An Event at Epsom by Marissa Doyle

Author:Marissa Doyle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2022-04-26T00:00:00+00:00

Early the next morning, Annabel, Maria, and Georgiana once again met for breakfast, this time in one of the inn’s private parlours. Annabel was glad it was not the one in which she and Quin had been last night: she would not have been able to pay attention if it were. Despite her tiredness—yesterday had been a long day—she had not slept well, between reliving the moments with Quin and the one afterward from her chamber window. Quin’s abrupt departure without acknowledging her had left her confused and apprehensive. Surely they would straighten it out when next they met, but still…

At least Georgiana was somewhat recovered from her shape-shifting exertions. She moved stiffly and sat ramrod-straight in her chair but was as incensed as she should have been at Annabel’s relation of the previous day’s events.

“So Sir Oswald will not only cheat at races, but cheat at horse trading, too,” she said after Annabel had finished.

“It is imperative that we stop him. But we must speak to Maharahnee—to Miss Broxley—before we do anything else,” Maria said. “And from what you say, Jem Salter does not leave her side.”

“I’ll wager it’s because he doesn’t trust Sir Oswald not to do something bad to her, even if she is his sister.” Annabel shuddered. “That man is unbalanced.”

“Georgiana, do you feel up to trying to speak with her again?” Maria asked.

“I suppose I could,” Georgiana sighed. “But how do we get to her if she is never alone?”

A knock sounded on the door, and Mrs. Bunwich bustled in. “I’ve a fresh pot of coffee for your ladyships,” she announced. “And there’s a man waiting in the tap room to speak with you, Lady Fellbridge.” Her eyes were sharp with curiosity.

“To me?” For an instant Annabel wondered if it were Quin. But Mrs. Bunwich would undoubtedly have mentioned if it were; there was no way that he would have been allowed to leave the room yesterday without her having learned his name and title. “Did he give his name?”

“Wouldn’t give it. He’s a banty little fellow—a jockey, I’d guess, and bald as a new-laid egg.” Mrs. Bunwich sniffed as she set down the coffee pot.

Bald as an egg? Annabel glanced at her companions. That could only be one person. “Send him in, please, Mrs. Bunwich! We very much wish to speak with him.”

Mrs. Bunwich sniffed again to communicate her opinion of countesses deigning to receive banty little fellows at breakfast and left. A moment later Jem Salter appeared in the doorway, holding his cap in both hands. When he saw Maria and Georgiana, he stepped back a pace. “I need to talk to you, Lady Fellbridge. Not none of these other ladies.”

“Please come in, Salter.” Annabel gave him a reassuring smile but spoke firmly. “These other ladies know as much as I do about your and—er—Maharahnee’s difficult situation.”

At these words Jem Salter looked inclined to bolt, but Georgiana said, “Oh, come in and stop being so silly, Salter. We want to help Miss Broxley as much as you do.

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