Page 1 of Managing the Major

Chapter One

A Meeting in Hyde Park

Early March, 1831

“—What the devil?”

Just ahead, a cluster of riders and several carriages blocked the wide, tree-lined path of Ring Road. Of course, they couldn’t have an uneventful passage through Hyde Park. Alastair should have insisted on taking the longer route.

“Perhaps there’s been an accident.” Rafe halted the bay team and addressed the liveried figure standing on the rear platform. “George, go over and see if you can determine the cause.”

The groom jumped down from the sleek curricle as the unseasonably cold air whistled past. Alastair reached for the top button of his greatcoat and fastened it, wishing he had brought a muffler. “For God’s sake, let’s just turn around. It’s not a fit day for driving, let alone for fools riding out on horseback.”

“I’m too curious to leave now. I’ll wager a guinea that it’s some over-mounted young buck thrown from his horse.” Rafe stood up to peer ahead, shortening the reins as the horses fidgeted in their traces. “And when did you care about a bit of cold? All that time in Burma must have turned you shy of brisk weather. It’s March, after all.”

Alastair checked his pocket watch and calculated the time to Pont Street. He would never admit how easily his useless left side ached from the cold these days. On Sunday, they had celebrated his thirty-first year, although he felt much older today. Sighing, he put the watch away. They would make seven thirty, the time he had allotted to complete his errand.

Rafe read his thoughts. “Don’t worry. We’ll complete our task on time. Your niece shall have her new outfit for the assembly tonight.”

It was like Rafe to be cavalier. His cousin thrived on unpredictability, and his captain’s epaulettes were earned by bold actions, not punctuality. The groom came back to the carriage, a tad out of breath.

“There’s a lot on horseback gathered around some woman, sir, and two carriages that are taking up the path.”

“Is she hurt?” Rafe asked.

“No, sir, it looks like she’s putting her horse through its paces, is all. I said there was a curricle waiting to pass, but I don’t think it did much good.”

“Well, hop on, and we’ll see if we can break up the party.”

As they drove up, the small crowd shifted, and Alastair glimpsed the reason for the delay. A stunning blood bay in the center reared and danced, resplendent with four white stockings and a wide blaze, surely one of the finest he had encountered, and he was no stranger to horseflesh.

But it was the impeccable rider who captured his attention. She laughed merrily at the horse’s antics, not a tad concerned. Her deep teal riding habit, no doubt made by a master, flattered a flawless figure, slim through the waist and deep in the bosom. It was as if some Valkyrie had descended on Hyde Park, fresh from Valhalla.

Beside him, Rafe stared, mesmerized. “Who on earth is she?”

The veil from her jaunty velvet hat looped to one side, exposing high cheekbones and a generous mouth framed by glossy chestnut hair. A bevy of riders, mostly men, looked on, flanked by a high-perch phaeton and a carriage of onlookers.

Alastair wavered between admiration and disapproval at the spectacle she presented. Rank and privilege shone in every aspect of her appearance, and she accepted the admiration and compliments of those around her with casual indifference. Obviously, she was the sort of woman he sought to avoid, a darling of society, most likely shallow and frivolous.

A man astride a rawboned gray wheeled his horse away from the group and walked toward the curricle.

“Hello, Fellingham,” Alastair nodded. “Are you here to pay homage to the mysterious equestrienne?”

The Marquis of Fellingham laughed. “Oh, no, Major Fairfax; I courted her sister long ago and learned to give any Merrick a wide berth. Besides, Eleanor would scratch out my eyes in an instant.”

“And how is your very elegant wife these days? I was sorry to hear she’s been ill.”

“Recovering, I’m happy to say. But not a good patient by any means. I hear you are sponsoring your niece this season, Major. A grueling campaign, isn’t it? I’m sure Rangoon pales in comparison.”

“I am outflanked by competitive mothers and overrun with unsuitable suitors. Worse than any jungle I’ve had to navigate. I can only hope to return to my quiet existence before long.”

“So the lady in question is a Merrick?” Rafe asked. “Any relation to the Earl of Seldon?”

“His youngest sister, in fact.”

Alastair raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? I expected more of a Merrick than making a spectacle of herself in Hyde Park.”

“Really, Alastair,” his friend protested. “That’s doing it too brown. She is hardly a spectacle.”