The Two Thousand Guineas. At last! Jack Wetherley’s heart pounded, as the eleven horses trotted out onto the course.

The bright silks of the jockeys added to the extra colour provided by the glamorous gowns worn by the lady spectators and the maroon, purple and vivid blues of the men’s jackets. The excited buzz of the massed crowds all around them, and the sunlight gifted for this early May festival heightened Jack’s already burgeoning anticipation.

The waiting was almost over. All the care, all the concerns over the relatively kindly winter months, when only the hardness of the ground occasionally hindered the training of their thoroughbred Trafalgar, were behind them.

If those months had seemed to pass slowly, the last three days on the journey here to the Newmarket racecourse had really dragged. This was because Sir Oswald had ensured that their own two pairs of carriage horses were well-rested between stages. Although eager to move on, Jack knew it was a correct decision.

And as if that wasn’t enough, the hours since he awoke that morning had been interminable. But here they were sat on the front benches of the impressive wooden stand. Close to him, maybe a little too close for decorum, since she was Sir Oswald’s niece, was his gorgeous Becky.

Beyond Becky was Alf, the elderly ostler Jack had been apprenticed to, and then came Sir Oswald, looking unusually excited and Lady Brandling, looking utterly bored.

This would be Trafalgar’s third race. His wonderful successes at York and Doncaster meetings had led to his entry in the new Two Thousand Guineas Classic over one mile. For this one Sir Oswald had really opened the purse strings and they had stayed in classy hotels rather than the hostelries of the other two trips.

For Jack, it was a further indication of just how far Sir Oswald’s enthusiasm had developed. The reflected glory of owning a successful racehorse really appealed to him. So keen had he become that back in October, he had purchased a second thoroughbred.

He had laughed as he told Jack, “Selling my wines can be carried out with greater aplomb when I’m a winning racehorse owner, rather than a wizened old army major.”

Alf, who was very near to retirement, had commented, “God, he’s so taken up with horse racing, he’s even making jokes about his military past.”

Jack had laughed, “He’d still like to shoot Napoleon, though.”

 That morning as Jack had shrugged into his fine blue jacket for this special day, he recalled how Becky had commented on how her uncle’s increased interest and consequent unpredictable visits to the stable had inhibited their liaison to some extent.

Only Alf knew of their affair and had kindly extended his time away while they shared time in the hay of the stable. The risk of their commoner/privileged situation being discovered was always present.

Sitting near Becky, watching their beloved Trafalgar parading with the best of his age group helped calm his nerves. Becky’s nearness would always have a calming effect on him.

On the previous evening, Jack and Alf had found the special Newmarket stabling quarters, kept only for the highest-grade horses, highly impressive. They confidently left their wonderfully successful thoroughbred chestnut, securely housed.

But for Jack, there had been a downside. Sir Oswald had only been able to house their party in two separate hotels. He and Lady Brandling, along with their niece, had rooms in another hotel, while Jack, Alf, and jockey Nate Oliver were in the Adelphi which was just as up-market.

The hotel where they were all able to stay on the previous evening, had allocated single rooms with a double for Sir Oswald and his wife. It had only taken a little caution for Jack to flit from his room to Becky’s unlatched door.

They lay, snug in each other’s arms and talked, as always about their prospects for the future.

Now with the thoroughbred horses parading in a circle in front of the stands, he gave Becky a slight surreptitious nudge and very briefly their hands touched, as she asked, “Does Nate know what to do about the Prince Regent’s horse?”

“All of those decisions were taken this morning,” Jack told her, looking into her lovely face, longing to kiss her.

Earlier that morning, after breakfast, Jack, Alf and Nate had walked through the town, finishing on the main approach to the course. From there a left turn took them to the special stables, where they had to identify themselves to two officials at the door. That’s how careful they were. Jack was highly impressed.

Alf chuckled as he turned to Jack and said, “I wouldn’t be surprised to find Becky is here before us.”

“Their hotel’s further away,” Jack reminded him, always delighted to hear Alf use Becky’s name. She had asked him to drop his respectful ‘m’lady’ when away from any gentry.

Alf had found it awkward at first. All his life had been spent treating aristocracy with respect, but for Jack, it was a mark of Becky’s appreciation of a friend, no matter what status. Her contemptuous attitude to privilege was what had attracted him to her in the first place. Well, that and her smooth-skinned beauty

 Once inside, they hurried directly to the third stall where they knew Trafalgar was housed. The horse came immediately to meet them, and Jack and Alf went inside to check him over. Everything was fine. No marks, a very contented horse.

Nate, staying outside the stall, laughed creasing his face, prematurely wrinkled from keeping his weight down for racing purposes, as he said, “So I can look forward to winning a Classic race.”

Alf laughed with him, “Glad to hear that kind of confidence.”

They came out of the stall and Trafalgar followed them to the gate. It was remarkable how much more friendly he had become as he’d put on a few months. Initially, Becky had been the only person he’d respond to.

Now though, the chestnut, poked his head over the gate for Jack to rub his muzzle fondly. “Big day, my beauty,” Jack mumbled, and laughed as Trafalgar’s hooves beat a brief tattoo on the straw. “Oh, you agree.”

There was the clopping of hoof beats moving from the far end of the stable towards them. Nate growled, ”Now here’s the animal that could give us problems.”

A pure white stallion was being led by two handlers and a third man, in rather finer dress. The horse moved, head up, looking side to side. “What a magnificent horse, “ Alf sighed.

“That is Majestic. He’s the Prince Regent’s horse. I’m told the Prince is going to be here this afternoon to watch him win”

As the horse and followers came level with them, Jack murmured, “He hopes, eh, Trafalgar?” But he knew he was looking at an extra special horse, “He even walks like a prince,”

“And runs like the wind, I’ve heard,” Nate told them. “He’s had three runs to Trafalgar’s two. One of them was just this season, so he’s fit and so very fast. But there’s more than that--” He paused, as though he shouldn’t let them know the rest.

“What?” Alf asked. “He hasn’t got six legs, has he?”

“Not that,” Nate grinned. Then his face became more serious as he went on, “We can joke about it, Alf, but three top-grade races, and no horse has been nearer than six lengths at the finish”

“We know how fast Trafalgar can be,” Jack said, almost defensively, as this talk of their quality opponent was raising the early flutters in his chest.

Nate looked a little regretful, as he lowered his vision and said, “I don’t really want to sound like a pessimist, but we need to look at the reality of the situation. Majestic’s last race he won by eight lengths, and his stablemate, Royal Standard was in that race.”

Trafalgar had beaten Royal Standard at Doncaster by no more than a head, and Jack was quick to point that out, “But you were badly baulked in that race.” And to lighten the prevailing mood he threw an arm around Nate’s shoulders, “Anyway, we know we’ve got the best jockey.”

Alf seconded that and Nate nodded his gratitude, before adding, “There’s one thing I’ve heard about the way they run Majestic.”

“Which is?”

A determined look crossed Nate’s face, “In all his races, he’s stayed up with the leaders but still in the pack, he’s ignored any horse that tries to race ahead. But at the final furlong, he takes off as though fired from a gun.”

“Isn’t that how we’ve tried to run Trafalgar?” Jacked asked.

“Exactly,” Nate agreed. “So –”

“You keep abreast of him until the seven-furlong mark, and then—we find out,” Jack said, knowing the wobble in his chest was going to be there until the race was over.

Then Alf said, “Old trainer I was speaking to at breakfast told me that Majestic is already odds-on favourite.”

“And us?”

“That’s all he knew.”

Now, Jack turned to Nate, “Time for a run-out?”

Nate agreed, so Jack and Alf, saddled Trafalgar, fitted his bridle, and they led Trafalgar out to the practice course, beyond which was a stretch of shrubs. Nate hauled himself up into the saddle saying, “No point in anyone coming down to the far end. Stay at this end and see how he finishes. What do you think, Jack?”

Jack,  sure they had done as much as they could with Trafalgar said, “Yes, a good steady gallop first time down.  You decide, Nate, when to hit top speed, but for no more than one hundred and fifty yards. In case we have inquisitive eyes watching,”

Nate nodded his understanding and was just about to trot away when a call of “Good morning,” from behind them signalled the surprise arrival of Sir Oswald and Becky. Jack’s heart gave an extra beat at the sight of her running towards them.

Jack could see that she wasn’t dressed for the meeting, as she wore a loose-fitting gown that she’d worn occasionally for riding, totally inappropriate for that purpose, but that was Becky.

Her rush, her black hair flowing out behind her, her brown eyes fixed on him, had Jack wishing that she was dashing into his arms. But as she came closer, Trafalgar jerked his head prompting her loving muzzle stroke, which was immediate.

“Oh, he looks wonderful.”

“You were just in time, m’lady.” Nate said from the saddle.

A wide smile on his face, Sir Oswald approached, “She just had to be here. Couldn’t wait.”

“Neither could you, uncle,” Becky said, still stroking Trafalgar “Could hardly eat breakfast.”

Sir Oswald nodded his head. “I admit it. Such a special day. Fortunately, the hotel has a handy curricle service. The driver is waiting to take us back.”

Jack looked at the reddened face. Such over-enthusiasm was rare in Sir Oswald.

Nate trotted Trafalgar to the starting point for gallops. Just as the white Majestic came loping past them as Jack nudged Alf, who commented, “They give nothing away, do they?” Then he grinned as he added, “I’ve never trusted Royalty.”

“That is a fine-looking animal,” Sir Oswald exclaimed, nodding his head towards the retreating tail of Majestic.

“Not as fine as Trafalgar,” Becky argued, prompting Jack and Alf to outline all they knew about Majestic.

Sir Oswald laughed, “That special, is he? Maybe Lord Duckham has more secrets to divulge.” More seriously he added, “He and I have much to discuss anyway.”

That mention of Lord Duckham set Jack’s mind churning again as he recalled the Doncaster race and the kind words from his Lordship after Trafalgar had beaten Royal Standard trained by Lord Duckham for the Prince Regent.

The two older men had walked away in deep conversation. Could that have been what persuaded Sir Oswald to purchase a second thoroughbred?  A jet black stallion which he had named Nelson’s Pride. But even that did not account for the way his total commitment to the racing developed.

Now, they watched Nate bring Trafalgar along at a brisk gallop. Oh, yes, the horse was moving so well. With all their training, Jack knew what Nate could produce from him. He gloried in Trafalgar’s every muscle movement as he came on, and heard Becky at his elbow, whisper, “So beautiful.”

Then Nate was leaning over close to the chestnut’s ears. Jack could see his lips moving.

Instantly, Trafalgar moved from being a galloping horse. Streaking past them he became a flash of chestnut light before Nate quickly slowed him. Jack felt his heart pounding, and this was just a practice. But so impressive.

Sir Oswald growled, “Can he keep that magnificent pace up for a whole furlong.”

It was Alf who answered the question, “He’s going to need to.”

“And he will,” cried Becky with much greater surety than earlier.

Then Trafalgar was left on his own, and Jack took the opportunity to thank Nate for the excellent timing he’d shown on the horse.

“Not my timing,“ Nate said modestly, “his response. Oh, I hope he gets his reward. He really is a gem, Jack.”

As they walked out of the stable, Sir Oswald announced that the curricle driver would be expecting them. “Back to the hotel, and into our finery for our special afternoon.”

Jack caught the shrug and the “Sorry” in his beloved Becky’s eyes. They’d had virtually no time together.

Sir Oswald then surprised them, when he asked Alf, “Would you come back to the hotel with us while we’re changing. I would like the coach made ready so that after the racing, we can all come back together. For the meal I have already booked--- I hope a celebratory meal. We’ll be back just after midday. First race isn’t until two o’clock.”

Alf had no objections, and soon, with Nate saying he was going to find some jockey friends to seek any inside information, Jack found himself in the unusual situation of being on his own. In his anxious mind, he was telling himself that all he wanted from Trafalgar was an honest peak effort. But he couldn’t convince himself that it would really satisfy him.

Aimlessly, he viewed the front of the high stand, decorated with expensive looking bunting and floral decoration, especially around what was obviously the Royal Box. where the Prince Regent would be ensconced later.

Away beyond the stand, Jack could see a fairground from where violin music seemed to be coming. Down nearer the track, bookmakers were either busy setting up or were taking early wagers. For this meeting, they were all very nattily dressed in rich coloured jackets and shirts.

Making an extra check on Trafalgar since he was the only company he had for the moment, Jack had a brief chat with the trainer of another Guineas competitor, Vigilant. He surprised Jack with his opinion that his horse, Vigilant, like all in the race, was just making up the numbers, given Majestic’s reputation.

“I hope not,” was the only response Jack could muster.

Walking back along the side of the stands, he was relieved to see Becky, Sir Oswald and Lady Brandling coming towards him. Jack thought it was just as well there was no wind as the width of the brim of the bonnet Lady Brandling wore might have lifted her off the ground.

While Jack could only think of how stunning Becky looked in her blue, Sir Oswald said, “Ah, Jack, well met. We’ll just wait for Alf to park the coach and then we’ll see about having a light bite. I hear the food is very good.”

“You look extremely elegant, Jack,“ Lady Brandling said, in a voice that suggested that she wanted to add, ‘For a change.’

But Jack thanked her, and added, “If I may say so your bonnet is exquisite, m’lady” While thinking that the gown she was wearing made her look like a ship in full sail.

Alf arrived much quicker than expected, declaring how efficient the coaching staff were. The refreshment tent, thanks to the fine weather,  had tables and chairs scattered outside, which removed any concerns about the class distinction.

For almost two hours, during which Jack wished the conversation would not keep returning to Trafalgar’s prospects. But he found much pleasure in just hearing Becky’s enthusiastic voice, and simply drinking in the sheer allure of her.

Deliberately, Jack turned the conversation on to how they would develop the future of Nelson’s Pride as the year progressed. “Follow Trafalgar’s route,” Alf suggested

Becky agreed, “Yes, he’s still needing a lot of training.” And then, blessing Jack with a gorgeous smile, she added, “And I can help with that, can’t I?”

Sir Oswald laughed, “I don’t think Jack could take that kind of interference, eh, Jack?”

A little off-guard Jack said, “Well, B--er—m’lady has been helpful with Trafalgar.”

Becky’s face told him exactly what kind of interference she was thinking of.

Now came the race!