Page 36 of Her Affections and Wishes

Elizabeth checked her watch. “We ought to return for breakfast. Are you and the men going to the races by yourselves?”

“Yes, and whilst the races will be better than yesterday, the company will be far less enjoyable.” Mr Travers would talk wagering, Sir John would talk about women, and he would have to shield Henry from them both.

“If you change your mind, you can join us proper ladies in the carriages. I hear from Mrs Tessier that the downs present a lively and interesting picture on Thursday, which is considered the most fashionable day for visiting the races.”

“Just do not wander alone as you did yesterday,” he entreated.

“Do you think someone will throw a vase at me?”

He threw her a look. “Several members of the royal family, and most of the nobility, attend these races, and since the weather is fine, there will be no less than sixty thousand persons assembled.” Only half that number even lived in Bath. When Elizabeth stared blankly, he said, “Where that many people are assembled with money, many attend with a view of robbing the bystanders.”

“Oh.” She grew alarmed. “I thought you were overly concerned yesterday when you mentioned the crime during race week. I will stay with the carriages, and there will be footmen and grooms with us.”

“I do not mean to be overbearing, dearest. I want to keep you safe.”

Elizabeth stroked her fingertips over his forearm before she dropped her hand as they returned to the house. “Thank you for wanting to look after me.”

Satisfaction burst through him that he would be the one to care for her for the rest of her life. “Think kindly of me as I spend the day amongst the betting men seeking excitement or enough winnings to justify the cost of their own careless wagering.”

“I wonder which is Mr Travers?” she mused. “If he will not help you choose a winner, perhaps you can find a sportsman’s guide with all the hedging details to guide young adventurers like yourself to lay bets to the best advantage. You could make your fortune at the Derby Stakes.”

“I will simply rely on Pemberley’s rent income and the four percents.”

“How fortunate for me that you are not staking our livelihood on how fast a three-year-old colt can run.”

They continued in this lively vein until they parted in the hall. It would not do to enter into breakfast arm in arm, smiling, and exchanging secret smiles that proved their mutual happiness.

“No, my lad, I saw the horses this morning, and Octavius is seven to one,” Mr Travers said to Henry when they were all at the betting post. “He will finish fourth, I promise you.”

Darcy had just joined them, having first posted his and Elizabeth’s letters and then taken the coin she gave him to a silversmith in Epsom. It had taken a while to put a hole through the coin, and even longer for Darcy to come up with an inscription, but he now had a token for Elizabeth until he could go to London for a true engagement gift.

As Darcy had moved through the dense crowd, he saw and talked with many familiar faces from town, and some of Mrs Tessier’s guests from last night tipped their hats. Now, he reunited with Henry in enough time to see him listen in rapt attention to Mr Travers’s alleged intimate racing knowledge.

“Comus is the favourite, you say?” Henry asked Mr Travers, still needing direction as they stood before a bookmaker furiously recording wagers in his betting book.

“Most certainly,” he insisted, “three to one. It will be Comus, then Manuella.”

“It is just…” Henry fidgeted with his excessively elegant neckcloth. “One hundred guineas on one wager is more⁠—”

“One hundred?” Darcy interrupted. This was the sort of thing Tessier warned him would happen. His brother was comfortably provided for, but he still had little inheritance and no profession yet. “Do not risk so much on Mr Travers’s say-so.”

“But he is a knowing one,” Henry hedged. “He knows racing horses, their strengths, weaknesses, movements. He knows all the jockeys and strategies.”

“Comus is being ridden by Frank Buckle,” Mr Travers said, as though this should sway their young friend. “We will make our fortunes today.”

Darcy feared this was a statement Mr Travers had made many times and said to Henry, “Can you afford to lose one hundred pounds without having to beg your brother to pay your debt?”

“He is his own man,” said Mr Travers. “Let him play.”

“If he is his own man, a man you respect, why pressure him to wager?” Darcy asked with a heavy look. “Would you beleaguer me to wager beyond my income?”

Mr Travers glared, but backed down. “I only want the boy to win. I know what it is like to not be your own man and live on an allowance. Not that you would understand.”

Henry looked between them both, indecision clear on his face as Mr Travers left to speak to the bookmaker.

“Mr Tessier,” Darcy said when Mr Travers turned away, “Mr Travers may know all the merits and powers of horses, but these racing men profit by manipulating the betting market, and you do not know what wins and losses have been arranged between the owners.”

“He is surely right about this one, though,” said Henry. “And I would have a two-hundred-guinea profit.”