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Regardless, she would not permit him to ruin this glorious day.

Little dust clouds kicked up here and there as all manner of vehicles lumbered about, searching for a place to deposit their occupants or to park. Hawkers called their wares from crude, temporary booths set up along the perimeter of the makeshift lane.

She perked up and squinted at a stand.

Was that toffee?

Sophronie made a mental note to purchase the delicious confection before she left. She readily admitted she had a sweet tooth, but only for specific treats. Topping the list were toffee, pralines, and sweet potato pie. Just thinking about the desserts made her mouth water, despite her hearty breakfast.

Perhaps she’d purchase the toffee straightaway, lest the merchant sell out quickly.

A quartet of lads ran by, laughing and hollering. A brown dog of indeterminable breeding yapped at their heels.

The air fairly tingled with excitement and expectation.

After a rather tipsy gentleman doffed his hat at her, Sophronie drew back into the shadow of the coach’s interior. Even she wasn’t unwise enough to encourage a tippler’s foxed attention.

Unsurprisingly, none of the racehorses were visible amid the congestion of conveyances and crowd of spectators. She slid a glance to her father, tranquil with ankles crossed and hands folded upon his stomach.

His gray-peppered mustache quivered as he attempted to appear solemn.

“We’re not here to buy horses, Roni,” Papa reminded her again, using his pet name for her.

Grinning, she cocked her head as she pulled her gloves up. “Unless, of course, you see an animal you cannot resist.”

“No. Not this time, my dear.” Shaking his head, he chuckled. “I came at Waycross’s behest.”

That brought Sophronie up short. She paused in adjusting her embroidered green satin gloves. “The Duke of Waycross?”

Why hadn’t he said as much before?

Probably because he knew she’d object.

Papa merely lifted a satirical eyebrow. “I’m not acquainted with any other gentleman of that name. Are you?”

He well knew she wasn’t.

She tried not to sound as flummoxed as she felt. “He sought your opinion?”

And not hers?

Well, why should he have done? After all. She was a woman, and “women have nae place raisin’ horseflesh or imposin’ themselves upon male pursuits.”

She’d heard Waycross angrily mutter those very words and hadn’t a doubt he’d meant for her to overhear him.

The coach groaned to a rocking halt.

“Yes, he did.” Papa straightened and adjusted his hat. He looked rather dapper. He was still a handsome man, but he’d shown no interest in remarrying after Mama's death. “He has his eye on two horses and wanted my opinion as to which would be the better stud.”

“Oh.”

Disappointment engulfed the coach, muting Sophronie’s earlier exuberance.

That meant she would indeed see Waycross today.

They would quarrel.

It was inevitable as water running downhill toward the sea.