{"product_id":"the-valentine-legacy-isbn-9780515118360","title":"The Valentine Legacy","description":"\u003cb\u003eWhen an intrepid horsewoman finds herself on the road to ruin, her longtime nemesis may be her only hope in this Regency romance in the Legacy Trilogy by #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author Catherine Coulter.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHorse racing is a down and dirty sport. James Wyndham, who owns racing stables in both England and America, meets his match in red-haired Jessie Warfield, a renowned hoyden and champion jockey who knows as many dirty racing tricks as James does. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen either wins a race, the other’s nose gets rubbed in the dirt. But when an innocent incident leads to her ruin in the eyes of society, it's Jessie who finds herself fleeing a losing battle—all the way to England.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJames is laden with guilt, but when he follows Jessie across the Atlantic to make things right, the woman he finds bears little resemblance to the spitfire he's known for so long....\u003cb\u003ePraise for the Legacy Trilogy \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Coulter is excellent at portraying the romantic tension between her heroes and heroines, and she manages to write explicitly but beautifully about sex as well as love.”—\u003ci\u003eMilwaukee Journal \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Entertaining reading with interesting and varied characters, historical local color, and a well-paced plot.”—\u003ci\u003eRocky Mountain News \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Marcus and the Duchess are sparring lovers worthy of Shakespeare’s Beatrice and Benedick...and their supporting cast is every bit as much fun.”—\u003ci\u003eDetroit Free Press\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Coulter’s characters quickly come alive and draw the reader into the story. You root for the good guys and hiss for the bad guys. When you have to put the book down for a while, you can hardly wait to get back and see what’s going on.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Sunday Oklahoman \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“There is murder, mystery, and sex in this engaging story...It’s hilarious at times, and in the usual good writing and intricate plotting style of Ms. Coulter.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Chattanooga Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Delightful...brimming with drama, sex, and colorful characters...Her witty dialogue and bawdy, eccentric characters add up to an engaging, fan-pleasing story.”—Publishers Weekly \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An unlikely, exuberant adventure.”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A cast of wonderful characters are part of this funny, lively, and occasionally mysterious story.”—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eCatherine Coulter\u003c\/b\u003e is the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the FBI Thrillers featuring husband and wife team Dillon Savich and Lacey Sherlock. She is also the author—with J. T. Ellison—of the Brit in the FBI series. She lives in Sausalito, California.NEAR BALTIMORE, MARYLAND\u003cp\u003eMARCH 1822\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSLAUGHTER COUNTY COURSE: SATURDAY RACES,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLAST RACE, ONE-HALF MILE\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHE WAS GOING to lose. He didn’t want to lose, dammit,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eparticularly to Jessie Warfield, that obnoxious brat. He could\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efeel Rialto just behind him: hooves pounding firm and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esteady on the black dirt, head stretched long, muscles hard\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand bunched. He looked over his left shoulder. Rialto was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecoming on faster than a man escaping from a woman’s bedchamber\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebefore her husband come through the door, and the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edamned five-year-old had more endurance than an energetic\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eman with four demanding wives.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames stretched as far as he could and pressed his face\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eas close as he could to Tinpin’s ear. He always talked to his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehorses before and during a race to gauge their moods. Goodnatured\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTinpin was always open to James. Tinpin, like most\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof his racehorses, was a fierce competitor; he had great\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eheart. The horse wanted to win as much as James did. The\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eonly time he was distracted from victory was when a jockey\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad slammed his riding crop on his side, sending him into\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea rage. He’d nearly killed that damned jockey and lost the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003erace in the process.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames felt old Tinpin’s labored breathing beneath him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe horse was more a quarter-mile sprinter than a half-miler\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eso Rialto had the advantage there, in both ability and ex-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eperience. This was only Tinpin’s second half-mile race.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames kicked his sides, telling Tinpin over and over that he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecould do it, that he could keep the lead over that miserable\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elittle chestnut, that he could kick Rialto—named after a silly\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eVenetian bridge—in the dirt. He had to make his move now\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eor it would be too late. James promised Tinpin an extra\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebucket of oats, a dollop of champagne in his water. The\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehorse gave a final burst of speed, but it wasn’t enough.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe lost—by only a length. Tinpin’s sides were heaving.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was blowing hard, his neck lathered. James walked him\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003earound, listening to the groans and cheers of the crowd. He\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estroked Tinpin’s wet neck, telling him he was a brave\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efighter, that he would have won if James hadn’t been riding\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehim. And he probably would have won, dammit, despite\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames’s reputed magic with his horses. Some claimed that\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames as good as carried some to his horses over the finish\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eline himself. Well, he hadn’t carried any horse anywhere\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethis day.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eActually he hadn’t even come in second after Rialto. He’d\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eplaced third, behind another chestnut thoroughbred from the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWarfield Stables, a four-year-old named Pearl Diver who\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad nosed past Tinpin at the last moment, his tail flicking\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eover James’s leg.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTinpin didn’t have much bottom, but then again this\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehadn’t been a four-mile flat race, it had just been a half-mile\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand bottom shouldn’t have mattered. What had mattered had\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebeen James’s extra weight. With a lighter rider on his back,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTinpin would have won. James cursed, slapping his riding\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecrop against his boot.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Hey, James, you lost me ten dollars. Curse you!’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames was leading Tinpin back to his stable lad, his head\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edown. He sloughed off his depression and smiled toward his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebrother-in-law, Gifford Poppleton, striding toward him like\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea civilized bull—short, powerful, but not an ounce of fat on\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehim. He liked Giff and had approved his marriage to his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esister, Ursula, the year before. ‘‘You can well afford it,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGiff,’’ he shouted back.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I can, but that’s not the point.’’ Gifford dropped into a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elong, lazy stride beside him. ‘‘You tried, James, but you’re\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ejust too damned big to be a jockey. Those other jockeys\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eweigh four stone less than you do. Fifty-something extra\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epounds make a lot of difference.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Bloody damn, Giff, you’re brilliant,’’ James said, striking\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea pose. ‘‘I wish I’d known. And here I thought only the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eexperts knew that.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Well, I know a lot of things,’’ Giff said, striking a pose.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I wish I’d known. And here I thought only the experts\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknew that.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘The brat weighs even less,’’ James said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘The brat? Oh, Jessie Warfield. That she does. Too bad\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eabout poor Redcoat breaking his leg in the second race. Now\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethere’s a jockey. You trained him well. What does he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eweigh? One hundred pounds?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Ninety pounds on a sunny day. Do you know how he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebroke his leg? Another jockey ran him into a tree.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘It hurt me to see it. You know, James, someone needs\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto make some rules about racing. All this mayhem is ridiculous.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI read about a race in Virginia where the favored\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehorse was poisoned the night before the race.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘It might be ridiculous,’’ James said, ‘‘and it might be\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eoccasionally dangerous, but it’s fun, Giff. Leave things be.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJust be careful whom you bet with.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘As if you cared. Hey, Oslow, how are you doing?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOslow Penny was the head of James’s breeding farm. On\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003erace days, though, he was the head stable lad who oversaw\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethe handling of all the horses to race at the meet. He was a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewalking oral history, at least that’s what James called him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe Maryland Jockey Club was beginning to agree. Oslow\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknew the direct line back, or the tail-male, of every horse\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat ran from South Carolina to New York. He also knew\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eevery current sire and every dam and every get from every\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eracehorse in America and Britain.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOslow approached them, muttering under his breath, and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egently removed Tinpin’s reins from James’s hand. He was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebowlegged, scrawny-looking, and had the most powerful\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehands James had ever seen. His face was weathered and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eseamed, his brown eyes as powerful with intelligence as his\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehands were with strength.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe squinted through the bright afternoon sun up at Gifford’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eface. ‘‘Good afternoon, sir. I’m doing as fine as Lilly\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLou did at the Virginia High Ebb races just last week. Better\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethan Mr. James, that’s for sure. Aye, and how are you doin’,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eboy? Winded, are you? Well, you did your best, did better\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethan Dour Keg, that knock-kneed creature old Wiggins still\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epersists in racing. Hell, I don’t even remember who his sire\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewas, that’s how bad he is.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Did you bet on Mr. James, Oslow?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Not I, Mr. Poppleton,’’ Oslow said, stroking a gnarled,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eveiny hand over Tinpin’s neck. ‘‘I would have if Redcoat\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad ridden him, poor lad, but not Mr. James. Mr. James has\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ejust growed too big, just like Little Nell, who ate her head\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eoff four years ago and couldn’t barely shuffle over the finish\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eline at the Dickey races in North Carolina, clean in last\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eplace.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGifford laughed. ‘‘You think I could have done better\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethan Mr. James?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOslow spat just beyond Tinpin’s shoulder. ‘‘Not with that\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epair of hands you got, Mr. Poppleton. Sorry, sir, but you’ve\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egot ham-hands, not like Mr. James, who has magic running\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eout the ends of his fingers into the horses.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Thank you, Oslow, for something,’’ James said. ‘‘Now,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGifford, let’s go see Ursula. I don’t suppose you brought\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCatherine Coulter 450\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eour mother with you?’’ He patted Tinpin’s neck as he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emoved away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘No, thank God. She tried to talk Ursula out of coming\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto this godless place.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames laughed. He was still grinning when he saw the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWarfield brat striding toward him, looking just like a boy,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estill wearing a riding hat with her violent red hair shoved\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eup under it. Her face was red from the hot sun. A line of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efreckles bloomed across her nose.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe didn’t want to stop, but he did. It was hard. He’d just\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eas soon ignore her for the rest of his days, but he was a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egentleman, dammit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Congratulations,’’ he said, trying to unclench his teeth.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe’d beaten him often since she was knock-kneed kid of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efourteen, but he still hated it. He never got used to it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJessie Warfield paid no attention to Gifford Poppleton,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epresident of the Union Bank of Baltimore, as she came toeto-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etoe with James and said, ‘‘You tried to shove me into\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat ditch on the second lap.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA dark blond eyebrow went up. ‘‘Did I now?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe came up onto her tiptoes, her nose an inch from his.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘You know you did. Don’t even consider lying, James. It\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewas close. If I weren’t such a bloody good rider, I would\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehave gone over the edge. But I didn’t. I came back and beat\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou—beat you but good.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘You certainly did,’’ he said easily, wanting to smack\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher. Some sportsmanship. She was a female. If she were a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emale, she’d know it wasn’t right to rub the loser’s nose in\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehis defeat. Although, he thought, when he next beat her, he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewas going to rub her entire face in the dirt.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Do you know your lips are chapped? Do you know I\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecan count your freckles from this distance?’’ he said, then\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘one, two, three—goodness, there are so damned many of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethem it would take me a week.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe backed up fast. ‘‘Don’t try it again, or I’ll take my\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eriding crop to you.’’ She licked her chapped lips, shook the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecrop in his face, nodded to Giff, and strode off.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGifford said, ‘‘It looked to me like you did nudge Tinpin\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003einto her horse, James.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Yes, but not hard enough. I just wanted to get her attention.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was nothing compared to what she did to me last\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyear at the June races in Hacklesford.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Well, what did she do, this fearsome girl?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I was crowding her just a bit, just to teach her a lesson.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe knows every dirty maneuver there is. Anyway, she\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epulled her horse away just enough so she could kick out at\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eme. She got me directly on the leg and sent me sprawling.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGifford laughed, thinking that James sure made the War-\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efield girl bristle something fierce. He asked even as he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewatched Jessie Warfield striding away from them, her riding\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecrop flicking up and down, up and down, ‘‘Did she win the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003erace?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘No, she came in last place. She lost her own balance\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewhen she kicked me and reeled into another horse. The two\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof them went off in a tangle. It would have been funny if I\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehadn’t been rolled into a ball on the ground, trying to protect\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy head from running horses.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Just look at her, Giff. She’s taller than any woman I\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknow, she looks men straight in the eye, and I wouldn’t\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknow she was a female watching her walk.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGiff wasn’t so sure about that, but he could understand\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames’s ire. He said mildly, ‘‘She rides very well.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘To give the brat her due, she does, dammit.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Who’s that with Ursula?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘It’s another Warfield daughter. There are three in all.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe eldest and the youngest are neither one a thing like the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebrat. Both of them are beautiful, stylish, and ladies, well,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eperhaps not entirely, but close enough for descriptive purposes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat’s Nelda, the eldest. She’s married to Bramen\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCarlysle, the shipping baron. Come along, you can meet her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI guess you haven’t met her because both daughters were in\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePhiladelphia with an aunt until just two months ago. Hell,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou were in Boston until last fall until the end of the January.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Bramen Carlysle? Good God, James, Carlysle’s older\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethan Fort McHenry. He fought in the Revolution. He was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epresent at Cornwallis’s surrender at Yorktown. He’s older\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethan dust. How old is this Nelda?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Maybe twenty-two.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGifford just snorted.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUrsula wasn’t happy. She sent a look toward her husband\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat offered substantial marital rewards if he would get rid\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof Nelda Carlysle.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGifford, with all the aplomb of a rich banker, which he\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewas, gallantly swept his hat from his head. ‘‘Mrs. Carlysle,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit’s a pleasure, ma’am, to finally meet you.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘And you, Mr. Poppleton. Ah, James. I’m so sorry about\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat last race. Jessie won but she didn’t deserve to, all the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eladies around me agreed. She’s an abomination. I’m sure\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFather will speak to her about it. So unladylike of her, so\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eembarrassing for the rest of us.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I’m sure your father will speak to her, Nelda. He’ll\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eprobably toast her with his best champagne. Ah, don’t be\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eembarrassed, she’s damned good. You should be singing her\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epraises.’’ God, he was a perverse bastard.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Surely not.’’ Nelda sighed, looking down at the toes of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher slippers. ‘‘She shouldn’t be good at such a manly pursuit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA jockey!’’ She actually shuddered. ‘‘I vow I can’t go\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto a ladies’ tea without—’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames, who privately thought Jessie should be flogged,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esaid, even more perversely, ‘‘She’s an excellent horsewoman.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSurely you can be a bit more tolerant, Nelda. She’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ejust different, that’s all.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Perhaps,’’ Nelda said, lightly touching her gloved fingers\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto his forearm. ‘‘You did well in the race.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Not as well as two of your father’s other racehorses.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘It’s just because you’re such a big man, James. You\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehaven’t come to visit me. Now that I’m an old married lady,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI am perhaps freer than I was when I wasn’t married.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUrsula cleared her throat. ‘‘Well, Nelda, do say hello to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBramen. We must return home ourselves now. My mother\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eis staying with us until Monday.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis mother-in-law. Gifford would have preferred to remain\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eout until midnight. His mother-in-law, Wilhelmina,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eknew no equal. James, in deference to his own sanity, had\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emoved his mother out of his house at Marathon and into a\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003echarming redbrick town house in German Square near the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecenter of Baltimore some two years before. She visited Ursula\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eand Gifford at their home not a mile away in the elegant\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003efour-story terrace on St. Paul Street, claiming that her own\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etiny dwelling depressed her spirits from time to time. However,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshe complained every minute she was in her daughter’s\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehouse.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNelda showed no signs of moving on. She edged closer\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto James. ‘‘Surely dear Wilhelmina can wait for just a bit\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elonger. James, my dear husband tells me you’re going to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003estay in Baltimore forever now.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I have no plans to return to England anytime this year,’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames said. ‘‘Candlethorpe, my stud farm in Yorkshire, is\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ein good hands. Marathon, on the other hand, needs a lot of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ework and attention.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Marathon?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I named my stud farm in honor of that ancient Greek\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewho ran his heart out getting to Athens to tell of their victory\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCatherine Coulter 454\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eat Marathon against the Persians. If he’d only had one of\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emy horses, he wouldn’t have fallen down dead after he’d\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egiven his news.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Oh,’’ Nelda said. ‘‘You should pick another name,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames, perhaps something more stately, more easily recognized.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMarathon sounds foreign.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘It is foreign,’’ Ursula said. ‘‘Perhaps even nasty.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Oh,’’ Nelda said suddenly, waving. ‘‘There’re Alice and\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAllen Belmonde. Over here, Alice!’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames stiffened. He looked at Giff, who winked at him,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esaying, ‘‘Good day, Alice. You’re looking lovely. Belmonde,’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehe added, nodding to the man who had married\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAlice for her money and was now trying to spend as much\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eof it as Alice’s father would release, which, thankfully,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewasn’t all that much a year. He wanted to make money\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eracing, something, James knew, that was just about as tough\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eas marrying a rich girl, which he had managed to do. He’d\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad one horse race today. The thoroughbred had come in\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esixth out of a field of ten. He looked up when Allen Belmonde\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esaid to him, ‘‘I want Sober John to cover one of my\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emares, Sweet Susie. Your price is stiff, Wyndham, but perhaps\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eit’s worth it.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘p to you,’’ James said easily, then said to Alice, ‘‘I\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elike your bonnet. Pink becomes you.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe flushed, something that she managed to do as if on\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecommand. It quite amazed him. But he wanted to tell her it\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ewasn’t all that effective, at least on him. But he liked Alice,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehad known her since she was born. So he just smiled when\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshe said, ‘‘You’re so nice to me, James, and I’m sorry you\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003elost, but I’m glad Jessie won. Isn’t she wonderful? I was\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ejust telling Nelda how very much I admire Jessie. She does\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eexactly what she wants without being bound by all the endless\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003erules.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Rules are to keep ladies protected,’’ Allen Belmonde\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esaid as he patted his wife’s shoulder. It wasn’t all that gentle\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ea pat, James saw when Alice winced. ‘‘Ladies shouldn’t\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecomplain about rules.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Yes, well, Jessie will do as she pleases,’’ Ursula said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Come along, James, we really must be leaving now. Nelda,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eour regards to your husband. Alice, you and Allen enjoy the\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003erest of the day. We will see you in church tomorrow.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames grinned down at Nelda, who’d taken a step closer\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto him. ‘‘I smell like a horse, so you’d best keep your distance.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf you see your father, tell him I’ll be at his stables\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003etonight with a bottle of his favorite claret, though I’m sure\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ehe’s already counting on it. He can gloat all he wants.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘You and my father still drink together?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Whenever I beat him, he rides to Marathon, bringing\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eme champagne.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Why then,’’ Alice said, ‘‘you should bring the claret to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJessie. She’s the one who beat you, not her father.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘It’s his stable,’’ James said, wishing the brat were here\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eso he could count her freckles again. That got her mouth\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eshut quickly enough.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘I’ll tell my mother,’’ Nelda said. ‘‘I don’t often see Father\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eanymore. As for Jessie, well, why would I want to see\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher? She’s so very odd, you know. I do disagree with Alice,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ebut she doesn’t mind that I do. Ladies need rules. It makes\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecivilization, well, more civilized. We do need you charming\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003egentlemen to protect us, to guide us, to tell us how to go\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eon, to—’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘That’s really enough of a list,’’ Ursula said, squeezing\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eher husband’s arm in impatience.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJames, who thought Jessie that most unnatural of females,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esaid quickly, ‘‘She’s not at all odd, Nelda. And she’s your\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esister.’’ He turned to Giff. ‘‘I’ll see both of you tomorrow.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘You’ll see Mother, too,’’ Ursula said, her voice as grave\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eas a nun’s, her eyes as wicked as a sinner’s.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e ‘‘There is that,’’ James said, then gave them all a cocky\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esmile, and strode off through the dwindling crowd.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Well,’’ Nelda Carlysle said, all bright as the afternoon\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003esun overhead, ‘‘I’ll be off, then. Ursula, I do hope to see\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eyou again soon now that we’re both married ladies. Perhaps\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI can visit you in town? I’ve finally convinced Mr. Carlysle\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethat a nice town house on George Street would be ever so\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003econvenient. That’s quite near to you, isn’t it?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Quite near,’’ Ursula said, and thought, I’ll move to Fells\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePoint if you come to town, Nelda. You could also be a bit\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003emore delicate about your overtures to my poor brother. Oh\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003edear, that would certainly be a brangle if Nelda managed\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eto get her hooks into James. No, my brother would never\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003epoach on a husband’s preserves.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUrsula and Giff watched Nelda lean down to speak to\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAlice, who was just a little bit of a thing, hand on her sleeve,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ethen give her a brief nod. She smiled up at Allen Belmonde,\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003enodding pleasantly, though to Ursula’s knowledge, Nelda\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ecouldn’t stand him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘What are you thinking, Urs?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘What? Oh, just that Fells Point is a lovely spot.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘Have you been there lately?’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e‘‘No, but it doesn’t matter, just believe me.’’\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300144795877,"sku":"NP9780515118360","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780515118360.jpg?v=1767742030","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-valentine-legacy-isbn-9780515118360","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}