Simply Magic by Mary Balogh Page B

neither of them could stop giggling. Raycroft beat Dannen by a nose, a come-from-behind victory that resulted from a final, impressive burst of speed while Finn and Moss were only a boat length or so back. A few of the races were runaways by the winner—Miss Osbourne in her heat, for example, Peter in his. She beat Miss Calvert in the runoff ladies’ heat too, and he beat Edgecombe in the men’s, though only by half a boat length.
    And so everything came down to the final race and everyone without exception gathered on the bank even though the countess laughingly protested that they must all be half starved and would flatly refuse any further invitation to one of her entertainments. They would have tea, she promised, the moment a winner was determined.
    â€œI daresay it will not be Miss Osbourne,” Raycroft remarked cheerfully, but with a lamentable lack of either tact or gallantry.
    Miss Raycroft punched him on the arm and the other ladies’ voices were raised in collective indignation. Both Peter and Susanna Osbourne laughed. He grinned at her, and she looked back, bright-eyed and determined.
    She looked absurdly small and fragile to be taking on such a challenge. And quite irresistibly attractive too, by Jove. There
was
something attractive about an athletic woman, he thought in some surprise.
    The young ladies seemed uncertain whom they should champion. They solved the problem by clapping and jumping up and down and calling their encouragement indiscriminately to both contestants. Most of the older people were intent upon offering advice to Miss Osbourne, who was climbing into one of the boats with Edgecombe’s assistance. Most of the other men were unashamedly partial.
    â€œI say,” Moss called, “you had better win, Whitleaf. It would be a ghastly humiliation to us all if you did not.”
    â€œYou have the honor of our sex on your shoulders, Whitleaf,” Crossley agreed.
    â€œI think you had better not win, my lord,” the Reverend Birney advised. “Gentlemanly gallantry and all that.”
    But his suggestion was met by a burst of derision from the men and a chorus of indignant protest from the ladies.
    Susanna Osbourne took the oars and flexed her fingers about them.
    Everyone stood back, Edgecombe told them to take their marks, there were some urgent shushing noises, and then they were off.
    Peter grinned across at the other boat as soon as they had cleared the shore, but Miss Osbourne was concentrating upon setting her stroke. She had learned much during the past hour, he noticed. She had learned not to dip her oars too deeply into the water and thus impede her progress rather than help it. Now she was skimming along quite neatly with the minimum of effort. It was actually amazing what strength was in those small, fair-skinned arms. The brim of her straw bonnet fluttered in the breeze.
    He had not told anyone—and Raycroft had not divulged his secret—that he had been a member of the rowing team at Oxford. Even against the men he had not put out his finest effort. Now he kept his boat just ahead of Miss Osbourne’s as they approached the pavilion, the halfway mark. She maneuvered with only slight clumsiness as she turned her boat.
    There was a great deal of noise proceeding from the opposite bank, he could hear.
    Susanna Osbourne was laughing. She glanced across at him as she straightened out her boat for the return journey and he grinned back at her, pausing for a moment.
    â€œIf you dare to patronize me,” she called to him, “by allowing me to win, I shall never forgive you.”
    â€œAllow you to win?” He raised his eyebrows and waggled them at her. “How would I ever live with the shame of losing to a woman?”
    He settled in to rowing just ahead of her again while the screams from the bank became fevered. He turned his head to grin at her again when the race was almost over, intending to put on a spurt and leave her at