he took up the reins. “I’m a little uncertain of the ground these days. It has a habit of shifting.”
Emma made no response. She sat back, folding her hands in her lap with the air of one determined not to rise to provocation. Alasdair grinned. “Let go their heads, Jemmy.”
The tiger complied and scrambled in his ungainly fashion onto his perch as the curricle swept past him.
“How’s the rheumatism, Jemmy?” Emma glanced over her shoulder.
“Oh, there’s good days and bad, thankee, Lady Emma,” Jemmy said. He’d broken so many limbs in his career as a jockey that his thin frame was a mass of misshapen, ill-set limbs and crooked joints. But what he lacked in agility was compensated by his unerring way with horses. Alasdair had found him begging outside Newmarket racecourse five years earlier and on impulse had offered him a job. Jemmy had rewarded the impulse with unswerving loyalty and blunt and unstinting advice on the handling of horses. Advice that the youthful Alasdair had been wise enough to accept, with the result that Alasdair now had the reputation of a nonpareil and his tiger’s advice was eagerly sought by every young blood in town.
Alasdair’s impulses had always been idiosyncratic, Emma reflected as she chatted with Jemmy, but theyfrequently had a humanitarian motive that surprised those who didn’t know him well—those who mistook the sardonic smile, the sharp tongue, the insouciance for the true Alasdair, instead of the mask that they really were.
“Penny for them.”
Emma realized that she’d been sitting in frowning silence for an uncivil length of time. “Oh, I was just daydreaming.” She turned her attention to the team of bays. “Does that leader always pull to the right?”
“Oh, ‘e’s jest objectin’ to the rubbish in the kennel,” Jemmy told her. “Thinks ‘e’s passin’ too close to it. Right cantankerous bugger, ’e is.”
Alasdair turned his horses through the Stanhope Gate into Hyde Park. It was close to five o’clock, the fashionable hour when anyone who was anyone was driving, riding, or promenading, engaged in the delightful twin occupations of seeing and being seen.
It was immediately apparent that they were the object of much interest. Emma said curiously, “Why would you choose this route? It’s hardly on the way to Tattersalls.”
“I thought we might as well get it over with,” Alasdair replied. “If we do the circuit twice, acknowledging our mutual acquaintances, showing off our amity, we should put some of the nastier tongues to rest. So smile, Emma, and look as if there’s no one you’d rather be sitting beside.” He glanced at her with a slightly malicious smile of his own.
Emma’s responding smile was as artificial as it was broad. “Like this?”
“If that’s the best you can do.”
“I thought we had agreed not to provoke each other.”
“I didn’t realize that suggesting you smile could beconsidered provocation,” he disclaimed with an air of injured innocence.
“You are not going to succeed in making me uncivil to you, Alasdair,” Emma stated, continuing to smile. “I’m not going to be the first to behave badly again.”
He just laughed and Emma, despite herself, laughed too. But the laugh died abruptly. A woman driving a sporty-looking tilbury was coming toward them, waving a hand in greeting.
“I believe Lady Melrose is trying to attract your attention,” Emma said distantly.
Alasdair’s countenance was suddenly wiped clean of all expression. He bowed in the direction of the approaching tilbury and looked as if he intended to continue driving, but when the lady holding the reins pulled up her horses as she reached them, he drew rein alongside her.
“Alasdair, I haven’t seen you in days,” the lady exclaimed. “I expected you at my card party on Monday.” She gave a little trilling laugh. “I daresay you’re going to say you were out of town. And not a word of apology … not a note of excuse. I
Emma made no response. She sat back, folding her hands in her lap with the air of one determined not to rise to provocation. Alasdair grinned. “Let go their heads, Jemmy.”
The tiger complied and scrambled in his ungainly fashion onto his perch as the curricle swept past him.
“How’s the rheumatism, Jemmy?” Emma glanced over her shoulder.
“Oh, there’s good days and bad, thankee, Lady Emma,” Jemmy said. He’d broken so many limbs in his career as a jockey that his thin frame was a mass of misshapen, ill-set limbs and crooked joints. But what he lacked in agility was compensated by his unerring way with horses. Alasdair had found him begging outside Newmarket racecourse five years earlier and on impulse had offered him a job. Jemmy had rewarded the impulse with unswerving loyalty and blunt and unstinting advice on the handling of horses. Advice that the youthful Alasdair had been wise enough to accept, with the result that Alasdair now had the reputation of a nonpareil and his tiger’s advice was eagerly sought by every young blood in town.
Alasdair’s impulses had always been idiosyncratic, Emma reflected as she chatted with Jemmy, but theyfrequently had a humanitarian motive that surprised those who didn’t know him well—those who mistook the sardonic smile, the sharp tongue, the insouciance for the true Alasdair, instead of the mask that they really were.
“Penny for them.”
Emma realized that she’d been sitting in frowning silence for an uncivil length of time. “Oh, I was just daydreaming.” She turned her attention to the team of bays. “Does that leader always pull to the right?”
“Oh, ‘e’s jest objectin’ to the rubbish in the kennel,” Jemmy told her. “Thinks ‘e’s passin’ too close to it. Right cantankerous bugger, ’e is.”
Alasdair turned his horses through the Stanhope Gate into Hyde Park. It was close to five o’clock, the fashionable hour when anyone who was anyone was driving, riding, or promenading, engaged in the delightful twin occupations of seeing and being seen.
It was immediately apparent that they were the object of much interest. Emma said curiously, “Why would you choose this route? It’s hardly on the way to Tattersalls.”
“I thought we might as well get it over with,” Alasdair replied. “If we do the circuit twice, acknowledging our mutual acquaintances, showing off our amity, we should put some of the nastier tongues to rest. So smile, Emma, and look as if there’s no one you’d rather be sitting beside.” He glanced at her with a slightly malicious smile of his own.
Emma’s responding smile was as artificial as it was broad. “Like this?”
“If that’s the best you can do.”
“I thought we had agreed not to provoke each other.”
“I didn’t realize that suggesting you smile could beconsidered provocation,” he disclaimed with an air of injured innocence.
“You are not going to succeed in making me uncivil to you, Alasdair,” Emma stated, continuing to smile. “I’m not going to be the first to behave badly again.”
He just laughed and Emma, despite herself, laughed too. But the laugh died abruptly. A woman driving a sporty-looking tilbury was coming toward them, waving a hand in greeting.
“I believe Lady Melrose is trying to attract your attention,” Emma said distantly.
Alasdair’s countenance was suddenly wiped clean of all expression. He bowed in the direction of the approaching tilbury and looked as if he intended to continue driving, but when the lady holding the reins pulled up her horses as she reached them, he drew rein alongside her.
“Alasdair, I haven’t seen you in days,” the lady exclaimed. “I expected you at my card party on Monday.” She gave a little trilling laugh. “I daresay you’re going to say you were out of town. And not a word of apology … not a note of excuse. I
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