“He’ll place today. He’ll win in future. A horse who can run well at Epsom can run well at any track in the country.”

“You’re half owner?”

“Full owner,” Gabriel said. “I don’t go halves on something I care about.”

Lord Haverford laughed. “An admirable philosophy if one can afford it.”

“There’s the rub,” Gabriel acknowledged grimly.

But he wasn’t thinking about his two promising young racehorses. He was thinking about Effie. Indeed, he’d been thinking of nothing but Effie since she’d left him standing in their first-class railway compartment yesterday.

“I love you,” she’d said.

I love you.

No. Gabriel didn’t go halves on something he cared about.

“I have a question to put to you,” he said to Haverford.

They were alone except for a handful of stable lads mucking out the loose boxes. The third race was running. Most everyone else was at the track to watch it. The noise filtered from the stands in a distant hum, punctuated by the sound of stamping hooves and horses contentedly munching their hay.

“I’m listening,” Haverford said.

“What would become of our plans to reform the slum if Lord Compton were no longer a component of them?” Gabriel asked.

“How do you mean? Is he unwilling to pen that editorial we discussed?”

“More than that. What if he withdrew his support completely?”

Lord Haverford’s smile vanished. A somber expression came to take its place. “Is that likely?”

“If it was?”

“Then I fear the other support you’ve managed to amass would swiftly follow suit.”

Gabriel had expected no less.

A soft breeze down the aisle of the stables stirred flurries of dust and hay. The fragrance was familiar—sun, turf, and sweetness. The perfume of a rich man’s sport. Men like Gabriel existed on the fringes of it. Trainers, grooms, jockeys, and bookmakers. Necessary appendages. But not equals.

It took money to compete against the gentry. Even more if one was to win. Gabriel had enough put by to sustain him. But without his betting shop, he would never grow any richer. He would be, like the Rookery, a dwindling concern. Rapidly decreasing in power until…

“If I may speak plainly,” Haverford said.

Gabriel saw little point in it at this stage. He’d already made up his mind. “By all means.”

“When we met at my club last week…After you left, concerns were raised about your background. Your betting enterprise, specifically. Several of the gentlemen confessed to having heard things about you. They mentioned your past associations, and the rumors of violence and intimidation attached to your name.”

“You knew I was a bookmaker.”

“Quite. But there are degrees of acceptability, even among those as liberal-minded as we are.” Haverford looked at him, frowning. “Tell me, just how egregious has your conduct been?”