slap dash appearance when he drew the carriage around to the front of the house. The ladies came down the steps, elegant in evening finery. Unaccustomed to wearing the same second-hand shirt and coat two days running, Lord Beauford felt diminished before their eyes. It surprised him that the cloth one carried on one’s back could affect one’s self-esteem so profoundly.
As if she read his mind, Ursula Dunn settled into her seat with a slightly jaundiced eye directed at her coachman’s borrowed attire. “We must see you fitted for a suit of livery, Mr. Ferd. I am quite prejudicially opposed to the color of your waistcoat!”
Fatigued with the faded robin red-breast effect of his borrowed garb, Beau yet felt his pride had been dealt a tremendous blow. With bowed head he agreed.
“As you wish, madame.”
“What think you, Nell?” Ursula ground home the point. Nell seemed to have withdrawn from her earlier friendliness. She met Beau’s gaz with a distant look that could not but remind him of his position, and then fixed her attention on his waistcoat. “Quite right, Auntie. Mr. Ferd will look much more handsome in some other color.”
In that moment, Beau felt that he had set himself an impossible task. How might he now induce this lovely creature to consider him in any way other than as a pair of hands, hired to do as he was bid? This feeling was not to be dispelled by an evening in which Miss Quinby participated in an Assemblage of her peers, while he stood outside and held the horses.
However, a singular incident occurred on their way to the Old Ship, which renewed hope and shored up his resolve. As he tooled the carriage onto the main street, a frenzied barking followed them.
“Bandit!” Nell exclaimed. “Mr. Ferd, I think you had best slow down so that we might take up your dog.”
Ursula Dunn was not so tolerant. “We shall do no such thing. I think you had best lock the creature up when we intend to go out, Mr. Ferd. We cannot have him chasing after us everywhere we would go. It is not at all attractive.”
“Yes, madam,” Beau said obligingly, knowing how much Bandit would object to such a scheme.
“We should pretend Bandit is our carriage mascot,” Nell said cheerfully. “Aurora writes me that they are all the rage in London this Season. Lady Aston has a fawn and white pug that goes everywhere with her.”
“Does she really?” Ursula enquired, much impressed.
“Yes, and Lord Whitcomb is not to be seen without his bull terrier, nor the Viscount of Falmount without his French poodle.”
“All right, all right, Fanella. You may take the dog up this one time. I know how dotty you are about animals.”
Nell chuckled, and opened up the carriage door. “Jump,
Bandit,” she called.
To Beau’s surprise, Bandit obediently did as she ordered, and settled himself happily at her feet.
The seventh Duke of Heste was watching Ursula Dunn’s horses, playing fetch with his dog and wondering what it might be like to dance with Nell Quinby, when Charley Tyrrwhit arrived at the Old Ship. Beauford’s attention was not wholly focused on his play with Bandit. He kept glancing up at the windows of the Inn, where some evidence of the gathered assemblage of local gentry was to be witnessed in the form of music and laughter, and figures moving against the light.
“There are definite advantages to being a Duke and not a coachman, are there not?” Charley asked softly. His question startled Beau, who had been too lost in thought to notice his approach.
“I a-a-am feeling rather an outsider.” He waved the fetching stick at a small group of local boxmen and footmen, who had gathered together by one of the waiting carriages for a smoke and a chat. They threw sidelong glances at him even as he spoke. “A-A-As things stand I belong to neither group.”
“Well, I will not waste pity on you,” Charley said. “There is absolutely no good reason for this preposterous charade.”
“Perhaps,” Beau
As if she read his mind, Ursula Dunn settled into her seat with a slightly jaundiced eye directed at her coachman’s borrowed attire. “We must see you fitted for a suit of livery, Mr. Ferd. I am quite prejudicially opposed to the color of your waistcoat!”
Fatigued with the faded robin red-breast effect of his borrowed garb, Beau yet felt his pride had been dealt a tremendous blow. With bowed head he agreed.
“As you wish, madame.”
“What think you, Nell?” Ursula ground home the point. Nell seemed to have withdrawn from her earlier friendliness. She met Beau’s gaz with a distant look that could not but remind him of his position, and then fixed her attention on his waistcoat. “Quite right, Auntie. Mr. Ferd will look much more handsome in some other color.”
In that moment, Beau felt that he had set himself an impossible task. How might he now induce this lovely creature to consider him in any way other than as a pair of hands, hired to do as he was bid? This feeling was not to be dispelled by an evening in which Miss Quinby participated in an Assemblage of her peers, while he stood outside and held the horses.
However, a singular incident occurred on their way to the Old Ship, which renewed hope and shored up his resolve. As he tooled the carriage onto the main street, a frenzied barking followed them.
“Bandit!” Nell exclaimed. “Mr. Ferd, I think you had best slow down so that we might take up your dog.”
Ursula Dunn was not so tolerant. “We shall do no such thing. I think you had best lock the creature up when we intend to go out, Mr. Ferd. We cannot have him chasing after us everywhere we would go. It is not at all attractive.”
“Yes, madam,” Beau said obligingly, knowing how much Bandit would object to such a scheme.
“We should pretend Bandit is our carriage mascot,” Nell said cheerfully. “Aurora writes me that they are all the rage in London this Season. Lady Aston has a fawn and white pug that goes everywhere with her.”
“Does she really?” Ursula enquired, much impressed.
“Yes, and Lord Whitcomb is not to be seen without his bull terrier, nor the Viscount of Falmount without his French poodle.”
“All right, all right, Fanella. You may take the dog up this one time. I know how dotty you are about animals.”
Nell chuckled, and opened up the carriage door. “Jump,
Bandit,” she called.
To Beau’s surprise, Bandit obediently did as she ordered, and settled himself happily at her feet.
The seventh Duke of Heste was watching Ursula Dunn’s horses, playing fetch with his dog and wondering what it might be like to dance with Nell Quinby, when Charley Tyrrwhit arrived at the Old Ship. Beauford’s attention was not wholly focused on his play with Bandit. He kept glancing up at the windows of the Inn, where some evidence of the gathered assemblage of local gentry was to be witnessed in the form of music and laughter, and figures moving against the light.
“There are definite advantages to being a Duke and not a coachman, are there not?” Charley asked softly. His question startled Beau, who had been too lost in thought to notice his approach.
“I a-a-am feeling rather an outsider.” He waved the fetching stick at a small group of local boxmen and footmen, who had gathered together by one of the waiting carriages for a smoke and a chat. They threw sidelong glances at him even as he spoke. “A-A-As things stand I belong to neither group.”
“Well, I will not waste pity on you,” Charley said. “There is absolutely no good reason for this preposterous charade.”
“Perhaps,” Beau
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