As If It’s Real by Elizabeth L. Brooks
Edward was at the track, as Davis should have guessed he would be.
Edward did not crowd the railing, pounding and shouting and demanding a change in fortune like the poorly-shaven commoners; nor did he sit at the back with the aloof nobility, pretending ennui and allowing himself to be glimpsed. He stood in the swath between the two, his height serving well enough to let him watch the track over the heads of those before him. He was expressionless, of course, but the set of his shoulders, the slight angle of his torso, betrayed intense interest.
A horse crossed the line. A heartbeat later, two more thundered across, and with a collective sigh, the crowd at the railing broke apart, its noise ebbing briefly and then swelling into another crescendo. E
