“You know as well as I do it depends on the field of competitors.”
“A given.”
“It also depends on the race plan and the jockey,” continued Bran. “I suppose Liam Cassidy will ride for you.”
“Why do you think he married me?” asked Gemma, no mistaking the tease meant for her husband.
That pulled a hard-won smile from Rakesley.
Bran continued. “You want to decide which one Cassidy will ride.”
“He can’t ride two horses at once,” said Rakesley. “From what you’ve just seen, which do you think can see it through?”
Bran saw no reason not to speak the truth. “I understand why you favor the colt. He’s a big brute with perfect conformation and smooth action, much like your Hannibal. And he appears to be stubborn, which can be useful.”
“But?”
“I would give the edge to the filly.”
“Why?”
“She, too, has perfect conformation and smooth action. While not as massive as Kestrel, she’s built with some extra bulk, but also has a gracefulness to her. Did you notice how she glances around for the colt? She has the eye of a competitor. If you have her trained correctly, you can really bring that quality forward in her. She will win races.”
As one, everyone watched the filly trot across green turf, her solid black coat and flexing muscles glistening in the morning sunlight. She was a beauty, that was certain.
Rakesley turned to Bran. “Train her for me.”
Confirmation pulsed through Bran. It was for this reason Rakesley had invited him to Somerton. “Don’t you have a trainer?”
“Oh, Mr. Blankenship is heading back to Newmarket.”
Bran couldn’t help wondering if Mr. Blankenship had been informed of his immediate future plans. “I’ll give it some thought.” Instinct had Bran withholding a commitment—for now.
Rakesley, however, didn’t seem to notice. “Between my and Julian’s stables?—”
“How did I suddenly become involved?” interrupted Ormonde, his blue eyes shining with laughter.
“Hear me out,” said Rakesley, warming to the subject. “Somerton and Julian’s Nonsuch Castle neighbor each other, so you can train at both estates. It’s not uncommon for trainers to split their services between a few stables.”
“Sounds rather scandalous, if you ask me,” Lady Beatrix cut in.
“Beatrix,” said Rakesley, quelling. “Between two of the best racing stables in England, you’ll build your reputation. Then, in a few years, you can set up shop in Newmarket.”
Bran felt his brow crease.
Yet—and he couldn’t deny it—he liked the sound of this plan.
For the first time in years, he had a glimpse of a future that held meaning for him.
“This is what Rake does,” said Ormonde. “He’ll have you all sorted before bed tonight.”
From the back of the group came a vicious laugh that was all too familiar. Stoke must have found the wherewithal to rouse himself from bed. “The brother of an earl?” he scoffed. “A racehorse trainer for hire?”
No one laughed along with him.
It was Artemis who broke the silence. “But haven’t you heard, Lord Stoke?”
“Heard what?”
