Wishes in the Wind (Kingsleys in Love 2)

“Pacing,” Nick corrected. “Pacing is what will ultimately win you this race, Nickie. And pacing does not always mean speed.”

“No, it doesn’t. Especially not on the Epsom course. I have to contend with that difficult turn at Tattenham Corner, not to mention the steep downhill section. Those are the times when I’ll have to slow down, be precise.”

“Exactly. Precise and smooth. The slightest hesitation could cost you the race. Now, combine your memories and your instincts and tell me, how would you take the Derby course?”

Nicole frowned. “I’d feel better about answering that question if I’d already ridden it.”

“Don’t start that argument again. You’re not venturing from Tyreham until your marquis returns. Now, answer my question.”

“Very well.” She sighed. “The Derby course is in the shape of a horseshoe. The first section is on the ascent, and I’ll reach the top of the hill upon rounding Tattenham Corner. Here’s where my pacing must be perfect. If I ease Dagger around the bend without breaking stride or pushing too hard, we’ll sail easily into the descent. If not, we’ll fly into it awkwardly and either lose footing or momentum—either of which could cost us the race. The winning post is only a short distance from there.”

“So you’ll be prepared for it, there’s a slight rise leading into the winning post. But if you’ve mastered the descent, that should pose no problem.” Nick rubbed his hands together. “Having accomplished all that, at what point do you make your effort, breaking into a gallop that will leave the others far behind and award you first place?”

Nicole smiled at her father’s obvious bias. “Fifty yards from the winning post.”

“Excellent. Better than excellent.” Nick positively beamed. “You’ve never even ridden the course, and your feel for it is exceptional. Between what I’m teaching you and your natural instincts, no other jockey has a prayer.”

“Remember, Papa, count on nothing,” Nicole teased, rising to hug him. “In all seriousness,” she added, sobering, “my instincts alone wouldn’t be enough—not without these sessions of ours. You know more about racing than anyone on the English turf. I’m blessed to have your guidance and your teaching, both of which are invaluable.” A shadow nickered across her face. “At least some trainers are committed to what they do.”

“We’re back to Raggert again.”

“He hasn’t wandered from my side once during the past three days. And, believe me, his intentions aren’

t to praise Dagger or encourage me. All he does is grill me incessantly and inspect Dagger as if the poor stallion is bound to slip up and show his true colors at any given moment. Evidently, Mr. Raggert thinks I need constant supervision, and that with Dustin away, it’s his job to provide it.” She shook her head in frustration. “Honestly, Papa, if Raggert spent half as much time scrutinizing the horses as he does scrutinizing me, I might actually believe he’s as splendid a trainer as you and Dustin claim.”

“Is it that bad?” Nick scowled. “I hadn’t realized he was asking you questions. About what?”

“Don’t start worrying.” Nicole patted her father’s arm reassuringly. “He hasn’t a clue who I really am. His questions are all for Stoddard—where Stoddard is from, where did he apprentice, how did he come to work at Tyreham, that sort of thing.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I’d apprenticed in Scotland, near the small village where I was born. That Lord Tyreham happened upon me during one of his summer visits to Balmoral and was impressed with my horsemanship. Therefore, when Nick Aldridge was unable to answer the personal, Lord Tyreham summoned me to England and to Tyreham. End of story.”

“Did you mention this fanciful yarn of yours to Lord Tyreham before using it on Raggert?”

“It’s not fanciful, Papa. It’s as close to the truth as I could get, other than the part about my living in Scotland. As for discussing the details with Dustin, no I hadn’t the chance, but I will. The instant he returns from Newmarket.”

“You don’t consider invented visits to Balmoral fanciful?”

“In Dustin’s case, they’re neither fanciful nor invented. His father was a close friend of Her Majesty’s, so the Kingsleys spent many summer days at Balmoral. During one visit, in fact, Dustin saved the queen’s life. That’s how he acquired his title—it was bestowed upon him by Queen Victoria.”

“I’m impressed.” Nick regarded her intently. “More importantly, so are you, not by the title but by the way in which it was earned. Lord Tyreham saved someone’s life, our queen’s, no less. That’s quite a feat.” A satisfied nod. “As your father, I’m also very pleased that you and Tyreham have shared so many personal anecdotes. The acquiring of his title, your locket …” Her father shot her a meaningful look.

“All right, Papa, you’ve made your point. Yes, I told Dustin about the locket. And about Mama.” A soft smile. “The memories just seemed to spill forth on their own.”

“That’s as it should be.” Nick cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to Raggert. Even if his questions are innocent, why the hell is he so curious about Stoddard? Jockeys aren’t his business, horses are.”

“My view exactly.”

“Well, I intend to report this to Tyreham when he returns. He should be aware that Raggert is poking around where he doesn’t belong.” Another purposeful glance. “He should also be aware of the story you conjured up about Stoddard’s background.”

“I’ll tell him.” Nicole’s eyes twinkled. “On the way to Epsom. Where I intend to dash off to the very instant Dustin sets foot on this estate.”

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door.

Nick tensed, his gaze darting toward the hallway.

“I’ll see who it is,” Nicole declared at once, reaching up to confirm that her cap was still in place. “But there’s only one person who ever visits us here.” She crossed the room in a flash. “Dustin must be home.”