“You are going to wear yourself out before the horses even reach the track.” Robert fell in beside Michael. Dressed in the signature green suit he had adopted when he had disguised himself as Robbie Green, Robert was there to represent Campion’s. Still theoretically disinherited from the Kennets, Robert avoided both the carriages and the dukes.
“Have you been to the pub this morning?”
Robert nodded. “It’s up over one-fifty.”
Michael stopped. “What are the odds?”
His brother paused. “Not in your favor.”
“This could ruin a few lives.”
“And make some quite rich.”
“Did you bet?”
Robert grinned. “Of course I did.”
“I thought the house never bet on its own.”
“Who said I bet on you?” At Michael’s expression, Robert laughed. “The house only bets on a sure thing. And that man is never a sure thing.”
“The gelding is strong. And fast.”
Robert looked away for a moment, turning uncharacteristically somber. “I asked you to help me with the school’s stables for more reasons than helping my brother. I trust you to know horses. This has been your passion since you were four and begging Father for rides in the middle of winter. You saw something in that stallion that few others do.”
“His heart. His heart for running.”
“And believe it or not, I think you have the same heart. It just needs focus.”
“This is quite unlike you, brother.”
Robert turned back to him, gesturing to the scars on his face. “If you listen to Lady Eloise, it is not.”
“Do you think Father felt this way when he fell in love with Mother?”
“Without a doubt. And if she were not already up and about more than she was a month ago, he would not be here. Would not be doing this. Would you be as obsessed if not for Lady Clara?”
“Most likely not.”
Robert clapped him on the shoulder. “Then let us hope this race is one for the history books.”
*
Clara had notwanted to go to Epsom Downs, but Wykeham left her little choice. Although ladies often went to the races, especially the Derby and Ascot, Clara despised them. Too often, horses and riders both were injured or killed, and she could not bear the thought of any animal suffering. The Tattenham Corner at Epsom had been a frequent site of pileups as too many riders had urged their mounts into the turn too fast and too close to the other animals. The tumbles were notoriously disastrous. She did not want to see any of it, even if it meant seeing Michael.
Her father understood. Her mother and the duke did not, and he simply announced he would pick up Clara and Honora the day of the race so they would ride with him to the course. The earl’s health would not allow such a trip.
Thus, Honora had appeared in Clara’s bedchamber at seven that morning, pushing Radcliff in front of her. Fortunately, Clara was already awake and had eaten breakfast. By eight they had joined Wykeham in his carriage and his entourage was well on its way to Surrey, with the duke’s horses moving at a swift clip. He regaled them almost the entire trip with the beauty and speed of his racehorse, as well as sharing minute details of the wagons and supplies he had sent to the racecourse the day before. By ten, they had arrived, and his servants scurried to set up a booth, tables, and chairs.
Clara felt completely at odds with everything around her. The crush of people and horses ebbed and flowed around her, and she did not know where to look or who to talk to. Her mother immediately found a group of women to gossip with, and the duke disappeared to parts unknown. Once the footmen finished setting out lunch in the duke’s booth, she took up residence in a corner between the booth and the carriage, a spot too narrow for servants with trays or passersby to wander through.
The Kennet carriage sat between the Wykeham setup and the Prince’s Stand, and Philip Ashton seemed to be holding court, a handsome and formidable presence with height and bearing. She did not see Michael but knew he had to be around. Searching the crowd yielded nothing until after noon, when she spotted him and Robert pacing back and forth near the ropes that separated the crowd from racecourse. He looked handsome but nervous, and Robert seemed to do most of the talking.
She desperately wanted to go to him, to reassure him, but she knew it was impossible, and would probably distract him when he least needed it. She hoped she would be able to tell him later that she had witnessed his victory on this day.
The noise of the crowd washed over her, and Clara struggled to make sense of any tidbits of conversation. Not even a crowded ballroom with a full orchestra could compare with the sounds of horses, rumbling carriages, calls, and shouts of a soaring crowd. The smells were almost as overwhelming, as family groups began serving luncheons of extravagant foods and drinks. One of the footmen brought her a plate of salted fish, fruits, and cheeses, and she nibbled at a few pieces but had no real appetite.
She wanted to be anywhere else but here.
