A tall, slim man with long hair was in the process of braiding Blackheart’s mane while another brushed his coat until he shone.
Nicholas approached the horse front-on and rubbed his muzzle affectionately.
“Sir.” The braider bobbed his head respectfully.
Nicholas inclined his head in return and stroked firmly down Blackheart’s neck. “You are magnificent. You’re strong, and you run like the wind. I know you’ll make me proud.”
Blackheart turned his face into Nicholas’s chest and nuzzled him. Chuckling, Nicholas rewarded him with more attention before backing away to let the others get on with their work.
“Feeling confident, Blackwell?” Lucas Archibald asked as he sauntered over from where he’d been checking on his own horse, Summer Storm.
Nicholas grinned. “I think I’ve got good reason to be.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” Archibald folded his arms and leaned against the wall behind them. “Keeping busy?”
“More or less.” Honestly, Nicholas didn’t do a lot with his days. On the few occasions he wished he’d been the viscount rather than Theo, it was only because a title generated plenty enough to keep a man occupied. “How are the wedding arrangements coming along?”
Archibald groaned. “Good God, man. Do you know how much planning is involved in getting married? I made the mistake of inferring to my future mother-in-law that I was interested in the decor—because I didn’t want to seem rude—and now I’m getting quizzed about my opinion on everything from which church to hold the ceremony at, to which glasses to use for lemonade at the wedding breakfast.”
Nicholas covered his mouth to smother a laugh.
Archibald glared. “It’s no joking matter.”
Nicholas pressed his lips together as firmly as he could, but there was no suppressing the smirk that wanted to break free. “I’m sorry, but did no one warn you? It’s hardly a secret how much time and energy these things can consume.”
“For women,” Archibald insisted. “Not men.”
Nicholas laughed again. “If you gave them the idea that you care about the color of ribbons and flowers, that’s your responsibility. How are they to know any better?”
Archibald dropped his face into his hands. “I can’t wait until it’s over and we’re married.”
Nicholas angled himself toward Archibald and propped his hip against the wall, hoping it wouldn’t leave dust on his coat. “You don’t regret deciding to marry, though? Or the bride you’ve chosen?”
Archibald shook his head. “As I said, she’s a sweet girl. She hasn’t become a tyrant in skirts as some prospective brides do. Her mother is exhausting, but that isn’t her fault.”
Nicholas nodded. He well knew that no one could be held responsible for the actions of their parents.
“No, I don’t regret anything,” Archibald concluded. “I’m just eager for the business to be done. I think we’re well suited.”
The jockeys began leading horses toward the corral, so Nicholas pushed off from the wall, and he and Archibald circled around the stables and climbed the stairs to the restricted viewing platform.
Besides the main rotunda, there were two large viewing platforms. One was reserved for patrons who paid an annual stipend to the racing club, and the other was filled by the general public on a first-come-first-served basis.
On days like today, with so many people clamoring for a view, Nicholas was beyond grateful for his privileged position. He and Archibald easily found a small space beside one of the support beams, from which they had a clear view of the racecourse.
The horses lined up, and Nicholas reminded himself to breathe as he waited for the race to begin.
Three, two…
The horses launched into the racecourse in a flurry of hooves and hair, all vying for a prime position. Blackheart remained near the front, although Nicholas lost sight of him as they rounded a corner and got farther away.
When they looped back around, Blackheart was in second place, and he held steady for the duration of the race until the final leg, where he pulled ahead, his jockey flattened to his back.
He crossed the finish line in first place.
Nicholas threw his hands into the air and cheered. Not a very gentlemanly response, perhaps, but his beautiful horse deserved the appreciation.
Archibald cast him a sidelong glance. “I suppose you still aren’t interested in selling Blackheart?”
