An Angel for the Earl by Bárbara Metzger Read Free Book Online

it before the thing lost its starch from being fluttered about. “Great slimy monsters they were too, slithery, snaky things, crawling all over.”
    â€œNo gorgeous females?”
    â€œCriminy, an’ I saw gorgeous females, I’d still be drinking, begging your pardon, my lord.”
    Buckskin breeches molding his muscular legs, a coat of blue superfine stretched across his wide shoulders, and the neckcloth tied in a new knot, the windfall, the Earl of Stanford was ready to meet the day.
    And a fine day it was, too. No clouds for once, no wind, and no interfering female, imaginary or otherwise. Kerry stepped jauntily out of the door of Stanford House. As usual, he did leave half of last night’s winnings with Demby for safekeeping, but this time with instructions to put at least something on account on all of the tradesmen’s bills, and to pay off the smallest and longest overdue.
    Whistling, Lord Stanford was off to the races. A minor meeting was to be held at the oval near Warringdon, just outside Richmond. Lovely, brisk weather, superior horseflesh, convivial company—not even Lucy Faire could find fault with the day’s entertainment.
    Of course some of the races were fixed. Everyone knew the jockeys were frequently paid to lose apurpose, and often enough horses were nobbled, drugged or injured so they couldn’t run the course. Still, it was the sport of kings, and a downy cove could win a king’s ransom with judicious betting, inside tips, and a bit of luck. Kerry considered himself an excellent judge of horseflesh, he’d made friends with a paddock watchman, and his luck was definitely in.
    The track was crowded, rough wagons alongside racing curricles, countrymen and clerks rubbing shoulders with turf rats and toffs.
    Kerry found a boy to hold his horses, then made his way through the spectators, keeping a wary eye out for pickpockets and anyone who might wish to lighten his purse by demanding repayment of debts.
    Lemuel, the guard, was holding fast to the gate, making sure no unauthorized persons had access to the horses. A few coins loosened his tongue.
    â€œThe rider of Aldebaran in the first was out here havin’ a confab with Six Fingers O’Sullivan, then he went in passin’ somethin’ out among the other jockeys. An’ in the second race, that Frenchy what trains Lord Finsterer’s nags went ’round checkin’ all the stalls, lookin’ for some missin’ tack.” Lemuel placed his finger alongside his nose, and his other hand out.
    Kerry filled the open palm and went off to place his wagers. He was careful not to put too much of the ready with any one bet taker, lest he change the odds on Aldebaran in the first or Lord Finsterer’s Nightdancer in the second.
    Aldebaran came in second. That threw off Kerry’s parlaying calculations, but not by much. The day was still early. Then Nightdancer’s jockey fell off partway through the last turn. His saddle slipped. Rumor around the track had it that Finsterer was too much a nipcheese to buy new leathers.
    Kerry went back to Lemuel.
    Lemuel scratched his head. “Well, in the third, that big gray do be the favorite on account of his trainin’ times, but they ain’t got him off to a good start yet. He don’t like other horses next to or nigh him, so he’ll balk at the gate.”
    The gray hated other horses near him so much that he finished ten lengths ahead of his nearest competitor. Kerry’s long shot must have disliked the other runners, too; he stayed a long, long way behind them.
    Lemuel whispered that Ruffles in the fourth had been given something to make him run faster; he was a sure thing. The only sure thing was that Ruffles dropped dead around the first bend, along with Kerry’s hopes of amassing a fortune. He was losing too much on each bet and on Lemuel’s misinformation, and there were only three races left.
    â€œBlast, I’ll