Page 2 of Managing the Major

A spattering of applause and “well-dones” erupted from the crowd. Rafe reddened.

“I rest my case,” Alastair said. “May we leave now?”

“Miss Merrick is a celebrated equestrienne.” A glimmer of a smile played about the marquis’s lips. “And the undisputed leader of the ton. Where she goes, men follow.” He indicated the onlookers, who were slowly dispersing.

Alastair rearranged the wool blanket around his lap. “Just the sort of woman I take care to avoid. And the reason I usually spend the Season at Aubrey, rather than partake of the frivolous social pursuits offered in London.”

When he looked up, the marquis lifted his hand with what was most certainly a smirk. “Major Fairfax, may I introduce Miss Octavia Merrick?”

Alastair blinked, caught unaware of the figure positioned on his right in the confusion of riders passing riders. The lady in question gazed down at him with all the hauteur of a queen, although a bright flag of color stained each cheek. The fashionable hat and veil revealed glossy chestnut hair, framing an oval face with wide-set grayish-blue eyes.

She nodded coolly. “Major Fairfax.”

“And Captain Prescott,” the marquis added, obviously enjoying their predicament.

And an awkward one it was. Alastair usually rose when greeting a lady, but that was impossible in a curricle, especially with his stiff leg and useless left arm. For some annoying reason, he regretted that he was in street dress and not a uniform adorned with his astounding array of medals. Rafe, clutching the reins with a horrified look, appeared equally at a disadvantage, unable to do more than hold the restless pair of horses.

“Miss Merrick. I hope you are enjoying your excursion.” Best to brazen through and not call further attention to his rash words. “My compliments on such a fine horse.”

“I-Indeed, he is quite beyond the pale. I have yet to see a more impressive steed this day—I mean, to this day,” Rafe offered inanely.

Alastair ignored him and continued to make peace, although winning a smile from the frosty Miss Merrick was unlikely. “My niece has expressed an interest in riding, but since I cannot accompany her, it is not quite the thing for a young lady to venture forth alone.”

He heard Rafe make a choking noise and realized his mistake. “Of course, it isn’t the same for a mature rider…” Damnation! Were his social skills so rusty that he couldn’t even converse with an attractive woman? He’d best change the subject.

“Perhaps you would be so kind as to refer me to your stable manager. I’m looking into a suitable buyer for some rather fine horses at my country residence.” Were Fellingham’s shoulders shaking? He was laughing, damn his eyes.

“You do not need to speak to anyone, Major Fairfax,” Miss Merrick snapped. “I run my stables; in fact, I do the purchasing and training of all my horses, including this one, which is in danger of becoming chilled by standing idle. Good day, sir, and to you as well, Captain Prescott.” She wheeled her exceptional mount around, touched spurs to the horse’s side, and cantered away with a scattering of gravel.

It was Alastair’s turn to color with anger. Accustomed to the parade of compliments his military deeds produced and the raised glasses most Londoners lifted on his behalf, Miss Merrick’s dismissal stung. It bordered on the uncivil.

The Marquis of Fellingham tipped his beaver-brimmed hat, still looking amused. “I must also say farewell, gentlemen. The hour grows late.”

“Thank you for the introduction, Lord Fellingham,” Alastair said through clenched teeth. “Please give my regards to the marquess.” He turned to Rafe, who still looked rattled.

“Drive on to Pont Street.” It was more of a command than a request, and he wanted nothing more than to duplicate that tone and order Miss Octavia Merrick to bend over his knee and learn some manners.

The idea, though satisfying, brought forth such provocative images that Alastair unbuttoned his coat, glad for the bracing cold, equally annoyed and aroused. When they reached his sister’s house on Pont Street, the groom took the horses while he alighted.

As Rafe handed him the packages, he looked over ruefully. “I don’t think we made a favorable impression on Miss Merrick.”

“Fortunately, my day does not turn on pleasing spoiled ladies of the ton. I have dismissed the incident and advise you to do the same. It is unlikely that our paths will cross again.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. If you are sponsoring your niece this season, you will be in the thick of it. As will Miss Merrick, I’m sure.”

“And I’m sure I will survive without her approval. My present connections will suffice, and I’m sure we can avoid any encounters with Miss Merrick. One is more than enough.”

Even as he spoke, Alastair knew his words were untrue; he would be sorely disappointed if that were the case.

Chapter Two

Miss Merrick’s Opinion of the Encounter

“What a pompous, condescending imbecile of a man,” Octavia muttered, striding toward the impressive back entrance to Merrick House. “How does Major Alastair Fairfax have the gall to dictate what is proper behavior for a woman? I suppose we’re useful only as decoration, hanging on some man’s arm and batting our eyelashes. Far too much time on our hands, indeed!” She stopped short at the foot of the fine marble stairs and stamped her feet in frustration, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

She was so caught up in annoyance at Major Fairfax that a few moments ago she had tossed the reins at her groom and dismounted from her horse, stalking off without a word.

“For heaven’s sake, what is wrong with me?”