The Race

By Lexi Ostrow

When all your hopes begin in the sky.

 

The world is not what it once was, but Rose cannot seem to convince her mother of that. Steam powered airships, mechanical carriages, and a far less constricting type of fashion are not enough to free Rose from her mother's hand. Headed toward London and a suitor she's never met, all Rose wants to do is captain the airship her father left her upon his death. While not impossible in the new world order, it's certainly not fathomable to her antiquated mother. In order to live her dream, Rose will have to take matters into her own hands.

 

Two tragedies left Wyatt nearly destitute and an emotional rogue. When he hears of the big race that could win him a title and land, he's ready to push life savings on the line. Unfortunately, he had no ship of his own and no way to enter, until he meets the beautiful Rose.

 

Their only hope of seeing both their dreams become a reality is each other. From London to Paris and more, the duo must trust in one another if they are to win the race. Trust comes with quite a cost as adventure can easily turn deadly and losing the race isn't all they have to worry about.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lexi Ostrow
• Release date: Mar 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201185664

Lexi Ostrow

USA Today Bestselling Author Lexi Ostrow has been in love with the written word since second grade when her librarian started a writing club. Born in sunny southern California she's spent time in various places across the country thanks to her husband's USCG career. Now, she's also mom to a far too adorable toddler, and a menagerie of pets, spinning fantastical worlds whenever she gets the opportunity. Lexi has been a writer ever since the second grade in some form or another. Getting her degree in creative writing and her master's in journalism she couldn't wait to get a chance to put her fantasies down on paper.  From paranormal romance to thriller there isn't a genre she doesn't love to spend her time reading or writing. With her BA in creative writing from UCR and her MA in multi-media Journalism from Emerson College, she's ready to take on the literary world one novel at a time. Reading and writing are her first loves, but her passion for shopping, love for yummy food and her love for all her many pets are not far behind. Lexi is an enthusiast Whovian and DC Comic Show lover who isn't afraid to talk someone's ear off about them. She hopes to one day help other readers fall in love with writing as she did.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

"G ood heavens, Rose! Have you lost all sense of propriety?" Rose’s mother shrieked at her.

Releasing a sigh, Rose stepped back from the airship window, away from the brilliant view of London. She watched her reflection the small glass provided. Her strawberry hued hair was pulled tightly into a chignon, so tight, in fact, Rose could see the tension in her cheeks. Her amber eyes shone with hurt, and Rose quickly turned her gaze from the window to look at her mother.

Ada Florham was likely one of the last true society women in London. With her tufted skirts and puffy sleeves, it was a wonder her mother even dared to come aboard an airship. Ever since the revolution, things had been different, but not for Rose’s mother.

Not for Ada Florham.

Mother, I honestly do not think there is any harm in entering an airship race as my own captain. Nearly fifteen years have passed since women were granted rights to take to the sky. Sooner or later, one of us is going to wish to fly. It’s not as if it’s 1850 any longer. Rose’s words carried a childlike wistfulness as she spoke of her greatest dream—to fly.

Her father, Allston Florham, rest his soul, had been one of the top commanders in His Majesty’s Airship Fleet. She remembered being a young girl and standing next to him as he steered his mighty ship, the same ship they presently rode in. Rose had fallen in love with the world above the clouds from the very first moment. There was something utterly unexplainable about the vibrant colors from so high up. Something about the way the clouds were much thinner, and how she felt a sense of peace when she was in the air. Rose had these thoughts since she turned ten and the world lifted the ban on women fliers. She’d dreamed of becoming captain of her father’s ship. Her mother had drastically different ideals. Ideals that included a husband and children to care for. Not that Rose didn’t want such things, she just wanted to fly first.

Her mother snorted and wiped at the corner of her mouth with a stark white kerchief. "Just because things are not as they once were does not mean you need to change them further. This is not up for discussion, Rose. We will hire a man to captain The Foggy Storm in the king’s race should we agree to enter."

Rose had heard her mother’s no nonsense tone plenty, but was unready to give up just yet. She opened her mouth to interject, but her mother simply held up a finger and turned back to her tea time. Frowning, Rose turned back to the small window and looked at the city below her. Tall buildings, smoke in the sky, and, of course, a dozen or so other airships alongside of them filled her vision. So very different from the London, or world, her mother had grown up in.

The Great Revolution was little more than a blur to Rose. She was not much older than a tot when it began, but she did live through such an event. If she focused hard enough, she could conjure up images of what happened before a Canadian inventor stumbled upon steam power and the gifts that it brought. Horses trotted down the street, pulling their buggies behind them. Men and women dressed in great splendor tipped their hats and parasols. Children were seen and not heard. Now, though, great smokestacks lined the horizon, outfits were trimmer, more accustomed for the work people did now, and children oft ran amuck in the streets with parents letting them. More importantly, woman took on roles only men dared to have. Not all was open to the fairer sex, but much had been.

The Great Revolution was little more than a scientific endeavor, but it had forever changed their world.

Common citizens, nobility, and scientists alike overheard the Canadian’s presentation on how steam could create so much more than quicker trains and boats. Within months, inventions sprung up left and right, demolishing the old way of living and ushering in the new one. Thanks to steam they had mechanical horses pulling carriages far quicker than flesh and blood ones could, lines of wire that could communicate across large distances, lights inside of tiny glass bulbs that illuminated everything that could not be blown out, and of course, airships.

Ever since she could remember, Rose had wanted to fly an airship, but her mother was a traditionalist and despite the changes, she would not allow Rose to take up a servant’s job. Her father had only been allowed to captain a ship in her mother’s eyes because it was a royal position within the court, one that afforded them great luxuries. Twice, Rose snuck onboard since her father passed from fever and stood at the helm, dashing about as if she piloted the magnificent balloon through the sky. In her reality, it would never happen, but Rose liked to think people who dreamed hard enough would one day see their greatest desires before them.

Tentatively, Rose placed her hand against the glass window and let the cool from it seep into her thin, white, glove and chill her hands. Being up in the sky as a passenger was the closest she could get to flying, to freedom.

Reflecting on how terrible her life could become, Rose watched as the city floated serenely by, clouded in puffs of gray steam. Arranged marriages among the ton were not extinct, though they did not occur nearly as oft.

Her father was a general - one of the top commanders in the British monarchy’s army. He’d died fighting off angry protestors who wanted access to the newest technology after catching a fever bug one of the assailants carried. His position in the military left her mother rather wealthy—and refusing to wed again—which might be the only radical thing about her mother. It would also be the best if she would wed.

The wealth, and her father’s achievements, made Rose and her mother an important pair in their social class. She was to be wed to someone of a similar status to keep the king’s supporters near his side. There was also the matter of her family’s failing funds. Each year, the money trickled in less and less which made funds harder to keep. She had two younger brothers, both scarcely ready to begin their lives away from home, but both in the armed forces following in their father’s footsteps.

Which left Rose the sole responsibility for marrying well for some years to come.

Jules De Markiese, a staunch French Duke, was to be her husband and this fanciful airship trip would serve as their journey to his keep after a brief stay in London. Jules’s palace loomed ever closer in the distance, making her freedom one step nearer to disappearing. She’d never met the duke, but she was in no hurry too, either.

She’d heard of the great race sponsored by the king long before she’d heard of her betrothal. In truth, Rose only learned about Jules in the past three days as they’d journeyed to London. For much of the journey, she had simply been led to believe they were entering the fantastical race. Which they were—but with their captain no more than a hired hand from the local population, and while Rose was stuck in courtship with a man she no doubt would not have any attraction too. It was not that she had anything against the French, or men even, simply that they were oft swell headed and uninterested in anything the ladies of the revolution would desire—like flying an airship. They were useful for pleasure, but rarely much else in Rose’s opinion.

At twenty and five, she was no more prepared to be trapped in a marriage than she had been four years prior. She’d managed to appeal to her mother’s upbringing and had asked to attend University before being wed, something rarely done now that citizens of all classes could enroll. Her mother had a fondness for good breeding and intelligence, so she’d allowed it. With Rose’s degree in classics proudly displayed in the library back at their estate, Rose was out of delay tactics.

Out of a chance.

Rose, she heard her mother snap, do come away from that window. We can’t have the Court seeing you pressed against it like a child as we descend.

With a sigh, Rose took in one last look at the gallant display beneath them and pulled her hand off the window. Yes, Mother, she said exasperatedly and retreated to the white settee next to where Ada sat, her dreams vanishing in a puff of steam.

---

Wyatt rubbed his eyes vigorously and blinked away the black dots before looking upon the flyer in his hands once more. Bloody hell. I did read that right, he said with a smirk as he took a sip of his ale.

Tipping the tankard back, Wyatt’s eyes re-scanned the page. The king offered land and title to any man, woman, or team who won an upcoming airship race. Wyatt dreamed about moving into the lofty upper class all his life—not that being a merchant was a terrible trade. It was simply not as lucrative as owning one’s ship and reveling in the riches the trade routes brought in. Not that he could complain, without The Great Revolution he would still be naught more than a pirate, or executed for his piracy. His skill on a boat had only come to light when he’d been forcefully taken on board one as a young lad. When he’d scarcely turned ten and nine, he’d been shifted to airship crew and never looked back to his days bobbing about the waves. Turned out he liked the sky far more.

Wyatt loved the skies more than just for the riches owning one’s ship brought as opposed to merely captaining one. It offered freedom and serenity. Freedom from the bonds down below and the serenity to lose oneself in the clouds.

All he coveted above that was protecting what was his. Wyatt’s family had been slaughtered while he had been thousands of miles away delivering goods. He would never forget the way the hair on his skin stood on end as he read the telegraph his captain gave to him. A standard robbery claimed the life of his beautiful Sophia and son, Robert. He’d crashed to the planked floor. Sound had become non existent, and he’d demanded to be taken back to London.

He wished he hadn’t.

Wyatt found his home destroyed—lit on fire by the vandals—and the bloodstains from his family marred the ashy gray carpet like an angry slap. He’d slipped into the drink for the past three years and never looked back.

A chance at leaving his past behind certainly appealed to him.

I’d like land, title, and days of luxury a bloody lot more, Wyatt said to no one. He didn’t mean it, but he’d long ago found if he pretended he’d never lost his family, it hurt much less. This is your ticket, Old Boy. Time to get the Davies name into the social circles once more, time to get everything you’ve been struggling for.

Letting out a loud chuckle, Wyatt stood rather clumsily from the bench, almost knocking it over in his enthusiasm. All he had to do was get to the Royal Offices of the Court and pay the hundred gold schilling entrance fee. A fee that would mean his entire life savings at the moment, but it would be well worth it. Wyatt could captain a ship with more finesse than any airship bloke, even if he’d spent three years grounded. He was a quick study at everything he did, and living onboard a ship taught a man all he needed. Those skills didn’t fade.

Slipping his fingers into his mouth when he reached the roadside, Wyatt let out a shrill whistle. Moments later, the metallic clomping of hooves stopped before him. The towering metal stallion stood taller than any real horse and it moved twice as quick. Metal horses were also rather imposing, with eyeless sockets in their head and no sound beyond the hooves. However, the other option was the strange horseless carriages that ran on a mixture of gas and steam. Those were drastically out of his economic reach.

Wyatt personally couldn’t understand the appeal for the coachman of these vessels, other than having less to clean up after when a day’s work was done. He wasn’t a fan of this element of the Great Revolution, but the metal contraptions certain had as much use, if not more, than an airship. Taking the invention would be far quicker than walking, but would likely mean he had to go a day or two without food to afford it. Wyatt preferred the real beasts, preferred just that one tie to the past, but he certainly understood the allure of riding in such transport all the time. Wyatt grinned at the thought of arriving even faster and climbed into the carriage. He could miss a meal or two in exchange for a veritable fortune at his fingertips.

Where to, Sir? asked the coachman.

To the Royal Offices of the Court. I’ve got me a race to enter. Wyatt leaned into the plush, burgundy upholstery and tugged at his cravat as he spoke. He could feel the riches within his grasp and knew exactly what he would do with them. Despite falling into the trenches, Wyatt’s clothing remained from his days aboard the airship.

Ahh, one of them, then.

Wyatt didn’t feel the need to respond and simply watched as the coachman moved a lever next to his right hand and the two metal horses galloped off. The abrupt departure rattled Wyatt, and he was knocked further into the seat. Struggling to right himself, Wyatt didn’t miss the coachman’s smirk.

He’d never been inside of the steam powered carriages before and he had a feeling the coachman had done that on purpose. How else could the ton drive around in them without getting their dainty curls ruined?

The city whizzed by thanks to the rapid speed. The invented horses certainly moved as quickly as the steam powered boats and trains. Wyatt struggled for minutes to try to focus on the grand buildings, but by the time he was able to, the carriage rolled to a stop just outside the sprawling wrought iron gate of the Royal Offices of the Court.

Wyatt let out a low, awe filled whistle as he looked out the window and gazed upon the gate. It was easily twelve meters high with scrolling bars tipped in gold. The crest of the Great Revolution, not the crest of the King of Britain, was affixed at the center. The king was naught more than a figurehead now—one who traded ruling sessions with the kings of France, Germany, and Spain every few months. It occurred out of the Great Revolution in order to ensure that all nations help equally with the new life tools. Whether was invention or maintenance, the new world order sought to bring equality. Something that also made the King of Britain rather angry, so it made sense he wanted to give away the land and title to an Englishman, one more person in his court owning land made his position all the stronger when it was his turn to rule over the allied countries that had access to the steam powered tech.

That’ll be two gold schillings. The coachman turned back to Wyatt and grinned as he spoke the ride toll.

Wyatt barely refrained from commenting on the robbery of the ride cost. Reaching into his waistcoat’s top inner pocket, he pulled out a leathery pouch, one as large as his fist. Merchants carried their loot with them rather than leave it on their ships, and he was no different. Wyatt slipped his forefinger and thumb inside the small hole on the top and felt around until the coins were in his grasp. He would never look inside. Looking through coin was a surefire way to be beaten over the head and have it stolen while your guard was down.

Setting the fare in the coachman’s outstretched hand, Wyatt pushed open the carriage door. Stepping down, he nearly choked on the steam circling the air. He wasn’t used to being in the center of the industries anymore. Though the offices were royal, they were closer to the refineries than the palace, something he’d never understood. Still, Wyatt coughed once more before pushing onwards. He had a race to enter.

It took everything Wyatt had not to race toward the small booth that had the same race flyer he dropped in the tavern, tacked on it.

Stopping just on the other side of the building, Wyatt forced himself to breathe deeply. This race came with a lofty price tag, which meant it was not designed for the unrefined. If he was going to enter, he would have to appear a gentleman, not a wasted drunkard trying to slither his way out of a pit. He was lucky he’d worn a proper suit to the tavern. After he crawled out of his grief, Wyatt learned a wonderful way to bed women was to appear to have more than he did. Tugging at the sleeves, Wyatt ensured they properly covered his wrist and then straightened his bow tie. With naught more than a deep breath, he strolled around side the building and looked the man inside directly in the eye.

I’d like to enter. I have my schillings. Wyatt said as he pulled out the satchel once more, dropping it on the wooden countertop betwixt him and the clerk.

Wonderful. Whilst I count this, please fill out these registration forms for your airship. The man said and pushed a stack of paper at Wyatt.

My airship?

Yes, Sir. Did you not read the small script? The man leaned over the counter and stretched to the lower part of the booth to tap the bottom of the flyer tacked on the front.

Squinting, Wyatt read the script aloud. By manner of entry, each captain must provide his own ship. His gaze whipped up to the clerk’s. And if I do not have an airship?

Simple. You may not enter.

Bloody hell! Wyatt growled, and his balled fist struck into the wood. His eyes narrowed into slits. Is there naught that can be done? I have the funds.

Sir, if you do not have the necessary pieces, you may not enter. Please remove yourself or I will call upon Scotland Yard to do it.

With a huff, Wyatt turned away and grumbled. No bloody ship. How the bloody hell could anyone who needs land and title afford their own blasted airship?

I might be able to help you with that, Sir. For a price. 

Wyatt’s head whipped behind him at the words, and his jaw promptly fell open.

A woman stood hardly more than ten and twenty paces from him. A stunning woman at that. Her light reddish hair was pinned back, but long tendrils curled around her pinked cheeks, as if she had been running, and framed a delicate heart shaped face. It was her lips that called to him most, though—they were painted a very deep hue of red and enticing beyond belief. Her light brown eyes twinkled with mischief as his eyes connected with hers.

She was wealthy. It was evident from the straightness of her posture to the silk of the blue bustle skirt she wore. The only questionable thing about her was her light blue under bust corset—women with money rarely went with their shoulders and breasts on display, even in today’s world.

Just how might a lady be able to help a man with an airship race? he said with a smirk as he walked away from the booth toward her.

She scoffed, her eyes darkened a shade, and she turned away from him even as she spoke. Really, Sir, if that is to be your attitude, I should not wish to help after all.

Wyatt nearly felt the imagined bead of sweat form on his brow and slip down into his eye. He hadn’t realized he’d sucked in a breath until the dizziness from not breathing hit him. Slowly, he separated his lips, not wanting his panic to show to her. The registration ended in two evenings, which left him with very little time to secure a ship, and a larger chance for failure than success. If she could truly help him, he needed to stop offending her.

Before Wyatt could stop himself, his hand snaked out and wrapped around her dainty forearm. She was cool compared to his warmth and flinched at his grasp. Shocked at his behavior, Wyatt removed his grip and quickly jumped in her path, determined to make amends for his foolish behavior while still securing himself a place in the race.

Forgive me, Miss. For my comment and my touch. I would like to say I am not in need of help, but this race could change my life. He heard the slight hint of pleading in his voice and wondered if she would find him weak or endearing for it.

You are forgiven. I have known many to do things they would not in desperation. We will call this your first chance. I only give two. There was a smile playing about her lips. She wasn’t offended by him any longer, but amused.

If you do not mind being seen in the company of a merchant, I should think we might discuss the terms here, on the open street, so that none question our interaction.

The only thing I mind, Sir, is a man who thinks a woman’s got no place on an airship. That would be a deal breaker.

Her eyes locked with his, and Wyatt’s body jolted awake with lust. He liked her spark of life.

My proposal is short and rather simple. I have no need for land or title, those winnings you may keep. I want to be on board. There was a no nonsense tone in her voice that spoke volumes about the money she likely had.

She didn’t continue to talk, and he raised a brow at her. You would let me keep title and riches in exchange for being a passenger on a short race across the skies?

No. I would do that for you to allow me to captain the ship on a short race through the skies.

Wyatt’s jaw did drop open with her words that time. Shock passed through Wyatt as quickly as a steam current did an engine. Women were taking stride with their place in society, but as far as Wyatt knew, none had captained a ship before. Could she even do it without killing us?

How do I know you are capable of such a thing? Captaining a ship.

I could ask the same of you. A deckhand is not a captain. Her lips pursed together, her eyes sparked angrily.

Anger built, and he puffed his chest up, a common intimidation tactic he knew would not work on her, but he did it anyway. "I am no deckhand. However, I was a deckhand who was once a merchant captain on the open seas. Not to mention either worker knows no better life than on a ship. I