Page 44 of Rival to Resist
“She be too fine a lady for sack racin’,” Jory said, clearly thinking this an insult rather than a compliment.
Caroline itched to prove him wrong, but that very genteel upbringing he was throwing in her face kept her from giving in.
She might not be able to race, but she would not hold her tongue, either. “And how doyouknow that fine ladies do notsack race?”
“Do they?” His challenging demeanor gave way to genuine curiosity.
Caroline pressed her lips together, wishing she could lie and say she counted sack racing amongst her accomplishments. “No.”
“What about fine gents?” Jory asked Mr. Yorke.
He smiled and shook his head, letting the sack he had been holding out for her drop to his side.
“This be your first time, then?”
“Yes, but I intend to beat you and Mrs. Penrose despite that.” His gaze shifted to Caroline. “And Lady Radcliffe, if she dares.”
There it was again—the unmasked provocation she wanted more than anything to rise to. She imagined herself hopping beside him, then shouldering him just as Jonathan Davies had done to Eliza.
She and Mr. Yorke came from the same world. Why should she not engage when he was? This was her village, after all, and her people. She hated to see Mr. Yorke squirming his way into their affection while she was obliged to sit primly watching.
Jory seemed to grow suddenly impatient of the conversation, and he hefted the sack he wore higher. “The race be about to begin.” And he hopped away to the starting line.
“Shall you come?” Eliza asked as she stood.
Mr. Yorke immediately held out the last sack again, a challenging glint in his eye.
What was it about him that made Caroline so desperate to throw caution to the wind and do the very thing he was trying to provoke her to do?
She rose and clasped her hands to keep them occupied since they itched to take the sack. “I shall cheer you on.”
Mr. Yorke studied her face for a moment, then retracted thesack, and the three of them walked toward the starting line Jory had redrawn in the sand.
Caroline helped Eliza into her sack, trying to ignore the hint of jealousy she felt.
“Join me,” Eliza pleaded, looking a bit like a child as she held the edges of the sack at her waist.
“I do not think my pride could bear it if I lost to Jory,” Caroline teased, though she glanced at the sack Mr. Yorke had dropped onto the sand as he situated himself in his own.
Eliza gave her a smiling grimace but was too kind to press her further. “I will try to win for both of us, then.” And with that, she hopped to the starting line.
Mr. Yorke glanced at Caroline, picked up the extra sack from the sand, and hopped over to her. He looked like a fool, and it delighted her.
“I am not joining, Mr. Yorke,” she insisted, as much to remind herself as him.
“I will give you a head start,” he offered with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“You shan’t provoke me into joining.”
His brow cocked. “Shall I not?”
“No.”
“What if I laid you odds?”
She lifted a shoulder, though inside, she burned with curiosity over what odds he would lay. “I am not a gambling woman.”
He did not respond immediately, simply watching her. “If you beat me,” he finally said, “I will surrender the election to Oswald.”
