Silas grabbed Rowan's chair—perhaps to wheel him away, perhaps to push him off the platform in the confusion; we would debate that later in court. In the moment, I saw the chair tip toward the steps.
I ran.
Rowan moved faster. He threw off the lap rug, planted both feet, and stood.
The meadow fell silent so suddenly even the wrong-way pony seemed embarrassed. Rowan seized Silas by the wrist before the chair could roll. His legs shook, but he stood tall enough for every soul in Alderwick to see him.
"Do not touch me," the Duke said.
Someone screamed, "He can walk!"
Bramble halted beside the platform and tossed his head. Bramble sounded smug: Told you. Liar.
I, unfortunately, laughed. It was not the correct social response to attempted murder, fraud, and a miracle; it burst out of me like a cork from cheap cider. Rowan looked at me. Then, with Silas's wrist still trapped in his hand and half the county staring at his revealed legs, he laughed, too.
That ruined Silas more than any accusation. He had planned for fear, pity, and confusion; he had not planned for a Duke and a horse trainer laughing because a horse had been right.
Wexham tried to run. Bramble stepped sideways and blocked him with the calm authority of a wall that disliked criminals. Bramble's answer was firm: No. Wexham stopped.
The constable, who had been enjoying a meat pie near the betting table, arrived with mustard on his cuff and duty in his expression. Rowan handed Silas over. Mr. Pell, the steward, produced Evelyn's papers and the forged loans. Peter dragged forward the red-faced harness seller we had quietly located that morning, whose courage dissolved at the sight of Bramble's teeth.
The harness seller confessed first. Men often did when stared at by law, debt, and a large horse considering their buttons. He admitted Wexham had paid him to rig the rope across the North Lane; Silas had given the route and time. The plan had been to frighten Rowan into dependency, or kill him if fortune obliged.
"Fortune did not oblige," Rowan said.
Bramble snorted. Bramble sounded proud of himself: I kicked fortune awake.
Silas, pale now, looked at Rowan's legs. "You deceived us."
"Yes," Rowan said. "I learned from experts."
The crowd murmured approval. Lady Beatrice fainted into a chair, woke immediately, and asked whether anyone had seen how gracefully she fell.
I stood beside Bramble, shaking after the fact. My knees had waited until danger passed to become useless. The horse lowered his head and nudged my shoulder—the same shoulder I'd used for weeks to guide his turns and steady his temper.
Good girl. Terrible laugh. Honest laugh.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Rowan heard. Across the platform, amid papers, constables, and scandal, his gaze found mine. He took one step toward me without cane or chair, then another. Each step cost him; I saw the pain, so did everyone. But he reached the edge of the platform and held the rail.
"Miss Finch," he said, loudly enough for the county to hear, "I owe you my life."
That was too much—too public, too dangerous.
"Your Grace," I called back, "you owe Bramble peppermints. I was only assisting management."
The crowd laughed. Rowan laughed with them. Bramble's thought glowed with satisfaction: Finally, someone understands rank.
The weeks after the race were a storm of statements, arrests, and visitors pretending they had always suspected Silas because his cravats were too smooth. Wexham's canal fraud collapsed under audit. Silas's debts came out like worms after rain. Evelyn's death was reopened for inquiry. The harness seller, after confessing to the rope, added three unrelated crimes because Bramble looked at him through the magistrate's window.
Rowan's recovery became public, which meant everyone had opinions. Some called it a miracle. Some called it a deception. Lady Beatrice called it exhausting and asked whether miracles always required paperwork. The newspapers called him "The Walking Duke," which made Rowan threaten to walk to London and throw the editor into the Thames. He did not, mostly because I reminded him the Thames had enough problems.