obvious, we must simply be subtle.’ This was rather an alien approach for her, but she was obviously prepared to throw herself into the attempt. ‘But the first thing is a walk, then the cucumber and a lie down, or he will think you have been awake all night thinking about him.’
It would never have occurred to Marina that one could spend an entire morning getting ready for a simple carriage ride. Priscilla even monitored what she had for luncheon with care. ‘You must eat something or your tummy will rumble and that would be fatal, but not too much because of tight lacing.’
‘I do not want my stays laced tight,’ Marina protested, helpless as, between them, two maidservants, carried away with enthusiasm, and Priscilla, happily directing, removed her morning dress and pulled on her stay laces. Her bosom swelled to an alarming extent over the top of her chemise. ‘My walking dress will not fit.’
‘That old thing!’ Priscilla threw the lid off a bandbox. ‘I have brought my new walking dress with a braided Russian bodice.’
‘Now that certainly will never fit,’ Marina stated confidently, but with an envious glance at the rich green cloth and intricate braid work.
In reply Priscilla gave a last heave on the stay laces. ‘Yes, it will.’ And it did, provided one was prepared not to breathe. Marina blinked in astonishment at the effect. She had what she considered a reasonable figure, but now she appeared to have a tiny waist and a quite stunning bosom, fortunately modestly covered.
‘It is all in the cut and the corsetry,’ Priscilla remarked complacently.
‘But I cannot breathe!’
‘Why do you need to? You aren’t walking anywhere. Sit back, smile prettily, flutter your eyelashes—which reminds me, lamp black—and greet every one of his observations as if it was brilliant. One hardly needs to breathe to do that.’
At last the excited maids were dismissed and Marina was permitted to descend to the drawing room and await his lordship’s arrival. ‘He is bound to bring a high-perch phaeton,’ Priscilla remarked. ‘Or possibly a curricle, but I think the phaeton would be more likely for the park. And naturally he will be driving his famous Welsh bays, or perhaps the matched blacks. I asked Henry last night and he says Lord Mortenhoe is famous for his horses and for having made most of his fortune himself by being a clever investor, because there was a scandal when his father died and he was left very poorly off.’
Unable to sit comfortably, Marina fidgeted about the room, trying to suppress a secret smile whenever she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the glass over the mantelshelf. It was lowering to consider how frippery fashions could turn one’s head, but it was a delightful novelty to have an expensive outfit on and to know one’s beautifully curled locks were topped off by a bonnet in the very first stare of fashion. It was also exciting to imagine being driven behind a team of high-stepping horses in a dashing equipage.
When the door-knocker thudded she started towards the door, only to be pulled back by her friend. ‘Not so eager, dearest.’
Priscilla waited, one ear almost on the door panels, then threw the door open and sauntered out, saying over her shoulder, ‘Well, I must be going as you cannot accompany me to the library. My lord!’ The start of surprise was a masterpiece. ‘How charming to see you again. Marina has just reminded me that you are going driving, so I will go and say good afternoon to Lady Winslow.’ She fluttered off up the stairs, leaving Marina torn between admiration and exasperation.
‘My lord.’ She stepped forward and shook hands, surprised at how glad she was to see him again.
‘Miss Winslow, how very punctual you are.’ His smile touched something inside her, something that warmed and expanded into a flutter of happiness. ‘Shall we go?’
At her nod, he took her arm and guided her to the door, which Bunting threw open with some élan. Marina stepped forward, eager for her first glimpse of the fabulous carriage and team.
At the kerb a groom was holding the head of a neatish grey cob, which, although of a pleasing conformation, was clearly of mature years and showing not the slightest sign of exciting high spirits. It stood between the shafts of a plain gig with blue wheels, its top folded down.
Nothing could have been further from her imaginings of making a stylish appearance in Hyde Park.
Justin watched Marina’s face covertly as she stood on the step beside him. Yes, she was disappointed, although one had to be studying her closely to register that flicker of expression before her innate good manners took over.
‘What a pretty gig.’ She said it with a smile that seemed entirely genuine.
‘Thank you,’ he replied gravely, taking her arm and guiding her towards the cob who was being held by a liveried groom. ‘And this is Smoke, who is an old fellow and somewhat on his dignity, although he can be persuaded to trot out like a young one if he is in the mood.’
Instead of asking him why he was intending to take her driving in an ordinary gig behind an elderly horse, Marina stroked Smoke’s nose with confidence. ‘Hello, you are a handsome fellow, are you not?’ She was rewarded with a slobbery kiss on her leather gloves, but she wiped them on his mane with a lack of fuss that Justin approved.
‘You think you will feel confident behind him, then?’ He handed her up into the gig and gathered the reins. ‘Thank you, Thomas, you may return home.’ The man touched his hat and strode off as Justin clicked his tongue at the cob and they rolled sedately down the road.
‘Why, yes. Did you think I would be a nervous passenger?’ Marina swivelled on the seat to look at him. ‘I assure you I am not, although I have not driven in an open carriage very often. Mama uses a closed carriage and Charlie prefers to ride.’ He had also, Justin knew, recently sold his driving horses, presumably to meet some of his debts.
‘Not at all, it was just that I thought you might care to learn to drive, and a single horse is much easier to begin with.’ He waited with some apprehension for her response. It had seemed, at two in the morning, an excellent idea and one that would allow him an excuse for repeated, informal, excursions in her company. Now he was not so sure; if Marina had wanted to drive with him in order to be seen in fashionable places behind a showy team, she was not going to look kindly on his suggestion.
He risked a glance at her face and realised that her silence was due to delighted surprise and not disapproval. ‘Truly? I would so enjoy it!’ Then the animation vanished and she added politely, ‘But I cannot accept, it would be such an imposition on your time.’
Justin, far from being a selfish man, was still not often in the position of offering treats and that eager flash in her eyes touched him more than he could have expected. It also threw the rest of her daily routine into sharp relief for him. Good grief, I’d go mad in her shoes—confined to household duties, fetching and carrying, expected to behave like an old maid. Not that she was looking like any old maid he had ever seen, not in that hat. And how could he have overlooked that voluptuous figure?
‘It would give me much pleasure,’ he responded, biting down a peremptory demand that she kick over the traces and just enjoy herself for once. ‘It would interest me to teach you and you would be doing me a favour.’
‘I would?’
He
