MARCH’S MADNESS
byEmery Lee
To those who have myread my novels to date, my love (readobsession) with the Georgian era is clearly evident. For those of you whohave not, I invite you to open the pages and immerse yourself in a fascinatingparadox that is nowhere better represented than in the lives of Georgianaristocrats - many of whom adopted an outward veneer to hide the sin within.
In my first novel,THE HIGHEST STAKES, I delved deeply into the obsessive world of horseracing andarranged marriages, where nothing was sacred and an individual’s happiness(particularly if one happened to be female) was easily laid aside to advance afamily’s political or social agenda.
In FORTUNE’S SON I furtherexplore the gaming world and it often served as more than a merediversion, but as a last resort for thosewith reduced circumstances whose social position did not allow any manner ofgaining a more honest income. Compelledto wager, many faced financial devastation and social ruin, while occasionally(and incomprehensibly), Fortune seemed to smile on particular individuals forno particular reason. One such colorful example(whom I delighted in bringing to life as a secondary character in FORTUNE’SSON) was William Douglas - third Earl March and Ruglen, later the Fourth Duke of Queensbury, nicknamed “OldQ”.
Although many young, aristocrats lacking more worthypursuits, squandered their days at race tracks, cockpits, or over the greenbaize tables, Lord March’s exploits and love of a wager are legendary even forthe gaming Georgians. His most infamouswager has come to be known over the ages as Lord March’s “race against time”and plays a significant role in FORTUNE’S SON.
(Excerpt from FORTUNE’S SON chapter 39)
March signaled a lackey for a newpack of cards to replace those he’d swept off the table to join the moundsscattered about the floor. “One can dovery well on credit,” said March. “By way of example, I have no fewer thanthree carriage makers, and four cartwrights, currently engineering a contraptionfor my upcoming wager with Taaffe and Sprowle.”
“Are you still about that madness,March?” George Selwyn asked.
“What madness is this?” Philip inquired,laying down fifty guineas, and hoping his careless manner belied the near-emptinessof his pockets. March and Selwyn matched his stakes, and he absently dealt thefirst two cards, face-up to his immediate left.
“A bloody chariot race,” said George.“As a fellow turf man, you’ll doubtless find the fellow’s scheme mostdiverting.”
“I daresay Hastings has had his fill of racingwagers.” Lord March’s jibe at Philip’s recent loss hit home.
“Not at all, my lord,” Philip repliedcoolly. “When one plays, one must expect eventually to pay.”
Lord March regarded Philip speculatively.“I never begrudge a man who wins from me fairly.”
“Then I remind you ’tis now pastnoon, and our friend Hastings is alive, hale, and in present company,” saidGeorge, referring to their earlier wager.
Lord March carelessly unfolded afifty-pound bank note from a wad of bills in his pocket, and handed it toGeorge, whilst continuing his narrative. “The chariot wager was made some six-monthpast when Count Taaffe, that damnable upstart Irishman, boasted of having thefastest chaise and four in the country. When challenged to prove the claim, he assertedhe’d clocked them at twelve miles in an hour. ‘Twelve miles?’ says I. ‘Why I’lllay you a thousand guineas, I can produce a chaise and team half again as fast.’Believing me out of my head, Taaffe readily accepted my wage.”
Philip replied with a chuckle, “You are outof your head, March! Eighteen miles in an hour? An impossible feat. The fastestcoach pulled by a team of six doesn’t exceed ten miles per hour.”
March broke into a slow, sly smile. “Acarriage is quite an ambiguous thing is it not?” March said. “Since the termsof the wager did not specify a body be fitted to the carriage, our passengerwill be slung on leather straps between the two hind wheels. While united theback carriage to the fore in the usual manner, to reduce weight, we used cordsand springs, and the pole and bars are of thin wood reinforced with supportingwire. As to the harness, an optimal lightness was achieved by constructing thetraces from silk, and the breechings, of whalebone.”
“Silk and whalebone? Do you wish toharness your horses or to corset them?” Philip chuckled. “And you think todrive this deathtrap at eighteen miles per hour?”
“A ridiculous notion, Hastings! Youthink I’d take such a risk when I employ any number of competent grooms todrive the contraption?”
“Dare I ask how many have perished inthe trials?”
“Why none have suffered worse than afew broken limbs,” March replied indignantly, but then confessed that he hadlost half a dozen horses, explaining, “They were only second-rate runners. Forthe true trials I require nothing less than four plate winners.”
Philip was astounded. “You would riskfour plate-winning horses for a thousand guineas? Mayhap your mind isdisordered after all.”
Lord March answered heatedly. “It’sthe principle of the thing, Hastings! Besides, the odds are posted at four toone against me, which means I stand to gain a huge sum in secondary wagers, butthe money has become inconsequential. Hell, I’m seven hundred pounds invested alreadyand as like to treble that amount before all is said and done. But I’ll see itthrough, by God.”
“That would answer,” Philip replied. “Myhat is off to you, March. You are truly one calculating devil. But if you loseany more horses in the training runs, how do you propose to win?”
“I only need four to race, Hastings.I propose to retain a stable of six plate winners as a contingency. I’msaving the best of the lot for last, and won’t set the date until I deem theequipage fit, and the horses fitter.” March’s lips curved up at the corners. “Afterall, I race only to win.” - ( End of excerpt)
LORD MARCH’S FAMOUS RACINGCHAISE
True to formuntil the very end, gambling, horses, and women continued to be Old Q’s life passions until his death at the ripe oldage of eighty five.
Emery Lee is a trueromantic and self-professed “GeorgianJunkie.” She is also the moderator forGoodreads Romantic Historical Fiction Lovers.
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