“Good morning,” he said, coming a few paces to meet her, “Do you care to drive round the Park, Miss Grantham?”
“Drive round the Park?” she repeated, in a surprised tone.
“Yes, why not? I am exercising my greys, and came here to beg the honour of your company.”
She was conscious of a strong inclination to go with hint but said foolishly: “But I am not dressed to go out!”
“I imagine that might be mended.”
“True, but—” She broke off, and raised her eyes to his face, “Why do you ask me?” she asked bluntly.
“Why, from what I saw here last night, ma’am, it would appear to be impossible to be private with you under the roof.”
“Do you wish to be private with me, Mr Ravenscar?”
“Very much.”
She was aware of a most odd sensation, as though a obstruction had leapt suddenly into her throat on purpose to choke her. Her knees felt unaccountably weak, and she knew that she was blushing. “But you barely know me!” she manage to say.
“That is another circumstance that can be mended. Come Miss Grantham, give me the pleasure of your company, I beg of you!”
She said with a little difficulty: “You are very good. Indeed I should like to! But I must change my dress, and you will not care to keep your horses standing.”
“You will observe, if you glance out of this window, that my groom is walking them up and down.”
“You leave me nothing to say, sir. Grant me ten minute grace, and I will gladly drive out with you.”
He nodded, and moved to open the door for her. She glanced up at him under her lashes as she passed him and was once more baffled by his expression. He was the strangest creature! Too many men had been attracted to her for her to fail to recognize the particular warm look in a man’s eyes when they fell upon the woman of his fancy. It was not in Mr Ravenscar’s eyes; but if he had not fallen a victim to her charms what in the world possessed him to invite her to drive out with him?
It did not take her long to change her chintz gown for a walking dress. A green bonnet with an upstanding poke, and several softly curling ostrich plumes, admirably framed her face, and set off the glory of her chestnut locks. She was conscious of looking her best, and hoped that Mr Ravenscar would think that she did him credit.
Lady Bellingham, informed of the proposed expedition, wavered between elation and a doubt that her niece ought not to drive out alone with a gentleman she had met but once before in her life; but the obvious advantages of Deborah’s fixing Mr Ravenscar’s interest soon outweighed all other considerations. Lucius Kennet chose to be amused, and to quiz Miss Grantham unmercifully on having made such an important conquest, but she answered him quite crossly, telling him it was no such thing, and that she thought such jests extremely vulgar.
It was consequently with a slightly heightened colour that she presently rejoined Ravenscar in the Yellow Saloon. Glancing critically at her, he was obliged to admit that she was a magnificent creature. He accompanied her downstairs to the front door, where they were met by Kennet, who came lounging across the hall to see them off.
Ravenscar and he exchanged a few civilities, and the groom led the greys up to the door. Mr Kennet inspected them with a knowledgeable eye, while Ravenscar gave Miss Grantham his hand to assist her to mount into the curricle, and said that he should back them to beat Filey’s pair.
They were, indeed, beautiful animals, standing a little over fifteen hands, with small heads, broad chests and thighs, powerful quarters, and good, arched necks.
“Ah, I’ll wager they are sweet goers!” Mr Kennet said, passing a hand over one satin neck.
“Yes,” Ravenscar acknowledged. “They are beautiful steppers.”
He got up into the curricle, while the groom still stood to the greys’ heads, and spread a rug over Miss Grantham’s knees. Taking his whip in his hand, and lightly feeling his horses’ mouths, he nodded to the groom. “I shan’t need you,” he said briefly. “Servant, Mr Kennet.”
Both the groom and Kennet stepped back, and the greys, which were restive, plunged forward on the kidney-stones that paved the square.
“Don’t be alarmed!” Ravenscar told Miss Grantham. “They are only a little fresh.”
“I wonder you can hold them so easily!” she confessed, repressing an instinctive desire to clutch the side of the curricle.
He smiled, but returned no answer. They swept round the corner into King Street, turned westwards, and bowled along in the direction of St James’s Street.
There was sufficient traffic abroad to keep Mr Ravenscar’s attention fixed on his task, for the greys, though perfectly well-mannered, chose to take high-bred exception to a wagon which was rumbling along at the side of the road, to shy playfully at a sedan, to regard with sudden misgiving a lady’s feathered hat, and to decide that the lines of white posts, linked with chains, that separated the footpaths from the kennels and the road, menaced them with a hitherto unsuspected danger. But the gates leading into Hyde Park were reached without mishap, and once within them the greys settled into a fine, forward action, satisfied, apparently, to find themselves in surroundings more suited to their birth and lineage.
There were several other equipages in the Park, including some phaetons, and a number of barouches. Mr Ravenscar touched his hat every now and then to acquaintances, but presently, drawing away from the other vehicles, he was able to turn his attention to his companion.
“Are you comfortable, Miss Grantham?”
“Very. Your carriage is beautifully sprung. Do you drive it in your race?”
“Oh, no! I have an especially built racing-curricle for that.
“Shall you win?” she asked, looking up at him with a slight smile.
“I hope so. Do you mean to hazard your money on my greys?”
“Oh, I must certainly do so! But I have never the least luck, I must tell you, and shall very likely bring you bad fortune.”
“I am not afraid of that. Your luck was out last night, but I hope you may come about again.”
“That is very pretty of you, Mr Ravenscar, but I fear it was my skill rather than my luck which was at fault,” she owned.
“Perhaps.” He looped his rein dexterously as the greys overtook a gig, and let it run free again as they shot past. “It is to be hoped that your ill-luck is not consistent. It would surely be disastrous to the success of your delightful establishment if this were so.”
“It would indeed,” she agreed somewhat ruefully. “The world is too apt to imagine, however, that a gaming-house must be a source of enormous wealth to its proprietors.”
“I collect that this is not so, Miss Grantham?”
“By no means.”
He turned to look down at her, saying with the abruptness which she found disconcerting: “Are you in debt, Miss Grantham?”
She was quite taken aback, and did not answer for a moment. She said then, in a stiffened voice: “What prompts you to ask me such a question, sir?”
“That is no answer,” he pointed out.
“I know of no reason why I should give you one.”
“I should have set your scruples at rest at the outset by informing you that I am not entirely ignorant of your circumstances,” he said.
She regarded him in astonishment. “I cannot conceive how you should know anything about my circumstances, sir!”
“You—or should I say your amiable aunt?—are in debt to Lord Ormskirk.”
“I suppose he told you so,” she said in a mortified tone. “On the contrary, my young cousin told me.”
“Adrian told you?” she exclaimed. “You must be mistaken. Adrian knows nothing of Lord Ormskirk’s dealings with my aunt!”
He reined in his horses to a walk. He thought her a remarkably good actress, but her artlessness irritated him, and it was with a sardonic inflexion that he said: “It is you who are mistaken, Miss Grantham. Mablethorpe seemed to me to be singularly well-informed.”