Page 138 of A Shore Thing

“We rode together.” Muriel spoke up. Her stockings were black with mud, and as she swiped at her hair, she left a stripe of mud on her cheek. “I only went ahead after the accident, to fetch James—Dr. Raleigh.”

Deighton climbed to his feet. He’d lost his cap and a purple knot had formed above his left brow.

“Luckily, he has the heart and head of an ox,” Raleigh pronounced, rising as well. “But his collarbone is broken.”

“I don’t feel it,” muttered Deighton.

“How do you feel about losing the wager? Exchanging mounts and permitting women into your club?” Hawkings waited, pencil hovering.

“Don’t answer that.” Deighton Senior stormed over. “And you, Hawkings, for shame. Boys clowning isn’t a story. My son had you all on. He’s done with his club. It doesn’t exist anymore. He is going to lead Empire Tobacco’s operations in Scotland. Put that in your paper.”

“I am not done with my club,” said Deighton.

“What was that?” His father rumbled the question like a threat.

“I am not done with my club. I’ll go to Scotland, but I’ll cycle there.” Sweat stood out on Deighton’s face. “And eventually, I’ll open a Cycle Works. It’s my dream.”

“Your dream.” Deighton Senior looked disgusted. “Go to the house. You’re unfit for company.” When Deighton didn’t move, he seized his arm. Deighton ground his teeth together so hard Kit heard a crack.

He moved to intervene, but Raleigh got there first.

“Unhand my patient, sir,” he said crisply. “He has a serious fracture, and you are doing him harm.”

“I don’t feel it,” repeated Deighton, but his voice had gone threadbare.

Deighton Senior’s neck bulged, but he let go, glaring.

“What kind of bicycle will you manufacture in your works?” asked Hawkins. “High wheelers or safeties?”

“I will be guided by my knowledge of both the best bicycle models and the bicycle market.” Deighton was sweating copiously, but he managed to sound like a creditable version of his blowhard self. Which very nearly filled Kit’s heart with affectionate relief.

“Safeties, then?” prodded Hawkings.

“Time will tell.” Deighton frowned. “And for the record, our club already permits women. Mrs. Pendrake is a Mutton Wheeler.”

“A Muttonette,” offered Egg, trying to catch Hawkings’s eye.

“We voted her in at Porthtowan,” continued Deighton. “I wouldn’t call this losing, exactly. Her victory is our victory.”

Kit laughed. Deighton’s hard gaze swung to him, but when he realized Kit wasn’t laughing at him, his expression mellowed.

Deighton Senior had turned an alarming puce.

Raleigh thought it alarming too. “Take a deep breath.”

Deighton Senior did not. He pivoted and shoved through the crowd.

“All right, then.” Raleigh’s expression said good riddance. “Come with me.” He beckoned to Deighton. “Let’s see about your shoulder.”

Hawkings had begun peppering Muriel with his questions.

“Excuse me,” called Kit, and Hawkings glanced in his direction. So did everyone else. Kit smiled liberally in all directions. “I hate to interrupt, but I must borrow the champion.”

Muriel watched him approach, and when he reached her, he had to tense his muscles to keep from sweeping her into his arms. He took her elbow instead. “She deserves a toast.”

—

“I thought you’d be in London by now.” Muriel didn’t lean into him as they walked across the grass in pursuit of champagne. She was acutely aware of her filthy dress and filthier gloves, and of their altered relationship. He might not want her to press against him as intimately as before.