to catch husbands?
“What took you so long?” he grumbled.
“Miss Emma says we must always be properly attired,” the senior girl, Lady Jane something, said brightly. “We had to fetch our bonnets.”
“Splendid. Let’s get going then, shall we?”
They remained by the tail of the vehicle, looking at him expectantly. Finally his little guard sighed. “You’re supposed to help us up,” she said.
Stifling a curse beneath a smile, Grey stalked around the back of the vehicle and one by one offered them his hand as they stepped up over the low lip of the tail. The groom stood holding the dilapidated horse and grinning gap-toothed at him.
Once the chits and their chaperone were settled, he climbed onto the low seat and took the ribbons. “We’ll be back in time for luncheon,” he announced.
The groom stepped back from the cart. “Mind the turns,” he said. “Old Joe can get a bit cantankerous.”
As Grey was a member of the four-horse club, driving a cart and pony was about as challenging as sitting on a tree stump. He clucked at Old Joe and started the cart rolling toward the front gate. “Go let us out, why don’t you?”
Tobias did so, and as they started up the rutted lane toward Haverly, a small hand touched Grey’s shoulder. “Where are we going, Your Grace?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Is it far?”
“I don’t know.” He glanced over his shoulder at a pair of serious brown eyes. “Why?”
“Mary doesn’t travel very well. Miss Emma usually has her sit up front.”
Grey returned his gaze to the road. “Do you want to sit up here with me, Miss Mawgry?”
“No, Your Grace,” the quiet voice answered. “I’ll be fine.”
“She’s fine,” he said, for the little chaperone’s benefit. For all the chaperoning Miss Perchase was doing, she might as well have been dead in the back of the wagon.
Elizabeth leaned up against his back, little hands on both of his shoulders. “She’s going to be ill,” she whispered in his ear.
This was absolutely going to kill him—and Emma Grenville knew it, no doubt. In fact, giving him an apoplexy had probably been her plan all along. He couldn’t make her pay the rent if he was dead.
He pulled Old Joe to a stop. “Miss Mawgry, why don’t you join me?” he asked, turning around in the seat.
Miss Perchase put a hand to her chest. “Your Gr—”
“It’s the driver’s seat, not Gretna Green,” he said shortly. “Miss Mawgry?”
The brunette did look a little gray-cheeked as she rose. “I’m very sorry, Your Grace,” she muttered. “I just need to face forward.”
If Elizabeth hadn’t spoken, the chit would have cast up her accounts without uttering a word of protest. “I prefer the wind in my face, myself,” he said, relenting a little. He stood and helped heronto the driver’s perch beside him. “Speak up, next time.”
“Miss Emma says men don’t like to hear complaints.”
He wondered where Miss Emma had learned that bit of information. “Neither do men like persons vomiting in their carriages.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
They clattered down the road again. “Better?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Grace. Thank you.”
The relative silence lasted for two minutes, while Grey tried to decide where Tristan might have escorted Emma. Probably the nearest cattle pasture—Haverly had at least two dozen new calves this spring, and females adored babies of any species.
“Your Grace,” the little annoyance behind him piped up again, “are you rich?”
“That’s one question a lady is never supposed to ask a gentleman.”
“Oh. But how is anyone supposed to find out anything, then?”
“Observation and subtle inquiry.” This teaching business might not be so godawful, after all.
“May we observe, then?”
“Please do.” If it kept them quiet while he scouted for Emma and Tristan, all the better.
A few moments of furious whispering erupted behind him and then stopped. The estate road appeared on their left,
“What took you so long?” he grumbled.
“Miss Emma says we must always be properly attired,” the senior girl, Lady Jane something, said brightly. “We had to fetch our bonnets.”
“Splendid. Let’s get going then, shall we?”
They remained by the tail of the vehicle, looking at him expectantly. Finally his little guard sighed. “You’re supposed to help us up,” she said.
Stifling a curse beneath a smile, Grey stalked around the back of the vehicle and one by one offered them his hand as they stepped up over the low lip of the tail. The groom stood holding the dilapidated horse and grinning gap-toothed at him.
Once the chits and their chaperone were settled, he climbed onto the low seat and took the ribbons. “We’ll be back in time for luncheon,” he announced.
The groom stepped back from the cart. “Mind the turns,” he said. “Old Joe can get a bit cantankerous.”
As Grey was a member of the four-horse club, driving a cart and pony was about as challenging as sitting on a tree stump. He clucked at Old Joe and started the cart rolling toward the front gate. “Go let us out, why don’t you?”
Tobias did so, and as they started up the rutted lane toward Haverly, a small hand touched Grey’s shoulder. “Where are we going, Your Grace?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Is it far?”
“I don’t know.” He glanced over his shoulder at a pair of serious brown eyes. “Why?”
“Mary doesn’t travel very well. Miss Emma usually has her sit up front.”
Grey returned his gaze to the road. “Do you want to sit up here with me, Miss Mawgry?”
“No, Your Grace,” the quiet voice answered. “I’ll be fine.”
“She’s fine,” he said, for the little chaperone’s benefit. For all the chaperoning Miss Perchase was doing, she might as well have been dead in the back of the wagon.
Elizabeth leaned up against his back, little hands on both of his shoulders. “She’s going to be ill,” she whispered in his ear.
This was absolutely going to kill him—and Emma Grenville knew it, no doubt. In fact, giving him an apoplexy had probably been her plan all along. He couldn’t make her pay the rent if he was dead.
He pulled Old Joe to a stop. “Miss Mawgry, why don’t you join me?” he asked, turning around in the seat.
Miss Perchase put a hand to her chest. “Your Gr—”
“It’s the driver’s seat, not Gretna Green,” he said shortly. “Miss Mawgry?”
The brunette did look a little gray-cheeked as she rose. “I’m very sorry, Your Grace,” she muttered. “I just need to face forward.”
If Elizabeth hadn’t spoken, the chit would have cast up her accounts without uttering a word of protest. “I prefer the wind in my face, myself,” he said, relenting a little. He stood and helped heronto the driver’s perch beside him. “Speak up, next time.”
“Miss Emma says men don’t like to hear complaints.”
He wondered where Miss Emma had learned that bit of information. “Neither do men like persons vomiting in their carriages.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
They clattered down the road again. “Better?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Grace. Thank you.”
The relative silence lasted for two minutes, while Grey tried to decide where Tristan might have escorted Emma. Probably the nearest cattle pasture—Haverly had at least two dozen new calves this spring, and females adored babies of any species.
“Your Grace,” the little annoyance behind him piped up again, “are you rich?”
“That’s one question a lady is never supposed to ask a gentleman.”
“Oh. But how is anyone supposed to find out anything, then?”
“Observation and subtle inquiry.” This teaching business might not be so godawful, after all.
“May we observe, then?”
“Please do.” If it kept them quiet while he scouted for Emma and Tristan, all the better.
A few moments of furious whispering erupted behind him and then stopped. The estate road appeared on their left,
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