A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World (5 page)

“Good God, did you really?”

“Once or twice.”

“That sort of thing develops insanity?”

Dracy shot him a humorous look. “Undoubtedly.”

He knew they were an unlikely pair. He was lean and solid from an active navy life, often on tight rations. His neighbor, Sir Tom Knowlton, had never known want, liked his comforts, and was prosperously round. Tom also avoided risk. He didn’t ride spirited horses or travel in fast vehicles.

Dracy liked his comforts when he had the chance of them, but avoid risk? Risk added spice to life, and in that respect life had been bland since he’d inherited his cousin’s barony and left the navy. Perhaps that was why he’d accepted this mad challenge.

He and Knowlton were standing in the shade of an
elm tree on the estate of the Earl of Hernescroft, where a private thoroughbred race would soon take place. The earl’s famous bay mare, Fancy Free, was to race against the Dracy black, Cartagena, winner take all. If Fancy Free won, the earl would own both horses, which would be a pleasant addition to his famous string of racehorses. If Carta won, Dracy would own two fine thoroughbred mares instead of just one, which might be the beginning of the revival of the Dracy stud. If he lost, he lost all and would have no option other than return to the navy.

The unusual stakes had drawn some lions of the racing world to join the local spectators. The Dukes of Portland, Beaufort, and Grafton were here, plus the Earls of Rockingham, Harthorne, and Waveney.

Going on the betting, none of them expected Cartagena to win, but that was to the good. If—when—Carta won, Dracy’s cash winnings would pay for the essential repairs to his stable block.

Cartagena was a four-year-old new to the racing world, but she’d scored two startling triumphs at recent meetings. After the second, Lord Hernescroft had scoffed to Dracy’s face that she wouldn’t beat Fancy Free if they met.

There’d been no easy escape, but Dracy hadn’t wanted one. The do or die was irresistible.

“I grant you Cartagena’s successes,” Knowlton said, still fretting, “but devil only knows why you couldn’t be satisfied with ’em. Handsome prize money and more to come. Why risk everything this way?”

“Because Carta alone can’t restore the Dracy fortunes,” Dracy said, adding, “as you know,” for Knowlton had trampled over these arguments for days.

“You’ll have the place in shape in time.”

“A decade or so.”

“Took years for your cousin to run it down.”

“I’m not that patient a man.”

“No,
you’re a rash one. What’s to gain that’s worth the risk?”

Tired of the debate, Dracy glanced around to be sure no one was in earshot.

The spectators—on foot, on horse, and a few on the seats of open carriages—had arranged themselves on either side of the beginning of the race, which would also be the end.

No one was too close, but Dracy spoke quietly anyway. “My inquiries tell me Hernescroft is particularly fond of Fancy Free. Born in his own stud and named by one of his daughters. The daughter’s particularly fond of the horse as well. When he’s recovered from losing the race, he’ll negotiate.”

“Stap me! You’re playing for money? Now, that makes sense.”

“I’m playing for a stud. Herne can keep Fancy Free in exchange for Gosling-go.”

“What?” Knowlton exclaimed, attracting attention just as Dracy had feared. But then, flushing, he dropped his voice. “He might do it, mightn’t he? He has two prime stallions and Gosling-go’s the older.”

“And a vicious devil, I hear, but it’s not in the blood.”

“You’ve checked his get?”

“I always plot a course carefully.”

“Stap me,” Knowlton muttered. “No wonder you draped yourself in glory in the navy.”

“No more than most men, and none of it was careful navigation. Just blood and guts on the day.”

Knowlton shuddered. “Why not buy…But a stud like Gosling-go would be pricey, even if Hernescroft was willing to sell. Sired some winners. Eight hundred at the least. All the same, you’ve only the one mare. Why not just pay stud fees?”

“I’d rather get stud fees, and there are three older thoroughbred mares at Dracy that Ceddie hadn’t bothered to sell. They might be able to drop a foal or two. None’s
produced offspring of quality, but it’s always a gamble. Remarkable horses have come out of indifferent dams.”

“It’s still a mad chance.”

“Life’s all about the mad chance, Tom—at least for those of us born to make our own way in the world.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because you’re an open-faced fellow and Hernescroft might have sniffed a rat.”

“He might not care. He’s sure he’ll win.”

Dracy looked across the track at the stocky, full-bellied earl. “He won’t.”

“You can’t be sure—”

“Nothing is ever sure. Not even that we’ll return safely to our homes from this event.”

“Oh, I say…”

At least that gloomy observation silenced Knowlton and let Dracy study his horse.

Carta was perfectly conformed. Even his cousin Ceddie had seen that. The fool had ruined the estate with his taste for London life and the latest fashions, and he’d sold off his father’s famous thoroughbreds to pay for gewgaws. He’d kept Carta, however, called the Midnight Jade then, hoping she’d eventually show well in races and sell for a high price.

Carta had been Ceddie’s gamble, and now she was his, renamed for the best battle he’d taken part in. Do or die, then and now.

“Here we go,” Knowlton said, as the jockeys mounted.

Hernescroft’s man wore green and yellow silks, Dracy’s black and red lozenges. The two horses eyed each other as if they knew everything rested on this contest of speed and stamina.

“The deuce!” exclaimed Knowlton.

“What?” Dracy looked around for some unexpected hazard.

“The Scandalous Countess. Over there, in men’s clothing.”

Dracy looked and saw a man cramming a wide-brimmed hat back on the head of a laughing, red-haired woman.

“You could object to that,” Knowlton said. “She could jinx the whole thing.”

“I don’t believe in jinxes.” Dracy returned his attention to important matters. Devil take it, Carta was starting one of her fidgets. Perhaps she objected to red hair.

“Got Maybury killed in a duel over her lewd behavior.”

“Who?”

“Lady Maybury. The Scandalous Countess.”

“She planned it?” Dracy asked, a scrap of attention caught.

“No, no. At least, I don’t think so. Husband dead, Vance fled the country, but there she is, merry as a mayfly. Maybury was an amiable fellow.”

“If he was amiable enough to let her stray, he should have been too amiable to challenge someone over it.”

“Devil take it, Dracy!”

“I’ve no interest in Lady Maybury or her lovers. Calm down, Carta. Calm down. At this rate she’ll burn off her energy before the race starts.”

“Too high-spirited.”

“There’s nothing wrong with high spirits.”

“A true beauty,” Knowlton said.

“Isn’t she just?”

“But too wild to handle.”

“Jorrocks and she understand each other.”

“Who? Damn me, Dracy, I was talking about Georgia Maybury.”

“To hell with Georgia Maybury. They’re readying for the off.”

The buzz of conversation died away.

The horses would gallop eight times around the course, to make two miles.

Devil take the jade, right now he’d get top odds. She’d
bucked as if trying to unseat Jorrocks. The groom turned her in a tight circle, forcing her to behave, but men were shaking their heads.

Dracy glared at the starter, Sir Charles Bunbury, who was chatting to Hernescroft. Perhaps the glare was felt, for Bunbury turned and called for order.

“Here we go,” Knowlton muttered.

Bunbury waved the flag.

“They’re off.”

Carta was caught in a fidget and Fancy Free took the lead, thundering toward the distant oak that marked the turning point of the course. Dracy took out his navy telescope and watched Carta close the gap as they turned the tree.

“Nothing in it,” he muttered, but he’d expected that. This race wouldn’t be happening if the two mares weren’t closely matched. Damned closely. And Hernescroft’s mare had two years’ maturity and two years’ more racing experience.

But Carta had youthful fire. She’d do her best to win, and no one could ask more than that.

As the horses galloped back toward them, the mass of men shouted and bellowed, threatening Dracy’s hearing as much as ships’ guns had, but he realized he was yelling too. Yelling at Carta to go, go, go!

When the horses pounded past him, Carta still looked full of fire. She pulled ahead, as if showing off for the crowd, but then Fancy Free caught up and pulled ahead. Carta pulled that lead back.

And so it went, around and around, nothing in it, nothing in it, Dracy’s heart pounding in his chest, his throat raw with shouting. A mere breath lay between victory and complete defeat.

He was hoarse, and so must everyone be, but still they yelled, encouraging the horse they’d put money on, but also simply celebrating the magnificent, courageous beasts.

A higher-pitched call snapped his attention beyond the horses for a moment. It was that scandalous woman, waving her broad-brimmed hat, red hair tumbling out of pins, catching fire in the sun. Her companion shoved her hat on again. She laughed at him, unrepentant.

Dracy pitied any man who had the handling of her, but his attention was all back on the horses. One more turn, and then, nostrils flaring, necks extended, Carta and Fancy Free raced toward the finish line, first Fancy Free ahead by a nose, then Carta, then Fancy Free again.…

Dracy fell silent, too focused to shout.
Come on, come on, come on. A bit more, a bit more, my lovely. A bit—

“Yes!” He threw his hat in the air, not caring where it landed. “By God, she did it! By a nose. By more than a nose.”

Knowlton was jumping up and down, holding on to his hat and grinning like an idiot.

Dracy ran to Carta to give her all the praise she deserved, more purely exhilarated than during his fiercest victory at sea.

He congratulated the wizened jockey, aware of being backslapped and of men grabbing his hand to wring it. It wasn’t just those who’d won bets. Men were celebrating with him because the race had been a fine one and because he’d gambled all and won.

Someone put a goblet of wine in his hand, and he toasted both horses and both jockeys. He passed the goblet to Jorrocks and had him drink. He praised Carta again. In her moment of glory she’d decided to be a perfect lady, posing like a black marble statue and accepting tribute.

“Oh, you beautiful jade!”

He was still grinning, even though he knew his scar would twist it. He’d a burn on the right side of his face that could make sensitive souls blanch, especially when he grinned and it created a snarl. He tried not to
disturb strangers that way, but right now, he didn’t give a damn. He grinned and laughed. This was a glorious moment.

He drained another cup of wine but then steadied himself and went to take possession of his prize.

Or rather, his bargaining chip.

Fancy Free’s grooms greeted him with stony faces. They didn’t want to see her go, especially to ramshackle stables like those at Dracy. Dracy had made sure they and the Earl of Hernescroft knew all about that.

The horse also seemed downcast, as if knowing her fate. He wished he could whisper that she needn’t worry. That she wouldn’t have to leave her luxurious home.