Page 16 of The Chaperone
‘Never, Marsden. Why is it do you think I am still unmarried?’ There was much ribald laughter. ‘They are so damned predictably unpredictable.’
‘And not up to your weight?’ Lord Pinkney, passing their table, could not resist.
‘Oh, I would not say that, Pinkney. I am renowned for my good seat and light hands.’
The riposte was made lightly, but the gleam in Sir Esmond’s eye was not entirely friendly. Sir Esmond placed the occasional bet, and liked to attend the most prestigious race meetings of the year. Pinkney was a gamester to the core, and waged sums on everything from cockfights to cards with a devil-may-care attitude in all things, which marked him as ‘dangerous’. That he frequently lived in dun territory was no secret, but it seemed that just at the present his pockets were not to let.
‘Laid a monkey on Just As I Said at twenty to one, and it romped home by five lengths,’ whispered Mr Tyrley to Lord Marsden, ‘when you would have thought Synopsis would have been unbeatable.’
They shook their heads at the mysteries of fate.
‘Then his creditors will be presenting their bills again shortly, no doubt,’ drawled Sir Esmond.
‘I rather doubt that Pinkney will, er, “waste” any more of his winnings than completely necessary upon debts of any sort.’ Lord Rothley added. There then followed a lively debate on what counted as ‘pressing’.
It was some time in the early hours when Sir Esmond Fawley left to seek his bed, and Lord Rothley offered his companionship part way, since they resided in adjacent streets. Neither gentleman was entirely sober, but was feeling pleasantly friendly towards the world at large, and could walk without weaving or staggering to any noticeable degree. In this slightly uninhibited mood, Lord Rothley took Sir Esmond’s arm as they turned south from Berkeley Square, and voiced the thought then uppermost in his head.
‘Talking of fillies …’
‘Were we?’
‘Mmmm, at some point, yes. Talking of them … Wondered if any of this Season’s maidens had caught your eye, dear fellow.’
‘Saw Carshalton’s filly, Three Wishes, at—’
‘No, not four legs … two … Never saw a horse at Almack’s.’ This was irrefutable. ‘Just wondered. Not often you take to the floor and yet … Danced with both Chelmarsh’s daughters t’other night.’
‘Not sure why I did, but I am escorting Lady Soapy to hire horses tomorr … today.’
‘Lady Soapy!’ Lord Rothley choked.
‘Soapy?’
‘You just called her “Lady Soapy”.’
‘Did I? Mistake. Slip of the tongue, you know. Tell you what, Rothley, that second bottle of claret was a bad move. Not even that good.’
‘Funny the way these things occur to one after the event. Pity they don’t beforehand. Save a lot of bother. Ooh look, this is where I live. Would invite you in for a nightcap, but to be frank, think I might just fall asleep. Goodnight, Fawley. Happy horse hunting.’
Lord Rothley raised a hand in friendly valediction and the two gentlemen parted, Lord Rothley to dream of dancing horses, Lady Sophronia Hadlow, and a bar of soap.
CHAPTER SIX
Sir Esmond Fawley evinced no sign of theprevious evening’s inebriation when he was admitted to the Chelmarsh residence the following day at half past eleven. With little expectation of ladies being prompt, he was most surprised to find the Lady Sophronia Hadlow and Miss Tyneham pulling on their gloves and ready for an almost immediate departure.
‘Yes, you had thought you would be kicking your heels for a good quarter hour, Sir Esmond, I have no doubt, but one of my least feminine traits is a habit of keeping to time. Ought I to apologise?’ Sophy curtsied as she spoke, and he returned the compliment with a bow that took in Susan, who was intrigued by her cousin’s ability to be so natural with a member of the opposite sex, and not ‘do’ anything. Sir Esmond was smiling, interested, and Sophy had not batted one eyelash, moved one muscle to create that response. Susan did not understand it at all. The voice of calculation told her that she was still looking at a woman who had not found a husband in several Seasons, but she could see, could sense, amity. Calculation snorted and dismissed ‘amity’. What use was amity if it did not bring a man to heel and leave him begging for acknowledgement.
‘Susan?’ Sophy spoke her name a second time. ‘You were wool gathering.’
‘I am sorry.’ Susan coloured. ‘I was … trying to remember something.’
‘Just try to remember you are not a member of Astley’s circus and choose a horse that will behave itself. Now, let us be on our way.’
Sophy was not knowledgeable about the availability of horses for hiring in Mayfair, but Sir Esmond, with years of experience in Town, had selected, among the most convenient stables, the two where one was not likely to encounter ewe necks, wall eyes or general slugs. They were accompanied by Deeping, Lady Chelmarsh’s head groom, both as a nod to the proprieties and for practical purposes. Sophy secretly thought him a man very unlikely to be persuaded by Susan’s ‘charms’, and she could not guarantee, absolutely, that Sir Esmond would not waver if her cousin put on the full performance.
The proprietor of the stables was only too pleased to show off his animals with the prospect of their being retained for the Season. Whilst his initial comments were addressed to Sir Esmond, he swiftly recognised that the tall lady was the one most important to the decision making. Her first thought was to select a mount for Harriet, who enjoyed riding but not doing anything daring. Harriet liked to hack but not to hunt. Mr Cannings listened to the requirements and had three horses trotted out for inspection. The first made Jeremiah Deeping suck his teeth and sniff, being, in that worthy’s muttered opinion, so staid it would take her ladyship an hour to get it to move, and it overreached. The second appealed to Sophy, having an intelligent eye, and an interest in the yard about it, but Deeping regretted that whoever had ridden it recently had ruined its mouth. Thankfully the third, a neat little gelding with a contented demeanour, was passed as just right. For herself, Sophy required something taller, and with a little more spirit. There were few mounts used to a side-saddle that fitted the bill. Fortunately, the one that Mr Cannings suggested, a bay mare that came out upon her toes, being, as Mr Cannings admitted, not hired out as frequently and merely exercised by one of his lads, received the Deeping nod.
Sir Esmond might have been bored, but he found watching the efficiency of Lady Sophy and the almost unconscious way that Miss Tyneham managed to attract the attention of three stable lads, a man returning a cob, and Mr Cannings himself, better than a box at the play. Lady Sophy was sensible, and he rather admired her coolness. He also thought she had wit as well as wits. Miss Tyneham was, on the face of it – and a very pretty but brazen face it was – the sort of girl from whom any sane man should actually run away, being a nightmare in muslin. He had a shrewd idea that she did not truly understand exactly what she stirred in the opposite sex, at least he sincerely hoped that was the case. There were, of course, ladies among the ranks of the upper ten thousand who were, at heart, if they possessed such things, simply better dressed and perfumed strumpets. Miss Tyneham gave that impression and yet her age and the very aggressive way in which she showed off her dubious tricks reminded him of a child dressing up and pretending. He wondered why she felt the need to do so. From what Lady Sophy had said, he gathered she had had no curbs upon her, and was thoroughly spoilt. That explained some things, but not all. He watched her preen. She believed she had these men eating out of her hand, and did not feel flattered; it was more that she felt victorious. It was most curious. She also could not see that what she was really arousing was not a desire to do anything she might command. That, he considered, meant she was potentially putting herself in danger. She turned at that moment, saw him regarding her in wry amusement and consideration, and her head went up. Her look commanded: admire me. He shook his head, and his smile broadened. Miss Tyneham glared at him.
