we are back to Genevieve again.”
There was silence between them as they were both thinking of the alluring, irrepressible and at times outrageous Lady Genevieve Rodney.
She had been widowed two years previously and the moment she was out of mourning she had set the Social world by the ears by the way that she defied convention.
But the gentlemen all found her irresistible and her small house in Mayfair was besieged day and night by her innumerable admirers.
It was not surprising that she had set her cap at the Earl of Helstone.
He was not only one of the richest men in the whole of England but he was, in many women’s opinion, by far the best-looking.
It was, however, with reason that he was nicknamed ‘The Elusive Earl’.
Ever since he had left school he had been pursued by ambitious mothers and by women who found both his handsome face and his well-filled pockets desirable.
But he had eluded every effort to lure him into the matrimonial net and was extremely fastidious in selecting the recipients of his affections.
It had, however, amused him, when Lady Genevieve was the toast of St, James’s and pursued by every buck and beau of the Social world, to sweep her off from under their very noses.
She had made no pretence that he was the first man to capture her heart. Nor was he the first lover she had taken after her husband’s death.
But during the months that they had been together she had made it very clear that she intended that he should be the last. Lady Genevieve’s heart was a vacillating organ and the Earl was never quite certain how much her protestations of true love rested on the fact that he could provide for her as lavishly as she desired and give her a position in Society that would be unequalled by anyone outside the Royal family.
The Helstones had Royal blood in their veins and it was known that their genealogical Family Tree with all its quarterings was a headache to the College of Heralds.
Apart from that the Earl had achieved on his own merits a position of importance in the House of Lords, which made him a person to be reckoned with and his opinion to be sought. And no one would deny that he reigned supreme in the sporting world.
He had concentrated on breeding thoroughbreds and had actually imported Arab stallions as the earlier breeders had done to improve his own strain.
Delos, however, the horse that had won the race at Newmarket, was a direct descendant of the famous Eclipse, which had sired so many great racehorses and whose successes were still spoken of with bated breath in racing circles.
Eclipse had been named after the great eclipse that occurred in 1764 the year of his birth and had been bred by William, the Duke of Cumberland, who died, however, a year later.
The horse was bought at the Duke’s disposal sale by William Wildeman, a Smithfield meat salesman, for seventy-five guineas.
Eclipse made his first appearance on a Racecourse in the ‘Noblemen and Gentlemen’s Plate’ at Epsom in 1769. His breath-taking performance made everyone with a knowledge of horseflesh realise that here was a phenomenon that would stand out for all time in the history of racing.
The Earl of Helstone as a boy had heard his father talk of Eclipse and of his win being recorded by the famous words ‘Eclipse first, the rest nowhere’.
He had a strong feeling that Delos or one of the other horses in his stable, might prove to be what he sought. But one could never be sure until the animal had run in a number of the great races on the flat.
‘Perhaps to own an ‘Eclipse’ or a horse to equal him,’ the Earl told himself now, ‘would be the most satisfactory ambition that a man could ask of life.’
He looked up at a picture over the mantelpiece. It was a portrait of Eclipse painted by George Stubbs.
The dark chestnut colour of the horse was set off by a white blaze and white stocking on his off hind leg. He was a big horse by the standard of his time, standing fifteen hands three inches.
He had a great length from hip to hock, a short and powerful forearm and long sloping shoulders.
These qualities had given him his tremendous stride, which, when combined with a fiery aggressive temperament, won for him an indelible place in the annals of the turf.
Lord Yaxley followed his friend’s eyes and commented,
“I grant you Delos made a spectacular finish today. Do you think he can win the Derby?”
“I have not yet made up my mind if I will enter him,” the Earl responded.
“You will be pressed to do so,” Lord Yaxley said.
“I assure that you I shall follow my own judgement in the matter,” the Earl answered. “Nobody yet has been successful in pressing me to do anything I did not wish to do.”
His friend, looking at him across the hearth, decided that this was most certainly true.
He knew better than anyone else how determined and unyielding the Earl could be once he had made up his mind.
He was extremely fond of him and they had indeed been friends ever since they had been children in their perambulators.
They had been to the same school, served in the same Regiment and strangely enough they had inherited their titles and estates in the same year.
But, while the Earl was immeasurably richer and more important on a Social scale than Lord Yaxley, who was comfortably well off and there were few prestigious families in Great Britain who would not have welcomed him as a son-in-law.
“To win the Derby would be a satisfaction that I do not think could be achieved by any other race,” Lord Yaxley said.
“I agree with you,” the Earl remarked. “But if I don’t enter Delos, there is always Zeus or Pericles.”
“The trouble is you have too many plums in the pudding!” Lord Yaxley smiled.
“Still gunning for me, eh, Willoughby?”
The Earl rose to his feet to walk across the comfortably furnished room.
“And after the Derby, I suppose I try for the Gold Cup at Ascot and after Ascot the St. Leger?”
“Why not?” Lord Yaxley enquired.
“The same old round,” the Earl remarked. “You are right, Willoughby, I am beginning to find it a dead bore. I think I will go abroad.”
“Abroad?” Lord Yaxley expostulated, sitting up in his chair. “What on earth for? And surely not during the Season?”
“I think it is the Season that I find so extremely dull,” the Earl remarked. “Those endless balls and parties. The invitations pouring in. The chatter, the gossip and the scandal. I have done it so many times before. My God! It is a headache.”
“You are spoilt, Osric, just spoilt,” Lord Yaxley exclaimed. “Why, there is not a man in the whole
