As the ladies were settling in their rooms and being refreshed with tea, their rotund host became effusively forthcoming about Lord Wolverton and his racers.
"His lordship has winners more often as not, and I've reckoned a good bit of blunt on him this week. He is a member of the Jockey Club, too. When he wanted rooms, I gave him rooms. A canny sort don't refuse a request from him."
"What is this Jockey Club?" Solange asked.
"I believe they are the rulers of the British Turf," Julienne said wryly. "Dare will no doubt be happy to satisfy our curiosity tonight."
As she expected, Dare's hired lodge turned out to be a mansion. And as usual, his chef had prepared an excellent dinner.
The conversation proved just as fulfilling to Julienne. She had resolved to think of this outing as a holiday-to enjoy herself and try to forget the danger lurking over their heads. Since she had never attended a race meet, she found Dare's explanations about the racing of blood horses highly engrossing.
"The race this week will be run over a mile on a straight course," Dare said. "And the winner will receive a purse of two thousand guineas, thus the name."
In past centuries, grueling heats were run over distances as long as four miles, he explained. But nowadays match races were shorter and run for money, while plate and cup races were run for trophies. The 2000 Guineas on Friday was a match race, with a field of twenty-three horses. Huge sums would be wagered on side bets, Dare added, predicting that the amount for this race would reach two hundred thousand pounds.
"So much?" Solange exclaimed.
"Would you care to place a wager?" he asked.
"Not I," Julienne responded first. "I have no intention of depleting my hard-earned purse on an absurd wager like some outrageous noblemen we know."
Dare merely grinned at her jibe. "Well then, if you ladies are amenable, we will observe the training at the course tomorrow morning and tour the Jockey Club headquarters in the afternoon. And there is an assembly tomorrow night. Newmarket boasts some of the premier studs in the country, but we can save visiting them till the following day."
Solange wrinkled her nose. "Mais non, I do not care to suffer a smelly stables, but I should very much like to attend a dance."
The following morning, they rode out on hired hacks to watch the training on Newmarket Heath. The mist was just dissipating, and Julienne could see vast stretches of green sown with copses of splendid beech trees. On the landscape beyond rose the turrets and cupolas of countless stud farms and stables.
The horses looked magnificent, with their coats shining in the sunlight and powerful muscles flexing as they cantered past in warm-up laps.
"Possibly a third of the Thoroughbreds in England train here," Dare informed them.
Several dozen trainers and owners stood beside the course, studying watches and giving instructions to jockeys.
There were no special seats for spectators or booths selling food or any other amenities. As a result, there were few ladies present, for few of the fairer sex would tolerate the spartan discomfort of the Newmarket course. Most of the observers, Dare said, would watch the race from horseback or from the top of coach roofs.
"You cannot expect us to climb upon a coach!" Solange protested-to which Dare flashed an amused grin and assured her that his servants would provide his guests with every comfort.
Despite the current lack of accommodations, however, the excitement was contagious. They saw the two colts Dare had entered in the race and watched their breathtaking performance as they pounded down the heath in a surge of thundering hooves and flying manes. Afterward, Dare introduced his trainer and spoke privately with him while Julienne and Solange waited.
"My apologies," Dare said at the conclusion. "The fellow is as temperamental as any blooded mare and must be handled with care. But he's the best there is at his profession."
That, too, didn't surprise Julienne, for she suspected Dare would hire only the best.
They lunched at a public house in Newmarket and later toured the Jockey Club on High Street, the center of breeding and racing in England, where the Stud Book and Racing Calendar were kept.
That evening they attended an assembly at the home of one of the local noblemen for supper and dancing. Dare, it seemed, knew everyone. The moment his party entered the ballroom, he was surrounded by acquaintances wanting to renew old friendships and requesting his opinion on their racers.
Julienne and Solange were given little chance to feel neglected, though, for the company was lively and congenial, and both ladies found themselves much sought after by gentlemen eager to dance.
Eventually Julienne enjoyed a waltz with Dare. And they partook of the buffet supper with him. But then she was drawn away again when her next partner claimed her.
Near the end of the evening, Julienne was returning from the floor to where Solange awaited her when out of the corner of her eye she caught a sight that froze her in her tracks: a tall, dark-haired figure of a man hovering at the edge of the crowd.
Ivers.
He disappeared from view just as suddenly, but a sense of unease washed over Julienne. Her skin felt cold and clammy, and she had difficulty breathing.
"Are you unwell, mon amie?" Solange asked solicitously. "You look quite pale."