Page 74 of Managing the Major

There was no trace of a limp in his long step, and she felt a rush of pride. This man could be mine for a lifetime if I have the courage to step out of my comfortable existence and choose love. And just like that, the decision was made. If he were to offer marriage, she would accept.

The match race started promptly at one o’clock with the post parade. Jerome led Firefox as the three entries paraded past the cheering crowd on the way to the starting point. Almost directly in front of the grandstand, Firefox kicked out several times at the horse behind him, squealing loudly and nearly dislodging his jockey.

“Oh, my,” Genevieve whispered to Richard, “will that affect his running?”

The King’s Head group sat within the roped-off section of the grandstand’s front tier, reserved for owners and their guests. Each of the three owners and their entourage remained separated, and the camaraderie of the previous night had changed to a more competitive air, with each man intent on winning.

“I don’t think so; in fact, it’s good that he shows some attitude towards the other horses,” Richard answered. “Don’t you agree, Audley?”

His trainer nodded. “Aye, we want the stallion’s blood up.”

The rest of the ground tier was full, with good attendance in the upper two levels as well, and the crowd had become noisy—especially with the amount of betting at stake.

“What’s the strategy?” Octavia whispered to Richard. Alastair, sitting to her right, leaned in closer to hear the answer, and she caught his distinctive scent, the clean fragrance of sandalwood. His hazel eyes held her gaze for a moment, and her pulse jumped at his nearness.

“We plan to hold him until about midfield, then let him move to the front. The finish is to our right, marked with black flags,” her brother pointed out. “He needs to settle a bit—he’s sweating, which I don’t like. Nerves will chip away at his reserves.”

Octavia watched the bright red stallion walk at the starting line. He had pulled the outside position, not nearly as desirable as the other two spots. Firefox sidestepped uneasily, then seemed to relax, stretching downward and blowing out noisily.

“That’s better—steady, now,” Richard murmured, lifting a spyglass.

There was a bit of movement as the horses lined up next to each other, but they soon stood poised between the flags. A bell sounded, and the three sprinted off to a collective shout from the onlookers and scattered applause.

He offered the glass to Octavia, but she shook her head. “Describe it for us, Richard.”

“Firefox broke well, and the jockey is holding him on the outside, according to our instructions. All three are running smoothly. Fellingham’s gray is in front—it’s probably the fastest, and they’ll try to hold the lead. But I question if it has the stamina to stay the course. Our jockey has to ease off the reins, but it might be too soon for a burst of speed. If the stallion fights for his head, he’ll tire, so the jockey has to make the call.”

“There he goes—good lad!” Audley exclaimed a moment later. “It’s just about the halfway point. Time to make a stand…come on, Firefox, you red brute, you!”

“It looks like the gray is falling back. Ehnes’ horse just took the lead,” Richard said.

“By Jove,” Evan said excitedly, “Firefox is coming up on the bay—Fellingham’s horse is done. It’s ours and Ehnes’s now, and they’re coming to the stretch.”

Octavia clutched Alastair’s arm tightly. “It’s so close.”

Richard let the spyglass fall as the three horses galloped around the final turn. The gray was now lagging three lengths behind, and the other two raced neck-to-neck.

“Come on, Firefox,” Evan shouted, raising his fist. From the crowd behind, a volley of cries ensued, filling the air with encouragement for their favorite. Everyone was on their feet.

“It’s still too close to call,” Richard said tensely as the horses thundered past the grandstand towards the finish line, both jockeys going for the whip. Then something miraculous happened—with three lengths to go, Firefox gave a tremendous surge, crossing the line a nose in front of the bay. The grandstand erupted with a mixture of cheers and groans.

Richard smiled down at Octavia, his eyes dancing. “By God, we’ve won!”

With a shriek, Octavia threw her arms around his neck, and he dissolved in laughter, squeezing her tightly. As a swarm of well-wishers engulfed Richard, she seized the opportunity to move close to Alastair, who pressed her against his side, briefly touching his lips to her cheek.

“Congratulations,” he murmured. The people pushing around them were so overcome with excitement, she doubted if anyone noticed, but she didn’t care if they did.

Octavia sipped champagne in the private room, standing next to Richard and surrounded by a crowd of their acquaintances. The elegant silver trophy he had lifted over his head earlier stood on the table next to them. She looked for Alastair, but he was across the room, in conversation with Genevieve and Evan.

The din of voices lessened as Lord Ehnes came through the throng to shake Richard’s hand. “Well done, Lord Seldon. Your horse ran an excellent race.”

“As did yours, Lord Ehnes—it was anyone’s race. What was the recorded time?

“Two minutes, fifty-eight seconds. A good time indeed. Last year’s winner was just over three minutes.”

The Marquis of Fellingham joined them. “Congratulations, gentlemen. I gambled on my horse’s speed and lost, but it was a good match.”

“Did you hear the time? Your horse set a blistering pace for us to follow, Lord Fellingham. I hope for a rematch in the Derby this June, gentlemen,” Lord Ehnes declared.