An Embarrassment of Riches by Margaret Pemberton Read Free Book Online Page B

that the footmen had worn powdered wigs and silken knee-breeches, he had excused himself from the sumptuously laden table and disappeared in the direction of the kitchens. When tracked down by his hostess, who had never before stepped foot in the nether regions of her home, Karolyis was found with a salami in his hand, a pearl-handled clasp knife in the other. His ability to cut himself one-handedly thick slice after slice was lost on his hostess. He had never been invited to the Roosevelt mansion again. Henry doubted that he had cared.
    It occurred to him that the boy before him was more like his grandfather than he was his father. There was the same careless nonchalance in his stance, the same go-to-the-devil recklessness in his dark eyes, the same effortless charm. Grudgingly Henry had to admit that, as he had liked the grandfather, so he felt himself warming towards the grandson.
    â€˜Well, I do, my boy,’ he said at last. ‘It’s a royal sport and in the not too far future New York will have an American Jockey Club worthy of it.’
    He began to stroll towards the track, obviously expecting Alexander to fall into step beside him. Relieved at the amicable outcome of the meeting, Alexander did so.
    â€˜The city needs a track where blooded horses can run under gentlemen’s rules,’ Henry continued, avoiding a hawker selling pies of doubtful-looking quality. ‘I’ve already spoken to August Belmont and Leonard Jerome and William Travers about such a possibility.
    They are familiar with European clubs and tracks and know the kind of thing I have in mind.’
    Alexander nodded. Leonard Jerome was a notorious high liver who was reputed to stable his beloved horses in carpeted stalls fitted with hand-carved walnut panelling. Travers was his business partner. Together with Belmont they knew more about horse-flesh than the rest of New York put together. A Jockey Club with such a threesome at the helm would be a Jockey Club worth belonging to.
    As they pushed their way through the crowds to the course Alexander was aware of Charlie desperately trying to keep them in view. He grinned to himself. Henry’s reaction to discovering a Karolyis amid petty touts and ladies of light virtue would be far different to his reaction if he discovered a young Schermerhorn in such surroundings. Unless Charlie wanted the lambasting of his life he was just going to have to lie low.
    â€˜Your father’s trainer could be right about Colourful Dancer,’ Henry was saying to him companionably. ‘Let’s take the risk.’
    Ten minutes later they were happily counting their considerable winnings, much to Charlie’s almost tearful chagrin.
    Henry was enjoying himself. Victor’s whelp was proving to be entertaining company. ‘You must come with me to Harlem Lane one day,’ he suggested, happily uncaring of Alexander’s youth and the impropriety of encouraging him to attend dubious race tracks and to mix with the city’s riff-raff.
    â€˜I’d like that.’ Alexander was beginning to like old Henry. Every other Schermerhorn he had ever met, apart from Charlie, had been insufferably priggish. Henry was definitely not priggish. Underneath his very dignified exterior he was proving to be a lot of fun.
    â€˜You’ve never visited Tarna, have you?’ he enquired as they strode towards the owners’ enclosure. ‘My grandfather was passionate about horses. The stud he founded at Tarna is heaven on earth. Why don’t you visit for a few days and see around it?’
    â€˜Wonderful!’ Henry’s heavily lined face lit up with happy anticipation and then he paused, his elation dying. ‘However, my relations with your father are not exactly close and …’
    â€˜And it might be better if you came when he was elsewhere,’ Alexander finished for him. ‘I quite agree. But there isn’t a problem. Pa is always on the move. I’ll let