Lord Rakehell by Virginia Henley

“Aren’t you a member of the Jockey Club, my lord?”
    â€œIndeed I am.”
    â€œThe very chap I wanted to meet. By any chance do you suppose you could sponsor a new racehorse owner for membership?”
    â€œAre you a betting man, Hastings?”
    â€œDo dogs have fleas?” Henry laughed.
    Anne tapped her brother-in-law on the shoulder. “Before you submerge yourselves in the dissolute sport of kings, I have a favor to ask. How about placing a bet for me in the St. Leger?”
    â€œIt would be my pleasure, sweetheart.”
    â€œBe warned. One of these days I intend to join you at Doncaster or Newmarket.”
    Fane winked, and rubbed the side of his nose to indicate her secret was safe.
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    The first ball of the fashionable winter Season attracted the crème de la crème of Society.
    While the young people danced, their elders gathered in groups to converse. The males spoke of race meets and politics, while the females gossiped. Since the drink flowed freely, a good deal of laughter occasionally drowned out the music.
    Anne’s next partner was Henry Fitzmaurice, the young Earl of Kerry. Though he wasn’t as tall as the Hamilton men, he had broad shoulders and brilliant blue eyes.
    â€œSo many gentlemen are called Henry that I think I shall call you Harry.” Anne’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Harry Kerry has such a lovely ring to it.”
    â€œI don’t much care for Henry either—my friends call me Fitz. Would you consider an outing with me, Lady Anne?”
    â€œI most certainly would, Fitz. What do you have in mind?”
    â€œWe can do whatever would give you pleasure—the museum, the Tower, or how about the boating lake in Regent’s Park?”
    â€œThey all sound wonderful, but by the width of your shoulders I warrant you enjoy rowing. If you take me to Regent’s Park, I’ll bring my sketchbook and draw some of the swans and herons.”
    â€œLovely. I shall call for you Sunday afternoon, if that’s convenient.”
    â€œYou have your own perch phaeton, don’t you, Fitz? Mother drives her own carriage in the park and taught me to drive last year. If you would be generous enough to let me take the reins, I would be forever in your debt.”
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    After two hours of dancing, Anne, Frances, and Florence withdrew to powder their noses and compare notes. “You have such lovely, long legs, Anne. I have to stand on a stool to see in the mirror,” Lady Florence complained.
    â€œIt doesn’t stop you from dancing. My brother calls you the
Pocket Venus
.”
    â€œWhich brother? You have eight,” Florence pointed out.
    â€œAs far as I’m concerned, Montagu is my
only
brother. The other seven are half brothers. They look down their aristocratic noses at me, with the exception of Leicester. He’s my youngest half brother, the only one who’s unmarried.”
    â€œIs he the handsome devil in the dashing officer’s green uniform?” Frances asked.
    â€œYes, he’s an officer in the prestigious Prince Albert’s Rifle Brigade.”
    â€œI find it hard to resist a man in a uniform,” Frances confided.
    â€œBlandford Churchill is a good dancer. He told me he has just joined the Horse Guards, if you are looking for a man in a uniform.”
    â€œMarlborough’s heir is the best catch in London,” Frances declared avidly.
    Anne laughed. “He does remind me of a trout.”
    â€œAren’t you interested?”
    â€œNot in the least.”
    â€œGood, then I shall put him on my list along with the Marquis of Hartington. By the way, who is that beautiful woman Harty was dancing with?”
    â€œThat’s Louise, Duchess of Manchester. She used to be wardrobe mistress to the queen. The duke and my mother are distant cousins. Their family name is Montagu—that’s