Chapter 2
Sebastian had the perfect job, and four zebras weren’t going to get in the way of that.
Sebastian spent all day with horses, and his boss, the Duke of Edenwick, listened to his recommendations on matings for their broodmares every year.
He spent his evenings pouring over his pedigree books, living in the same house on the farm where he’d arrived as a twelve-year-old boy, adopted to help Mr Wildgoose with his farm duties.
For a child raised in a city orphanage, moving to the Duke’s estate, Pewett Downs, had been incredible.
At the orphanage, he’d learned all the skills to be a stable boy, gravitating towards horses for as long as he could remember, but it wasn’t until he came to the Duke’s estate that a whole new world opened up to him.
Life had been perfect until four bloody zebras turned up, delivered from His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, and causing his staff to forget their discipline. The zebras were squat little equines that reminded him of a pit pony crossed with a mule, but hopefully less stubborn.
“If he didn’t sell you Smolensk, how have you ended up with four zebras?
” Sebastian’s curiosity got the better of him.
He really didn’t want to know ... except he was human like his staff, and he needed to know.
It wasn’t every day that something unusual like this occurred.
The Duke cleared his throat. A slash of colour across his cheeks piqued Sebastian’s interest.
“We can send them back.”
“But?” He knew his boss well enough to know when he was withholding information. “Your Grace...”
“Fine.” The Duke reminded Sebastian of a petulant toddler in moments like this, as if he didn’t like having to explain himself, or perhaps the Duke was merely upset that he wasn’t quite the top ranked person in the entire world.
Only nearly. Most of the time, Sebastian forgot the huge gap in class between them because when they talked about horses, class didn’t matter.
“I assume that even a Duke can’t say no to a Prince.” And then sometimes, class was so obvious, it was the only thing that mattered.
The Duke’s nostrils flared. “It’s not about rank. Prinny is a drunken fool.”
Sebastian nodded. He’d read the newssheets too, but he wouldn’t dare to speak of royalty like that.
There was that notion of class and privilege again.
He saw how the upper classes ignored him at the races, deferring to the Duke when talking about his horses.
The Duke’s horses. It was his lot in life that he cared for these horses as if they were his own, but he’d never have the status in society to actually own any of them.
They were his emotionally but never truly his.
“The Earl of Milnes-Wilkes offered an obscene salary for you this week.” If the Duke was reminding Sebastian of his worth, then the reason for these zebras must be something that would annoy Sebastian. How interesting.
“He hasn’t the funds to upgrade his broodmare band to the quality that might tempt me.”
The Duke’s nostrils flared again. “Wildgoose, damn it. You know how valuable you are to ... the estate.” To him?
Only in his dreams did he ever let himself think the Duke cared for him beyond his skills as a horseman.
Handsome Dukes didn’t marry orphan girls, and they certainly didn’t kiss men; thus providing two very good reasons why Sebastian’s dreams of kisses were pointless.
He was realistic enough to know that even if the bachelor Duke was that way inclined, it would be temporary. A diversion.
“What has this to do with the Prince Regent’s gift?” Sebastian had things to do. There must be a stable in need of sweeping, or something, anything. He didn’t need to waste time on this prevarication of the conversation, or the annoying way it reminded him of everything he could never have.
“He has made a wager with me.” The Duke’s voice was tight.
“Oh?” Damn it. A wager made this much more interesting. Sebastian leaned against the fence to disguise how much he wanted to step closer to his boss.
“If I can train these zebras to become a four-in-hand team, then he will give me Smolensk.”
Sebastian’s heart raced. He could do it. And then ... then he’d have a Derby winner. He gulped. “That’s it? He won’t sell, but he’ll bet his Derby winner as a prize?”
The Duke shrugged as if it made sense. Bloody toffs and their odd relationship to money.
“Yes. Drive the zebras past the King’s box at Doncaster on St Leger day and Smolensk is ours.” Ours... Presumably the Duke didn’t mean to say that, and Sebastian covered his shock with a smile.
“At least he didn’t say Royal Ascot. A month would’ve been a challenge, but nearly four months will be easy.”
“Easy?”
“For a Derby winner, anything can be achieved.” Besides, the challenge of training four ugly striped mules to pull a cart sounded like a little bit of fun for the summer break before they began breaking in the yearlings for next season.
After the Duke’s good three-year-old colts Glorification and Hero’s Valour hadn’t come up as expected for this year’s Derby, they needed some luck, not to mention the injection of Smolensk’s outcrossed blood to their broodmare band.
He tapped his fingers on the fence post as he watched the zebras moving around the paddock, paying attention to them now that they represented something important.
After a moment, Sebastian remembered something about betting.
“What if I can’t do it? What do you lose?”
“If I don’t drive all four zebras past the royal box at the St Leger meeting, His Royal Highness gets his choice of one of my horses, and I have to keep the zebras.
” The Duke stared forlornly at the four animals who were eating grass quietly.
At least they behaved like any other equine creature might.
“Never fear, your Grace. Even if I fail, which I won’t, His Royal Highness is a poor judge of a horse.
I’m sure we can convince him to buy an untried colt, perhaps the Miss Swansea yearling who is already too big.
” He’d probably sell the Miss Swansea colt as a hack rather than spend money to get him trained for racing.
The colt was going to take years to grow into his oversized frame, assuming he stayed sound enough, but he would make a nice hunter for a larger person.
Miss Swansea’s foal this year, to a much smaller stallion, was a more promising type.
“A big horse for a big man?” The Duke didn’t even crack a smile at his own crass joke, and for the thousandth time in the last decade, Sebastian wondered if it were possible to make him smile.
“If we win the wager, will he take the zebras back?” Sebastian wasn’t overly keen to have exotic animals eating grass that was for his racehorses.
The Duke shrugged. “Zebras that can pull a carriage will find a home. Perhaps Lord Byron will buy them and start a new trend.”
Sebastian flicked a glance at the Duke, and for the hundredth time, he couldn’t work out if the Duke was joking or not.
Not for the first time, Sebastian wanted to see the Duke completely undone.
What would he look like when he finally relaxed?
He cleared his throat. Now was absolutely not the time to imagine his boss naked on a bed with a satisfied smile on his face; would he be smug like the lion he was?
Probably. Sebastian couldn’t imagine the Duke ever letting down the barriers he kept between himself and the rest of the world.
Dukes were probably born with that arrogant stiff upper lip that sneered down on everyone else.
“I’ll put together a plan. We have nearly four months until the St Leger meeting.”
The Duke clapped him on the shoulder blades.
“Good man.” As the Duke walked away, Sebastian resisted the urge to touch his back where the Duke had slapped him.
The Duke must be unsettled by this whole business, as he’d never done that before.
Why had Sebastian never noticed how carefully they tried not to touch each other?
Could a quartet of zebras finally be the thing that allowed Sebastian to see beyond the Duke’s rigid exterior?