Wishes in the Wind (Kingsleys in Love 2)

“Hardly, sir. Still, I won’t venture far. Just in the event you need me.”

“I appreciate that, Saxon.” Dustin withdrew his timepiece and glanced at it. “I’ll meander through the paddock and see who’s about. Then, I’ll pay a visit to the Jockey Club and finalize the details for my entries at Epsom. I don’t expect to learn too much today. Many of the jockeys are still arriving. Still, it’s a start. Tomorrow will be even more productive.”

“Yes, sir.”

With the impersonal nod one would give one’s driver, Dustin strode off, making his way to the front of the stands along the Rowley Mile Course. Casually, he surveyed the thoroughbreds, sizing up their potential out of sheer force of habit.

“Tyreham.”

A familiar voice brought him around, and Dustin turned to see a tall, impeccably dressed gentleman approach.

“Lanston,” Dustin greeted his friend, “good to see you.”

“And you.” The earl reached his side. “I thought you were ensconced at Tyreham with the trainer I wish I’d never given away—least of all to you.”

Dustin chuckled. “I was and I am. But I had business in Suffolk and couldn’t resist assessing things at Newmarket.”

“Are you entered in this meeting?”

“No. As you just pointed out, I’m preoccupied with getting things in order at Tyreham. So I withdrew all those entries I’d scheduled for the upcoming fortnight from this meeting at Newmarket straight through the Knowlet Stakes at Manchester.”

“Why? Because you wouldn’t win?” Lanston raised an amused brow.

“No, because I never do things by half measures, as you well know.”

“Well, take heart. You wouldn’t have won anyway, at least not at Newmarket. I’ve entered three of my prize mounts in the Two-Year-Old Plate, the Maiden Plate, and the Rous Stakes, respectively. I intend to sweep all three races.”

“Excellent. I wish you the best of luck. May you do precisely as you proclaim.”

Surprise flickered across Lanston’s patrician features. “It’s not like you to be so magnanimous, Dustin. Especially when I know bloody well that your plans for the remainder of the racing year hinged on retaining Nick Aldridge, who’s injured and out of the country indefinitely.”

“True. Well then, I suppose I’m far more charitable then even I realized.”

“Hah.” The earl’s pale eyes glinted. “More likely, your good nature spawns from the rumors I’ve been hearing about your anonymous Derby contender.”

Dustin’s expression was the epitome of innocence. “Anonymous? Really, Edmund. You, of all people, know who I’m entering. You sold Dagger to me.”

“I wasn’t talking about the stallion, although Lord alone knows how you expect that maniacal demon to take the Derby. I was referring to your new jockey—Stoddard, I hear his name is.”

“You hear correctly. And, if I might be so bold as to offer some advice, I’d suggest that should you be entered in the Derby—withdraw. You’ll only lose.”

“That sure, are you?” Lanston inquired idly, brushing an imaginary speck off his sleeve. “I’m impressed. Tell me about this fellow.”

“No.”

Lanston started. “What?”

A broad grin. “You heard me. I’m not going to reveal one bloody detail about Stoddard, other than what’s listed in the sheet calendar. You’ll simply have to wait and see for yourself.”

“Surely your strategic silence doesn’t apply to your friends?”

“It applies to everyone. Stoddard is new at this, as you’re aware, and I don’t want anyone upsetting him or breaking his concentration. Not a tout, a backer, even a close friend who, despite our long-standing association, also happens to be a competitor. No, Lanston, this is one victory I mean to protect … and to savor.” Dustin patted the earl’s shoulder. “Once the race is over, Raggert is welcome to fill you in on every aspect of Stoddard’s training. He timed the lad yesterday, as a matter of fact. Stoddard is already besting last year’s winner by more than a nose, and that’s without the advantages handicapping will afford us, given the meager number of races Dagger has taken part in.”

Lanston kept his face carefully devoid of reaction, the ever-so-slight dilating of his pupils the only indication of his concern. “I see. Well, I’ll keep that in mind.” He cleared his throat. “And Raggert? He’s working out satisfactorily, I presume?”

“He only started yesterday, but with qualifications such as his, I expect he’ll be an asset to Tyreham’s stables.” A knowing twinkle lit Dustin’s eyes. “By the way, should your inquiry about Raggert—uttered on the heels of my refusal to discuss Stoddard—be a reminder of the colossal favor you did me, issued in the hopes of inciting my guilt, you may save your breath. I’ve saved your neck on more occasions in the past than I’d care to recount. So consider us even. If, however, you are truly concerned with my view of Raggert’s skills, ask me again at Epsom. By then, I’ll have watched his training methods long enough to render an opinion.”

“You’re certainly in high spirits,” Lanston asked with a wry grin. “Even cockier than usual.”