first.”
Christy was tired of saying no. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers to hide his impatience. “Listen, Geoffrey—”
“Why don’t you make it a more interesting wager?” Anne put in unexpectedly. They both looked at her in surprise. She was curled up in the window seat with her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold. She hadn’t uttered a word in half an hour.
“How do you mean?” Christy asked.
“If you win, Geoffrey has to pay a hundred pounds to the charity of your choice.”
“Ha!” Geoffrey exclaimed, moving toward her.
Christy asked, “And if I lose?”
She touched a fingertip to her lips; she was either thinking or disguising a smile. “If you lose, you have to preach a sermon next Sunday on the evils of gambling.”
Geoffrey roared with laughter, slapping his thigh. “Perfect! Oh, God! What do you say? Come on, Christy, you can’t say no, it’s for charity!”
Anne was watching him. Her suggestion was outrageous. Was she laughing at him again? Impossible to tell. The arch playfulness in her face, an expression he’d never seen and had never expected to see, finally decided him. “All right,” he said. “We’ll race.”
“Oh, capital!” To celebrate, Geoffrey poured himself a tall glass of port and drank it down without a pause. “When?” he demanded, wiping his mouth with his hand.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday. I have a wedding at noon; I can’t get free till three or so.”
“Half past three?”
“All right. Where?”
“Why not the old route? From the Hall through the park, to Guelder mine and back. What do you say?”
Dismayed, Christy considered reneging. Geoffrey could hardly have chosen a more public race course, and he’d been hoping for some privacy, or at least a little discretion.
Oh, well
, he thought, resigned to it;
in for a penny, in for a pound
. “Right, then, I’ll come at three-thirty.” He stood up. “It’s late—”
“No! It’s only ten, it’s—”
“It’s late for me,” he amended. “I’ve enjoyed myself very much. Thank you for dinner.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” Geoffrey offered. Anne stood, too.
“Good-bye,” Christy said to her. He wanted to shake hands, but she was too far away, and she made no move to come closer.
“Good night. I’m glad you came.” She hesitated, looking as if she had something else to say. But then Geoffrey threw an arm around Christy’s shoulders and guided him out the door.
VII
T HE M AY AFTERNOON was warm and cloudy; it might rain later, but right now it was a perfect day for racing—dry underfoot and overcast above. A fast day, as they used to say. Still did, for all Christy knew; he’d been out of the racing world for years.
He was trotting his horse past the east front of Lynton Hall, making for the stables, when he chanced to spy Anne through the arched entrance to the courtyard. She saw him at the same time and waved. He turned his horse, ducked his head in the archway, and rode toward her.
She looked as fresh as the spring in a blue frock, flower-sprigged, with a pretty white apron. Her hands were dirty; she’d been weeding or planting something by the chapel wall. Smiling a greeting, she wiped her hands on her apron, tossing her head to throw a stray lock of hair back from her forehead. “Good afternoon, Vicar.” She looked surprised to see him in his boots and buckskins, without a jacket, not even a collar for his oldest white shirt. “How was your wedding?”
“Very fine,” he answered, pulling oft his hat. “Everyone wept except the bride.”
“Indeed!” she said with mock wonder. “And she the one with the most cause for weeping. Tell me, Reverend, do you think they’ll live happily ever after?” Despite her light tone, the question was loaded with cynicism.
He answered mildly, “I pray they will.”
She flared her nostrils a bit at that, but made no reply. Moving closer, she reached up to pet the horse’s neck. “What a
Christy was tired of saying no. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers to hide his impatience. “Listen, Geoffrey—”
“Why don’t you make it a more interesting wager?” Anne put in unexpectedly. They both looked at her in surprise. She was curled up in the window seat with her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold. She hadn’t uttered a word in half an hour.
“How do you mean?” Christy asked.
“If you win, Geoffrey has to pay a hundred pounds to the charity of your choice.”
“Ha!” Geoffrey exclaimed, moving toward her.
Christy asked, “And if I lose?”
She touched a fingertip to her lips; she was either thinking or disguising a smile. “If you lose, you have to preach a sermon next Sunday on the evils of gambling.”
Geoffrey roared with laughter, slapping his thigh. “Perfect! Oh, God! What do you say? Come on, Christy, you can’t say no, it’s for charity!”
Anne was watching him. Her suggestion was outrageous. Was she laughing at him again? Impossible to tell. The arch playfulness in her face, an expression he’d never seen and had never expected to see, finally decided him. “All right,” he said. “We’ll race.”
“Oh, capital!” To celebrate, Geoffrey poured himself a tall glass of port and drank it down without a pause. “When?” he demanded, wiping his mouth with his hand.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday. I have a wedding at noon; I can’t get free till three or so.”
“Half past three?”
“All right. Where?”
“Why not the old route? From the Hall through the park, to Guelder mine and back. What do you say?”
Dismayed, Christy considered reneging. Geoffrey could hardly have chosen a more public race course, and he’d been hoping for some privacy, or at least a little discretion.
Oh, well
, he thought, resigned to it;
in for a penny, in for a pound
. “Right, then, I’ll come at three-thirty.” He stood up. “It’s late—”
“No! It’s only ten, it’s—”
“It’s late for me,” he amended. “I’ve enjoyed myself very much. Thank you for dinner.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” Geoffrey offered. Anne stood, too.
“Good-bye,” Christy said to her. He wanted to shake hands, but she was too far away, and she made no move to come closer.
“Good night. I’m glad you came.” She hesitated, looking as if she had something else to say. But then Geoffrey threw an arm around Christy’s shoulders and guided him out the door.
VII
T HE M AY AFTERNOON was warm and cloudy; it might rain later, but right now it was a perfect day for racing—dry underfoot and overcast above. A fast day, as they used to say. Still did, for all Christy knew; he’d been out of the racing world for years.
He was trotting his horse past the east front of Lynton Hall, making for the stables, when he chanced to spy Anne through the arched entrance to the courtyard. She saw him at the same time and waved. He turned his horse, ducked his head in the archway, and rode toward her.
She looked as fresh as the spring in a blue frock, flower-sprigged, with a pretty white apron. Her hands were dirty; she’d been weeding or planting something by the chapel wall. Smiling a greeting, she wiped her hands on her apron, tossing her head to throw a stray lock of hair back from her forehead. “Good afternoon, Vicar.” She looked surprised to see him in his boots and buckskins, without a jacket, not even a collar for his oldest white shirt. “How was your wedding?”
“Very fine,” he answered, pulling oft his hat. “Everyone wept except the bride.”
“Indeed!” she said with mock wonder. “And she the one with the most cause for weeping. Tell me, Reverend, do you think they’ll live happily ever after?” Despite her light tone, the question was loaded with cynicism.
He answered mildly, “I pray they will.”
She flared her nostrils a bit at that, but made no reply. Moving closer, she reached up to pet the horse’s neck. “What a
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