Page 4 of Lady of Fortune
She was about to continue to tell them of the competitors Orianna would be up against, but she could tell from the blank stares on her friends’ faces that they were simply humoring her and had little interest in hearing all Julia wanted to share about Orianna’s preparations. But oh, it had been such fun, training Orianna. The horse spent much of her time with the trainer, of course, but Julia attended nearly every session and often did much of the work herself. Orianna was everything to her, and if she had to spend the rest of her days alone with her horses, she would do so happily.
The Marquess soon came to collect her for their obligatory dance, though Julia wondered what the point of it was when he spent the whole time staring at his wife, Phoebe, waiting across the room.
A few dances later, Julia was blessedly able to leave to return to her family’s own London home. It would be a night in which she would forfeit much sleep, but it would be well worth it.
For every morning, long before the rest of thetonwas even awake, Julia would summon poor Maybelle and, with a groom along, would sneak out to Hyde Park, where, in the early hours of the morning, she could ride for as long and as fast as she wanted to. She couldn’t ride astride, unfortunately — not here, where anyone could potentially see her — but it was still freedom of a sort. A smile turned up the edges of her lips as she thought of it while she waited for her cloak to be brought to her, and her mother, standing next to her, greatly misinterpreted her expression.
“Oh, Julia, I am ever so happy as well,” Lady St. Albans said, clasping her hands together. “A duke, no less! And he is so handsome. The fact that he asked you to dance, well, my dear, I am not sure why you caught his attention just now, but perhaps it is simply that the Duke is ready to settle down and recognizes the eligible young woman you are. I do hope he will be attending the Newmarket races. Perhaps we can make arrangements for the two of you to get to know one another better, do you not think?”
Julia allowed her mother to prattle on without interrupting her. She should stop her and tell her that it was nothing but a dance, but it would be much easier to allow the Duke to quit his interest in her than for Julia herself to destroy her mother’s dreams. When nothing came of the Duke’s intentions, her mother would move on to the next potential suitor.
“Are we ready?” her father asked, joining them, and the two women nodded.
“Father, I’ve been thinking,” said Julia as they approached their waiting carriage. “I have a new strategy for Orianna in Newmarket, though some will depend on what we see from the other horses at the race this weekend at Middlesex.”
She began to outline her thoughts for an initial warmup race to introduce Orianna to the Newmarket track, followed by her entry into the great race on the Saturday ten days following, when all would be in attendance. Her father nodded thoughtfully, and Julia was grateful to have someone with whom she could speak of such things; someone who was actually interested in what she had to say.
“Are you sure this is wise?” her mother asked once they had entered the carriage. “I’m not sure that Julia should have anything to do with such affairs, Garnet. It might mar her eligibility.”
“Oh, I think not,” her father said, and Julia could have reached across the carriage and hugged him. She would have, if her mother did not look so upset at his disagreement. “Any gentleman worthy of my Julia will understand the lure of horse racing, will he not?”
Lady St. Albans did not look as though she agreed, but rather than argue with her husband, she simply sighed and sat back against the squabs as she looked out the window. Julia was sure that her mother was envisioning wedding gowns and colorful bouquets as she relived Julia’s dance with the Duke of Clarence.
Julia’s own dreams would never match with those of her mother. For her thoughts were far away — they were in Newcastle, with Orianna, on the racecourse.
CHAPTER2
Eddie Francis whistled a tune as he checked over the horse one last time. Valiant. What a name for such a beautiful creature, he thought as he ran his hand over the smooth black hair covering the horse’s flank. He had spent his entire life immersed in horseflesh of all kinds but never had he seen a thoroughbred as fine as this. If only he was his.
But a man such as he did not own a horse such as this — he trained them and he raced them.
Eddie whispered a few words of encouragement in Valiant’s ear, patted his muzzle one last time, and then mounted him, digging his heels into the horse’s side as he led him out and into the starting block while the bugle sounded, signaling the entry of the horses onto the track. The crowd was animated today, and Eddie continued to run his hand down the horse’s neck to keep his nerves calm as the grandstands filled with shouts from those who had placed their bets and wanted — likely even needed — the win. Most of the jockeys were focused on the track in front of them, where Eddie knew his own mind should be. But over the years he had adopted his own strategy, and he found it was best to allow his mind to wander where it chose to go, entering the racing zone but moments before the starter’s flag waved.
For that was how Eddie worked best, and who was he to argue with what had been fated successful in the past?
His eyes flew over the people who lined the fence of the Middlesex racecourse, who watched from afar, and who sat within the grandstand. It was not a crowded course today, it being an early race without much of a purse, though many were in attendance simply for the thrill of the race and the atmosphere surrounding them. The stands were crowded with everyone from families to drunkards. Farther down, out of his current sight in the best seats, were the lords and ladies who chose to see as best as they possibly could, instead of remaining in their carriages, as did some others lined along the track. He took a deep, slow breath as he saw the starter approach the gate, but then the breath caught in his throat. His eyes stopped for a moment on a vision in blue walking in front of the stands to farther along the track. Blonde curls escaped from the bonnet on top of her head, and while he was too far to tell, he had a feeling that the crystal blue of her eyes would be peering out in interest at all that was developing in front of her. It couldn’t possibly be her — could it?
He had no time to contemplate the issue any longer, however, as he caught the wave of the flag in his peripheral vision, startling him so that he should have been the last to leave the line, but Valiant’s instincts kicked in and the horse leaped forward himself. Eddie would have tumbled off his back, but somehow he managed to take hold of the pommel in one hand, his other wrapped around the reins, and now, as Valiant thundered down the track flanked by horses to either side, Eddie managed to grasp the reins in both hands, shouting words of encouragement in Valiant’s ear. He didn’t need the whip — not with this horse, and it was actually a tactic that he preferred not to utilize. A horse responded much better, he found, when treated with respect and kindness instead of discipline.
Like a woman, he thought with a grin before turning his attention back to where it should be.
The thunder of the horse’s hooves, the cheers of the crowd that had faded into background noise, the wind that rushed over and down his back as he tilted his head, forcing it low over the horse’s back for minimum wind resistance — this was what he lived for. The exhilaration of the race, the adrenaline that pulsed through his veins — there was nothing else like it.
Not even a passionate night with a woman could come close to this feeling of racing a horse — especially to victory, though today’s win was currently in question.
Eddie looked from one side to the other as he determined his current position. Most jockeys would have been concerned about the botched beginning to the race, but Eddie was not overly worried. He preferred to come from behind, to save his horse for one last sprint as he caught others unaware right at the end. And with only a quarter mile to go, he was close. He had to time it absolutely perfectly, so as to use up every last ounce of the animal’s energy without expending him too early.
“That’s it, Valiant!” he shouted. “Here we go!”
And with a snap of the reins and a dig of his heels, Eddie bent even lower over the horse’s neck, urging him on as fast as he could run. Eddie balanced precariously in the small racing saddle as he urged the horse onward, and he could have shouted with glee, jumped up and done a dance on the horse’s back, when Valiant began inching ever so much closer. At the last possible moment, but steps from the line, Valiant broke free, and crossed the finish in first place.
Eddie stood in the stirrups, his arms waving in the air to celebrate his victory, but it was short-lived as in but moments Lord Torrington approached to accept the reins of his horse and celebrate the win. The man gave Eddie a perfunctory shake of his hand after he dismounted and unbuckled the saddle. Then he was effectively dismissed.
Eddie backed away, watching the Earl holding Valiant’s leads, and a sick feeling filled his stomach at the fact that while he and Valiant had won the race, the victory would be celebrated by another man.
But this was the life of a jockey. The reward was not in the celebration, but rather in the knowledge of the win, the race to get there, and his payment.
He had been lucky enough to spend some time with Valiant. Torrington was a smart enough owner to know that if his mount and jockey were, at the very least, acquainted with one another, they could produce some terrific results, and so when he was able, Eddie would often spend time with the trainer as he put Valiant through his paces.
