Page 32 of Lessons for Marquesses
“But Georgiana will ask you if you make yourself available.”
Could he stand it, spending even a day at Farendon with Georgiana in residence, the servants answering to her, the men in the stables doing her bidding?
What would be her reason to invite him? Would Oliver and her aunt approve it? Georgiana required a diversion from stripping Farendon to the walls while the bank came to the proper decision and signed her note over to him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Raceday, 22 April 1763
The Fordyce Stakes, Newmarket
Imprisonedin an open carriage with Kitty and Charlotte, Georgiana watched her dream nailed shut and tossed in the grave by twenty pounding hooves. The afternoon air was crisp on her cheeks, the blend of horseflesh, a perfumer’s masterpiece. The crowd’s cheers and prayers, the flurry of betting between the heats, the litter of discarded slips that signified an unfortunate wager—all of it was part of the scent.
Georgiana’s heart spilled from her chest and into the open carriage Charlotte had refused to allow her to leave. Why had she told Charlotte about the Hazard Room? The riot had made such an impression that for two days Charlotte hadn’t let Georgiana from her sight except to sleep.
She was sequestered hundreds of feet back from the betting post where the race started and ended. The most she could glean were the horses’ positions in the final turn and their hind ends tearing for the win.
Mr. Wolf’s Palliard had trounced the field in the first heat and placed third in the second. His jockey had given the stallion too much head in the first run and the thirty minutes between heats hadn’t allowed the horse to recover after a four-mile unheeded run.
Mr. Wolf had obviously counseled the jockey to rest the stallion in the second heat and take the loss because Mr. Wolf thought ahead, sacrificed for the future when the other horses would be spent. It was a risk, but it paid off like an enormous bye bet. Palliard won the third by a head.
Of course, all Georgiana could see was hind end.
Before the last heat, shadowed by the eaves, Mr. Wolf leaned against the rubbing-down house with the jockey. Too far away to see the details, Georgiana pictured the breeze lofting his tousled hair as he imparted his strategy. She imagined he spoke quietly.
Whatever wisdom or direction he had shared, Mr. Wolf won the Fordyce Stakes and four thousand pounds. Enough to hold off Georgiana’s creditors for at least a year. Enough to pay the bank the arrears and pull Farendon from the edge of foreclosure.
“Quite exhilarating,” Charlotte said with a pat to Georgiana’s knee.
Such a gracious gaoler.
Oliver had refused to listen to Georgiana about inviting Mr. Wolf to Farendon. His expression between murderous and apoplectic, Georgiana figured her cousin had no use for a colonial who could not vote for him.
“Shall we return to the house?” asked Charlotte.
The field still reveled in the spectacle. Mr. Wolf took the men’s hearty slaps on his back without smiling. Wasn’t he happy?
As they departed, Georgiana watched him until he was a speck. A commanding, maybe, lonely speck.
They returned to the house where Georgiana picked at her supper while Kitty spoke feverishly of the night’s final assembly. Perhaps too feverishly. In light of Julian’s biting words at Kitty days before, Georgiana suspected it was forced. And yet, every attempt Georgiana had made to get to the truth had been met with a laugh. Kitty, she was to believe, save her looming marriage to Lord Staverton, was perfectly content.
“Oliver,” Georgiana began, “now that Mr. Wolf has won the Stakes?—”
“No.” Oliver hadn’t waited to finish chewing.
“But why not? Clearly, he is worthy of your consideration. His horse ran sixteen miles, was nearly beaten by his jockey’s mismanagement in the first heat, and still he was victorious. And I suspect it was his strategies that made it so.”
“No.”
“Please, allow me to speak to him.”
“No.”
“But I must speak to him. I must see him. I cannot sleep for thinking I will lose this one chance!”
He leaned his forearms to the table, knife and fork aimed to the ceiling. “No.”
She looked to Charlotte. “Please help me. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I sat in that silly carriage when you know I could have paraded about however I pleased.”
