good riding instructor to be yourself, of course,’ said Letitia. ‘So, having got that detail out into the open, perhaps you should know, my lord, that it doesn’t matter what Mr Waverley thinks about it, their lessons are in my hands, and I shall arrange any extra ones myself, I thank you.’
‘No need to take a pet about it, Lettie,’ said Mr Waverley, reasonably. ‘Rayne’s only making a suggestion, and there’s no one more experienced than he.’
‘Yes,’ said Letitia. ‘That’s exactly what I am afraid of.’
‘And if he was offering me his help, I’d take it. He might even reduce his fee for seven of them.’
‘You mean I’d be expected to pay him for an hour in the company of my pupils? I think not. And anyway, Lord Rayne is fully occupied with his own business all week, and our weekends at Paradise Road are not for lessons. It’s quite out of the question.’
‘I could make an exception,’ said Rayne. ‘I’m sure the parents would notice the difference.’
‘I’m sure the parents would also notice the difference if some of the mounts they’ve provided were not the ones they’ve had since the girls were ten, or the ones they use to pull the family dog-cart. But that’s not for me to tell them, unfortunately.’
‘But I could,’ Rayne persisted. ‘Coming from me, and knowing that it was myself who’d given them some schooling, they’d allow me to find them something more suitable for their daughters. These nags hardly add much to your image, either, do they? Unless your intention is to entertain, of course.’
‘My image is my own affair, my lord,’ she snapped.
His low reply was meant for her ears alone. ‘Yes, my beauty, and I could make it mine, too, if you could curb your sharp tongue. The nags are not the only creatures around here that need some schooling.’
She pretended not to have heard, but she had, and the words bit deep into her shell, angering and exciting her at the same time. Why did he think, she wondered, that it was not obvious why he wanted access to seven attractive young ladies on a regular basis, with her personal approval? Did he think she was a dimwit not to see what he was about?
‘Your persistence must be an asset when you’re teaching battle tactics, Lord Rayne, but I find it irritating. Thank you for your offer, but I prefer to do these things in my own way and in my own time.’
She had not, however, made any allowance for the timely interference of Miss Sapphire Melborough, whose parents were important members of the Richmond set and who, at almost eighteen years old, saw in Lord Rayne a close resemblance to Sir Galahad of Arthurian fame. What she knew of his reputation made him all the more dangerously attractive to her. By falling behind her companions and by making her dapple-grey dance about naughtily, she allowed herself to be caught by Lord Rayne’s hand on her bridle and brought back to the wide path, blushing in confusion. It was doubtful whether the performance had fooled anyone, Miss Melborough being one of the better riders, her mount usually well mannered, but it served to reinforce Lord Rayne’s argument tolerably well.
‘Oh, thank you, my lord,’ she said, slightly breathless. ‘I cannot think why Mungo should choose to be so wilful when I was trying so hard to do everything Miss Boyce has told us about looking where we’re going.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Rayne, with a glance at Letitia, ‘Miss Boyce also finds it difficult to see where she’s going.’
‘But Miss Boyce is the most elegant of horsewomen, my lord. You must have seen that for yourself. And her beautiful grey mare is…’
At the merest signal from Letitia, the beautiful grey mare bounded forward on delicate hooves towards the barouche, which was approaching the village of Hampton, and although her instructions to the coachman were hardly needed, neither would she stay to hear the silly exchanges between those two, or to his impertinent observations about not being able to see. It was not hard for her to believe that this deficiency was partly behind his offer, knowing as she did that, in order to correct anyone’s riding, one must be able to see perfectly. Yet she did not think his offer was entirely for her sake, either. The man was nothing if not an opportunist.
Entering the riverside grounds of Hampton House, she left Mr Waverley and Mr Thomas to dismiss the cavalry in whatever way they chose, going with the playwright Mr Chatterton to meet their hostess in the sadly neglected mansion that David Garrick had lovingly referred to as ‘his pretty place by the Thames-side.’ Bound to the upkeep of two grand houses under her husband’s will, old Mrs Garrick was now reduced to doing almost everything for herself and understandably did not wish anyone to see the dilapidations of the house. She was happy for them to go down to Mr Garrick’s ‘Temple to Shakespeare’ by the river, which is what they had most hoped to see.
It was a domed, octagonal, brick-built place with steps up to a portico of Ionic columns and a room beyond where, they were told, the actor used to entertain his friends or learn his lines in full view of the river. A statue of the bard was here, too, with objects said to have belonged to him, though the glass cases were dusty and a mouldy smell hung in the air. Between them, Mr Chatterton and Mr Thomas, a young Welshman with the most perfect diction, took it upon themselves to be the guides.
Miss Gaddestone, Mrs Quayle and Mr Waverley hovered on the edge of the group while Letitia, hoping for a few moments to herself, wandered down the sloping lawn to the water’s edge. A weeping willow swept the grass with new fronds like pale green hair and, as she passed through its curtain, a figure moved away from the trunk and into her view. Against the mottled shadows, she had not noticed him.
The fur helmet was cradled under one arm, his dark hair caught by patches of light, thickly waved and long enough at the back to be tied into a pigtail, which she knew was a badge of this regiment. She wished he had stayed with them.
He followed as she turned away, though she felt rather than heard his presence. But there was nowhere for her to hide and her impulse to run was held in check, and she was gently steered away from the direction of the Temple, feeling rather like a hind evading a dominant stag.
‘Out of the frying pan into the fire,’ she snapped. ‘I came here to avoid the commentary, but perhaps I should have braved it, after all. Don’t captains have duties to perform on Monday afternoons?’
‘Surely, Miss Boyce, you would not begrudge me a few moments of your time?’
‘Oh, be assured that I would, my lord. I thought I’d made that plain last night at the Misses Binney’s. However, if you are also hoping to claim a few moments of Miss Melborough’s time on the way home, I would rather you respect my wishes and do your flirting when she is under her parents’ protection, not mine. I cannot be held responsible for what you get up to. Is that too much to ask?’
‘Not at all. I am happy to oblige. So, having dismissed the young lady from our thoughts once and for all, I wonder if you would care to reconsider your objections to allowing some help with the riding problem. You admit that you do have one?’
‘I neither admit nor deny it, Lord Rayne. It is my concern and nothing to do with you. Thank you for your offer. The answer is still no.’
They had been walking quickly, and now Mr Chatterton’s distantly garbled ranting came to them on the breeze combined with the honking of geese on the water. The winding path had taken them downhill out of sight of the Temple and into a dell where they came to a standstill, their antagonism almost tangible as
