Page 486 of From Rakes to Riches

“The race is being promoted to all London, so Epsom’s proximity to Town is likely the reason for the location.” Julian snorted. “Besides, I can’t see the Duke of Richmond tolerating a swarm of the masses soiling his beloved Goodwood.”

“Why is it being called the Race of the Century, anyway?” Artemis seemed to be gearing up for one of her quasi-philosophical discussions.

“It had to be named something grandiose, I suppose,” said Julian.

“Except,” began Artemis, her chin propped on her thumb, her forefinger tapping her cheek, “we’re only twenty-two years into the century. How can one know if it will be the Race of the Century?” She sat back and spread her hands wide. “There are still seventy-eight years to go.”

The men met her observation with a blank silence.

Julian shrugged. “Either way, my Filthy Habit will win it.” He wasn’t one for philosophical discussions. More a man of action.

“He’ll have to get through my Hannibal first,” said Rake, his tone light, the words serious.

“Have you found anyone he’ll let on his back yet?”

Rake grunted noncommittally. This was a current sore spot.Hannibal.What was he to do with the blasted beast?

“Anyway,” said Artemis, “we’ll all have to get through Clifford’s Little Wicked.” Her eyes screwed up to the ceiling. “Oh, wait, she doesn’t belong to Clifford anymore. That chancer Deverill won her off him after a night of Macao.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Some say it was his devilish plan all along.”

“Who is this Deverill?” asked Julian.

“No one to concern ourselves with.” Rake was met with twin looks of disbelief. “What?”

“Ah,” said Julian with a knowing smile.

“Ah?” asked Rake.

“Still miffed about that, are you?”

It was no secret Rake had been trying to get Clifford to sell him Little Wicked since she’d been a yearling. And now this had happened—the filly had gone to a man who had no business owning her—all because of a gaming debt.

“What does a man who made his fortune from the manufacturing of steam engines know about horses?” groused Rake.

“As opposed to a man who made his fortune by being born into it?” asked Artemis conversationally.

Julian chortled. “She has you there, old chap.”

“Little Wicked comes from the Godolphin line. She belongs in a proper stable.”

There.Indisputable fact.

Artemis canted her head. “Does Little Wicked like cats?”

Both Rake’s and Julian’s brows lifted in question.

Artemis sighed. “Everyone knows Godolphin harbored deep affection for a stable cat named Grimalkin.”

Both men nodded slowly, and Julian gave her an encouraging, “Ah.”

“Anyhow,” continued Artemis, “that Deverill is one to pay attention to. He’s hungry. I’ll write Beatrix to wheedle more information about him.”

Lady Beatrix St. Vincent was the only legitimate child of the wastrel Marquess of Lydon and Artemis’s bosom friend since their come-out years ago. She spent more time on racecourses than Rake—if that was possible.

Anyway, Rake had a full morning ahead of him. He came to his feet and addressed Julian. “You’re returning to Nonsuch today?”

Nonsuch Castle was the family seat of the Ormonde marquessate. As Somerton and Nonsuch were little more than five miles apart, it wasn’t much to ride between estates.

“Aye.” Julian popped one last chunk of bacon into his mouth. “I’ll see you soon, no doubt.”

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