George raised his quizzing glass—hanging around his neck on an elegant black riband—and considered the gray with some authority. In his youth he had been a cavalryman and he knew his horseflesh. “That is rather exorbitant, my dear Lady Augusta, since she is quite lame.” He shifted his scrutiny to her rider. “You should take it, Rampling. You will never get a better price.”

“Of course I’ll take it,” Mr. Rampling said. He dismounted—an untidy affair that forced a huff of pain from the mare—and offered me the reins.

Clearly, he had agreed only because George had told him to sell; a man’s advice was always worth one hundred times more than a woman’s. Moreover, if that man happened to be “Beau” Brummell, then there could be no refusal. I gritted my teeth and took the reins. A hollow victory, but at least the horse was safe.

I turned in my saddle and waved to Thomas, waiting nearby on his mount, to join us. Upon his arrival, I handed him the reins. “Walk her back to the mews and ask John Driver to start poulticing her right foreleg.”

“Yes, my lady.” He hesitated. “Shall I return?”

“No. I will be along presently.”

With a nod and a bow, Thomas rode slowly toward the Hyde Park Gate, leading my new mare behind him.

“What is the horse’s name?” I asked Rampling.

The man shrugged. “I just call her the old gray,” he said from the ground, which, frankly, summed up the worth of the man.

“I had thought you were made of sterner stuff, Lady Augusta,” Lord Milroy said, a false smile on his thin lips. “Perhaps we will have that race one day. For a different wager.”

“Certainly,” I said, meeting his smile with my own. “I would relish defeating you again.”

Milroy straightened in the saddle.

George cleared his throat. “Will you ride with me awhile, Lady Augusta?” he asked, casting me an amused glance.

“I would be delighted.” I looked down at Rampling. “I will send my groom to return your tack, and my man of business will be in contact with you directly. Good day.” I met Milroy’s hard look. “Good day to you, too, Lord Milroy.”

George touched the brim of his hat in polite farewell and we turned our horses, quickly settling into a matched pace.

“Did I hear correctly? A wager with Milroy?” George asked when we were well out of earshot. “I would not recommend standing against him. He plays to win—no regard for the cost—and between you and me, I do not think he always plays fair.”