Page 79 of A Foolish Flirtation

“Oh, well…” She made a dismissive gesture with her hands. “It’s silly, really.”

Suddenly, he wanted to ask if she had ever indulged in such a superstitious tradition but felt strangely hesitant to question her about anything from her past. He felt he needed to tread carefully there. The last thing he wanted to do was suffer a setback with her. “Did I tell you, your trousseau has finally arrived?” he asked instead.

“Oh, has it?” She stood up. “I shall have to go up and look at unpacking it.” She gave him a brave smile. “At least I shall now have nice outfits to receive the vicar’s wife,” she joked.

“Is that how you want to spend your afternoon?” he asked.

“Well, first I shall have to speak to Mrs. Cheviot about distributing all this cake,” she said with a quick glance around the cluttered room.

“Or,” he suggested, “we could both instruct Mrs. Cheviot as to the cake, you could send Lottie to unpack your new gowns, and I could bring the curricle around to meet you out front for a tour of the grounds.”

Her expression brightened at once. “That would be lovely,” she agreed. “Yes, let us do that.”

Impulsively, he stepped forward and kissed her, and not her hand either, which would have been the correct thing to do. Emmeline looked so surprised, he did it again and was still kissing her when Mrs. Cheviot appeared in answer to her summons and what was more, he was not remotely abashed about it.

18

The sun continued to shine, and Jeremy derived a good deal of pleasure from bowling around the grounds, pointing out Vance’s most notable features. He showed her first the regular stables, where he introduced her to his old favorite, Cadmus, and to Teddy’s pony, Balius.

Next, he took her down to his racing stables, where she shook Masterman’s hand and met their champion Bucephalus, who would have retired last year, except for the fact none of his offspring were shaping up to match either his speed or strength. Emmie asked to meet them both and watched Amyas and Atalanta exercising in the paddock.

“What do you think?” Jeremy asked as she rested her arms along the top bar of the fence.

“They are very beautiful,” she said dreamily. “Though there is not much resemblance between them, is there?”

“They have the same sire but different dams,” Jeremy explained.

“I feel sure they will blossom, given the chance to escape their famous father’s shadow. Tell me, does Bucephalus have no daughters?”

“He does,” Jeremy agreed. “Atalanta is a girl, named after the famous Greek heroine who was so fleet of foot.”

“Which one of the two is Atalanta?” He pointed her out. “And will you enter her in races?”

He nodded. “She is currently the better prospect, for she is faster than her brother.”

It was not until they had left the stables far behind them that Emmeline confessed she was an indifferent horsewoman. He noticed she looked relieved when he was not particularly bothered by this news.

“Shall I buy you a horse?” he asked as they strolled arm in arm beside the lake. “Or do you, Lady Faris, prefer to sit at your leisure in a carriage?”

“I prefer a carriage, but if you think I should try and improve, then—”

“A carriage it is,” he assured her. “We have several at our disposal so I cannot see that it will inconvenience me in the slightest.”

“Will your neighbors not think me very odd if I do not career about the countryside on horseback?” she asked.

“Some perhaps,” he admitted. “Squire Pebmarsh’s daughters are both enthusiastic horsewomen, but let me assure you, they did not like Amanda any better because she had an excellent seat.”

He realized his mistake at once and readied himself for a barrage of questions about the Misses Pebmarsh or even Amanda’s proficiency in the saddle but instead, Emmeline simply asked, “And do you attend many race meetings throughout the year?”

Jeremy felt wrong-footed. A flare-up of feminine jealousy would not have been unnatural or even unwelcome to him at this point. Why was Emmeline so determined to avoid such an opportunity? He frowned, then noticed she was still waiting for him to reply. Rapidly he reviewed her last question. “Historically, yes,” he answered cautiously. “At least a couple of times a month.” She nodded. “You do not object?”

“Object?” She sounded startled. “Why should I? Does not the Queen herself attend the races on special occasions?”

“She does,” he agreed. “However, my aunt Louisa reads me a lecture at least twice a year on horse racing and its attendant vices.”

Her lips formed a silent oh. “Because of the betting, I expect.”

“Undoubtedly.”