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agreed. ‘Cheating only breeds suspicion and distrust where we would hope for enthusiastic and healthy competition.’
    ‘Something must be done before things get even more out of hand. I’ve called a gathering of the Jockey Club stewards to discuss the issue. We need swift justice—and stern consequences. A precedent must beestablished.’ He gave a low laugh. ‘We cannot expect these people to govern themselves. They are not gentlemen.’
    He glanced askance at Stephen. ‘The stewards meet early tomorrow. Perhaps if you are about …’ He paused. ‘Ah, but I’d forgotten. You are not a member of the Jockey Club, are you, Manning?’
    ‘That honour has not been mine.’
Not yet.
‘But I am hoping to find sponsorship for admittance to the Coffee Rooms,’ Stephen added smoothly. Acceptance as a member of the Jockey Club Rooms was the first step towards becoming a full member of racing’s elite body.
    Ryeton hesitated, then nodded towards their host. ‘I’m assembling a group to ride out and watch the practice on the Heath tomorrow afternoon. I had just invited Toswick.’
    Stephen grinned. ‘There’s scarcely a better moment, is there? To lean into the wind of a group of galloping thoroughbreds and feel the thunder of their passing beneath your feet?’
    Ryeton nodded and triumph bloomed fiercely in Stephen’s chest. This was it; the earl was going to invite him along.
Yes.
He needed this. Fincote needed this. It was a small step, but a first one towards a bright future. For him and for the people who depended on him.
    ‘Perhaps you would care to—’
    Something struck Stephen behind the knee and he stumbled forwards into Ryeton, cutting him off.
    ‘Perhaps, Manning, all that thunder and wind comes from your flapping jaw,’ someone said behind him.
    ‘What?’ Turning, Stephen suppressed a surge ofirritation and a vision of Mae Halford’s mischievous grin. She always did have an exquisite sense of timing—and an uncanny ability to intervene in the most inopportune moments.
    But of course it wasn’t Mae interfering. Instead, he found a gentleman hovering close, his handsome visage blighted by rough scars that traced a path along his jaw and climbed the right side of his face. He leaned heavily on a cane with one hand, held the other outstretched and grinned widely all over his face.
    ‘Grange?’ Stephen’s jaw dropped in shock. ‘Matthew Grange! What in blazes are you doing here, man?’ His eyes running over his friend, he reached out and grasped his hand.
    ‘I thought to hire myself out as a jockey.’ Matthew’s mouth twisted. ‘Idiot!’ he said fondly. ‘What do you think? I’m here for the races.’
    Stephen still had not let go of his hand. ‘Of course. Hanstead Hall is so close—I’d hoped to stop for a visit after the racing. I hadn’t expected. It’s just so damned good to see you out and about.’ Recollecting himself, he pulled away. ‘I’m sorry, you shocked the good manners right out of me. Matthew, do you know the Earl of Ryeton?’ He turned. ‘Ryeton, if I may present an old friend …’
    But the earl had taken a step back and was already engaged in conversation with some others. ‘Perhaps later,’ Stephen said, swallowing a wave of disappointment. He stared at Matthew again and a slow smile broke out over his face. ‘Damn, but you look a sight better than the last time I saw you.’
    He’d met Matthew Grange on the first day of school,when he’d punched him in the nose for calling his father’s mistress a whore. Matthew had tripped him on his way down, and despite the fact that Grange had two years on him, they had been evenly matched. They’d beaten each other to a bloody pulp, Matthew had apologised and they’d been inseparable for years.
    Until his friend bought a commission and went away to put Napoleon in his place. Matthew had barely got in on the end of the conflict, but he’d been at Waterloo. In fact, he’d been caught right next to a twelve-pounder