“My mother is not an admirer of Mrs. Worthington’s, and their feud wasn’t helped by your prank at Christmas with Miss Bradshaw. My mother felt her own reputation was injured by that.”
“I am sorry. But Felicity must make her debut. Is there anything I can do to help her?”
Simon turns his wicked gaze to me, and a blush rises on my neck. “Leave well enough alone.”
“I can’t,” I plead.
Simon nods, considering. “Then you shall have to secure Lady Markham’s affections. Tell Felicity to charm the old bat and her son, Horace, as well. That should win the day—and her inheritance. Yes,” he says, seeing my expression, “I know she must make her debut in order to claim her fortune. Everyone does. And there are plenty in London who’d rather see the brash Felicity Worthington under her father’s control.”
Down at the far end of Ladies’ Mile, the horsewomen are at the line. They sit tall in their saddles, the picture of restraint and elegance, while their blindered horses snort and prance. They are ready to run, to show what they can do.
“It is good to see you, Gemma.” Simon brushes my arm ever so slightly. “I have wondered how you were, if you still had the false-bottom box I gave you, and if you still kept your secrets locked inside it.”
“I still have it,” I say.
“The mysterious Gemma Doyle.”
“And does Miss Fairchild possess secrets?” I ask.
He glances down the path, where Lucy Fairchild sits tall on her mount. “She is…untroubled.”
Untroubled. Carefree. There is no dark lining to her soul.
The hand comes down. The horses are running. They kick up a dust storm along the path, but the dust cannot hide the naked ambition on the riders’ faces, the ferociousness in their eyes. They mean to win. Lucy Fairchild’s horse crosses the line first. Simon rushes to congratulate her. Fresh from battle, Lucy’s face is dusty. Her eyes blaze. It doubles her beauty. But upon seeing Simon, she quickly sheds her fierceness; her expression settles into one of sweet shyness as she strokes her horse’s neck gently. Simon offers to help her down, and though she could easily dismount on her own, she lets him. It is a pas de deux they seem to execute flawlessly.
“Congratulations,” I say, offering my hand.
“Miss Doyle, may I present Miss Lucy Fairchild of Chicago, Illinois.”
“How do you do?” I manage to say. I search her face for faults but find none. She’s a true rose.
“Miss Doyle,” she says sweetly. “How very nice it is to meet a friend of Simon’s.”
Simon. His Christian name. “You ride beautifully,” I offer.
She bows her head. “You’re too kind. I am only passable.”
“Gemma!” I’m relieved to see Felicity coming our way. She’s wearing a small velvet bonnet decorated with a cluster of silk flowers. It frames her face most agreeably.
“Here comes trouble,” Simon mutters through his smile.
Felicity greets me warmly. “Happy Easter! Wasn’t it an interminable sermon? Honestly, I can’t see why we have to bother with church at all. Hello, Simon,” she says, deliberately abandoning proper etiquette. “Jaunty hat. Did you take it from a bandstand?”
“Happy Easter, Miss Worthington. Tell me, when is Lady Markham to host a party in your honor, for I don’t believe I’ve heard my mother mention it?”
Felicity’s eyes blaze. “Soon, I’m sure.”
“Of course,” Simon says, smiling in triumph.
“Simon, I don’t believe you’ve introduced me to your dear companion,” Felicity purrs, turning the full glory of her charm on Lucy Fairchild.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Simon,” Lucy whispers, mortified.
I step in. “Felicity, this is Miss Lucy Fairchild. Miss Fairchild, may I present Miss Felicity Worthington.”
“How do you do?” Lucy offers her hand, and Felicity grasps it firmly.
“Miss Fairchild, how lovely to make your acquaintance. You simply must allow Miss Doyle and me to take proper care of you while you are in London. I’m sure Simon—Mr. Middleton—would want us to be true friends to you, wouldn’t you, Simon?”
“That is very kind,” Lucy Fairchild answers.
Felicity beams with her victory, and Simon gives a small nod in recognition of his defeat.
“Do be careful, Miss Fairchild. Accepting Miss Worthington’s ‘proper care’ is not unlike lying down with lions.”