racehorses at the Lexington track, but not Charlie.

No doubt, the jockey would hear about her announcement to Edward in the barn before the race with her sisters came to an end. News traveled fast at Velvet Brooks. So long as it didn't reach the ears of her parents, she didn't care.

How could her father ever think she would find any happiness at all in marrying a stranger from New York high society? She had imagined living out her days at Velvet Brooks, eventually marrying someone who appreciated horses as much as she did—when love came her way through an encounter of God's perfect timing.

She had to give Edward some credit, though. Not only did his remarks convey a talent for diplomacy, but his response seemed on target. Their fathers had notions and motives, indeed, and they had overlooked her wishes, and likely Edward's too.

Still, it would take more than a compliment and good looks to win her heart. If he didn't know it before, he knew it now.