A slight pause hung over his head before one of his friends finished the sentence for him.
“Then it is the jockey,” Lord Richardson said, as Matthew let out a long breath. “Listen, Blackwell, there is no shame in allowing a second jockey to go from your employ if you do not believe him to be the right fellow for the job. He will find new work almost immediately, given the time of year, so you need not feel any guilt over the matter.”
Matthew nodded, sighed, and ran one hand down over his face before looking speculatively at his two friends. “The truth is,” he admitted, “that I believe I have found a jockey that is more suitable by half than either Healy or Rigby. However, the person in question has never ridden in a race before.”
Lord Richardson’s face fell at this, although Lord Brighton continued to look hopeful.
“Why should that matter?” Lord Brighton asked with a shrug. “All jockeys have to have a first race. If they do better with Beauchamp than the other two jockeys then why is there any problem?”
Matthew hesitated, biting his words back before he could tell Lord Brighton the truth.
“I suppose Lord Brighton is correct,” Lord Richardson added slowly, his expression changing to one that held a little more hope. “But if he is inexperienced, that is certainly not to your advantage.”
Nodding, Matthew hesitated again before spreading his hands. “I have a dilemma, gentleman,” he said, glancing around Whites but seeing no one present that could overhear him. “Either I put a brand new jockey in the race for the Gold Cup, or I put my experienced jockey in the race. The first is better with Beauchamp than the latter, for it is as though he understands Beauchamp in a way Healy does not.” Shrugging, he let another sigh issue from his mouth. “I do not want to make the wrong decision.”
There came a few moments of quiet as his two friends considered this, with Matthew looking from one to the other in the hope that they might make the decision for him.
“I believe you already know what the right decision would be, Blackwell,” Lord Brighton said eventually, tipping his head to one side and frowning in Matthew’s direction. “But for some reason, something is holding you back from it. Is that not so?”
Closing his eyes, Matthew let out a long breath and found himself a little irritated that his friend could see his struggle so well. “I suppose that might be true,” he admitted heavily, wishing he could say more and express the truth about Miss Leighton. “The inexperienced jockey it is then.”
Lord Richardson grinned. “And I might have to reconsider betting on you to win,” he chortled, making Matthew wince ruefully. “With Healy, I thought it almost a certainty, but now…” He clicked his tongue and shook his head, although a grin curved his mouth at the same time.
“You have not seen Healy with Beauchamp,” Matthew replied grimly. “If you had, then you might already be considering removing your bet for the Gold Cup at Ascot.” He shook his head, hearing Lord Richardson’s shout of laughter. “It is only a few weeks away. I suppose I should return to the estate and begin to prepare the new jockey for what is to be their first race.” And the last, he told himself firmly, for if the new jockey won the Gold Cup then that would be a fulfillment of both her dream and his. Even if she did not win, Matthew did not think that he could continue to risk having a woman ride in the races. Once would be more than enough, and the only reason he was willing to allow it for the Gold Cup was simply because of his hope that he might, in fact, win.
“We will see you back at Whites soon, I hope,” Lord Brighton said, getting to his feet as Matthew rose. “I know it is some distance away, but it has been some time and the Season–”
“The Season does very little to interest me, as you know.” Matthew grinned. “Much to the chagrin of my mother!”
Lord Richardson chuckled. “Where is your mother at the present?” he asked, knowing how Matthew disliked having his mother’s continued urgings to go through all of society and find himself a bride. “Was she satisfied with the ball?”
“Very,” Matthew replied with a small smile. “She is returned to the Dower House, safe in the knowledge that I am still particularly eligible and still manage to garner a good deal of attention.” He sighed in exasperation, wishing his mother could understand that it was not a vapid young debutante that he wanted for a wife but rather someone who held something of the same passions as he. “She may insist that I go into society a little more the next time she comes to visit, but for the time being, I am safe.”
“That is a relief then,” Lord Richardson grinned, getting up to sh
ake Matthew’s hand. “Although if I ever come across a young lady with just as much as a passion for horseflesh as you, then I shall immediately send her to your estate with a note that states you must marry her immediately!”
Lord Brighton and Lord Richardson laughed aloud at this, and whilst Matthew tried to join in, a sudden thought crept into his mind. The thought was of none other than Miss Leighton, whom he knew came from a respectable family. She clearly had a deep, overwhelming passion for horses and was yet unmarried. A memory of how she had looked when the wig had fallen from her head came back to his mind with startling accuracy, reminding him of her vivid green eyes and dark tresses. Her oval face and slender neck had made him immediately realize that she was a young lady, his heart quickening at the recollection.
“Blackwell?”
Giving himself a slight shake, Matthew grinned and shrugged. “I was just thinking of how little chance such a thing has of ever occurring,” he stated, making his friends laugh. “But yes, I must return to the estate. It is growing late.” Making his farewells and promising to return soon, Matthew quickly made his way out of Whites and back towards his awaiting carriage. The return journey to his estate would take an hour at the very least, although possibly more in the dark, but he did not feel any desire to stay in London. He could easily go to his townhouse and reside there overnight, but now that his mind was made up, now that he had decided that he would risk allowing Miss Leighton to ride, he wanted nothing more than to tell her of his decision immediately.
It would mean asking Mr. Healy to leave his employment also, but Matthew found no particular qualm with such a thought. The fellow was much too brutal with Beauchamp and fought against the horse constantly instead of working with him, as Miss Leighton had suggested. It was yet another example of how the arrogant jockey believed that he had no need to accept advice from anyone for his way was the best and the only way.
Rolling his eyes, Matthew stepped into the carriage and rapped on the roof, settling back against the squabs as the carriage began to roll away. He would be home soon, and now that he had made his decision, his mind seemed to be a good deal more at ease. Miss Leighton would ride Beauchamp in the Gold Cup. He could hardly wait to tell her.
It was not until early the following morning that Matthew found himself able to go in search of Miss Leighton. They had arrived home much too late for such a thing to occur last evening, for most of the staff had already gone to their beds and were sound asleep. The butler and one or two of the footmen had been waiting for his arrival, and Matthew had sent them to their beds almost at once, stating that he could very easily take care of himself. He had found it difficult to sleep well unfortunately, and he had tossed and turned until he could take it no longer and had risen from his bed.
Now, bright and early and feeling a good deal of confidence in his decision to hire Miss Leighton as his jockey, Matthew approached the stables and walked inside – only to discover Mr. Healy slumped in the corner. His eyes were closed, his mouth ajar and a loud snore emanated from him. Matthew frowned and took a few steps closer, immediately able to surmise what was wrong with the jockey.
“Healy,” he said loudly, his voice filling the stables and making some of the horses whinny and stamp their feet in surprise. “I say, Healy!”
It took a few minutes and a sharp stab of Matthew’s booted toes into Mr. Healy’s side before the fellow opened his eyes. Matthew looked down at the man grimly, his frustration growing all the more. He had done the right thing in deciding to let Mr. Healy go from his employ, it seemed. The jockey should already be awake and preparing for his day’s work, but instead he was draped across the corner of the stable, clearly trying to remove himself from the fog of drunkenness that surrounded him even still.
“Get up,” Matthew said loudly, seeing Mr. Healy struggle to his feet, swaying slightly as he did so. “Healy, you are to leave this house this day. I will have no man in my employ behave in such a fashion.” He turned, only for Mr. Healy’s wheedling voice to reach him.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Healy whined, taking a stumbling step forward as Matthew turned back to look at him with a dark frown. “It was just a mistake. One night of revelry, that’s all.”