Page 70 of Managing the Major

“Well, now, Yer Lordship, I must beg to differ there.” Alastair guessed the small, ginger-haired horseman rarely stood on ceremony. “It weren’t me, Yer Lordship, what took those four, every day, two at a time in Hyde Park their first month. Though you might had wished it was me, the way those prime ’uns reared and carried on.”

“There is no need to raise your voice, Jerome. We’re all standing right here,” Richard reminded him.

“Why, then there’s the time they bolted fer it when a lady’s horse run away with her—but she had no business riding a wild-eyed roan like that, anyways, I say—and don’t you know, ’is Lordship had ’em back in a flash, just as pretty as you please…”

“Shall we take a look at Firefox?” Richard interrupted gently.

“Ha! It’s no use changin’ the subject, Your Lordship—”

“I was afraid of that,” His Lordship murmured.

Octavia snickered in a most unladylike and delightful way.

“Jerome broke them to the traces and did all the ground driving. I merely put on the polish,” the earl said with finality.

The tiger removed his wool cap, smoothing his sparse hair. “Mayhap. But when they came back from the park after the third time with a broken harness, why, I says to Cedric—”

Richard held up his hands. “Enough, Jerome!”

Alastair was still chuckling when an angular gentleman came up, leading a bright red stallion with a young jockey in a training saddle on top.

“Afternoon, Your Lordship.”

“Good afternoon to you, Ted. You know my sister, and this is Major Fairfax. How is our boy today?”

“Right well, I think. My son, John, will breeze him for you. We gave him a few hours of turnout yesterday and this morning, but that’s all.”

“He looks calm enough. Let’s go to the training track.”

Firefox ran well, easily doing a mile and a half in just under three minutes, which seemed to satisfy Richard and his trainer. By the time Alastair and Octavia had returned to the carriage, his stomach was rumbling, and it was close to three o’clock. Jerome remained behind with orders to lead the stallion over well before the race, which started tomorrow at one o’clock.

Once inside the landau, Octavia replaced her bonnet, and Alastair helped her set it to rights as Richard directed the chestnut team towards the King’s Head.

“You must be weary,” Alastair said, brushing a smudge from her cheek as she tied the ribbons. “You’ve been very quiet.”

“Just a bit dusty, and in need of some tea. I’m sure there will be refreshments when we return, though I desperately need to freshen up before meeting any other guests. I must look a fright.”

“Nonsense.”

“Only you would say that,” she teased.

“Are you saying my opinion does not matter, Octavia?”

“Oh, no,” she laughed. “I never would.”

The horses picked up a steady trot towards the hotel.

“You’ve been on your feet for a very long time, Alastair. Are you dreadfully tired?”

“Not at all. To coin your favorite word, it’s been a smashing day. I am looking forward to some libations and rest before dinner, however.”

It wasn’t long before the King’s Head came into view, and as soon as they pulled up, an ostler appeared to take the horses. Their host—M. Françon—bustled out to greet them.

“Ah, Lord Seldon, you’ve returned just in time. I do hope your excursion was pleasant. Most of your guests have arrived, and there are refreshments available in the parlor. Dinner will be at seven, if that suits Your Lordship.”

Richard handed his hat and riding gloves to a waiting footman. “Excellent. If you’ll have Miss Merrick’s maid come to her room, we’ll put ourselves to rights and return forthwith. Lord Ehnes has come, you say?”

“Yes, my lord, and Captain Prescott as well, but the marquis may not appear until later this evening. Lord and Lady Hope are waiting in the parlor.”