Miss Ryder's Memoirs by Laura Matthews Page A

you say, Miss Ryder?”
    “Oh, I’d take them. A fine pair. But I think you’re asking a little more than they deserve for their ages, Mr. Hinchly. It could be that they won’t live up to their early promise.”
    Sir John blinked at me, but Mr. Hinchly looked chagrined. There had been word that one of his horses had shown to less advantage a year after he’d been purchased. Not Hinchly’s fault, of course, but something to use as a bargaining point, if you knew about
    it.
    “Now that weren’t none of my doing, miss,” he grumbled. “Probably that Connerly fellow didn’t take the care that he should have. That horse had as much promise as any I’ve bred in the last ten years."
    “I realize that. Which is why I would introduce a note of caution to my friend Sir John. Not that he wouldn’t take the best possible care of your horses. But they’re young, and it’s a bit of a gamble when one is counting on them living up to especially high expectations.”
    Hinchly considered this for a moment while Sir John made noises about wanting to get me alone to discuss the matter. I agreed to walk off with him to stand under the sycamore trees along the carriage path. “Are you saying they’ll not do?” he demanded.
    “Not at all. They’re spectacular. I just think you might bargain a little with him if you knew about this recent episode.”
    “Would you buy them?”
    “In a minute—if I had the need and means. Which I’m sure you do.” I smiled kindly on him; he was, in fact, asking my advice, wasn’t he?
    “These are for me, not for your brother. I haven’t decided what to do about his request yet.”
    “Offer Hinchly twenty guineas less than he’s asking and settle for fifteen less. That shouldn’t be a problem.”
    “But they’re worth what he’s asking.”
    “In town, perhaps, but not in the country. You’d pay less where you usually buy, wouldn’t you?”
    “Yes.” He ran long fingers through his thick brown hair and shook his head. “I don’t want to put his back up, Miss Ryder.”
    ‘‘Trust me."
    Though he looked dubious, he followed my advice when we returned to an impatient Hinchly. The old man would have had less respect for him if he hadn’t tried to bargain, but it was hard to tell that by his gruff, obstinate appearance. There’s nothing Hinchly likes more than dickering over the price of a horse, and he’ll continue the argument for weeks if one isn’t too impatient to be off. That’s how I got Mama’s Antelope, though no one seems to understand how delicate a negotiation it was, because Hinchly really wanted to keep the horse for his wife’s use. I bribed his wife with some of Mrs. Cooper’s raspberry tarts. Mrs. Hinchly is not overfond of riding, much like my sister.
    Sir John and I left the farm in good spirits. He felt that he’d done a good bargaining job, and he was more than pleased with the pair of gleaming bays, which would be sent over to Hastings the next day. I decided to take advantage of his exuberance.
    “Why don’t you let me drive the curricle to our picnic spot?” I asked when we were out of sight of Hinchly Farms. I knew he wouldn’t wish old Hinchly to see me driving the carriage, though Hinchly would have thought nothing of it, if truth were told. I’d driven there before.
    My companion regarded me with astonishment. “You don’t understand what I’ve told you. The curricle is finely balanced, and my horses are testy with another hand on their reins. We would only come to grief, my dear Miss Ryder.”
    “Oh, I doubt anything so awful would happen. You would be sitting right here, able to take the reins from me in a moment. The road is perfectly straight until we reach the turnoff. Do let me have a chance.”
    “Your brother told me you would pester me, and he assured me that you were able to handle most anything, but he could not possibly have been thinking of my chestnuts.” Sir John regarded me with a creased forehead. “Why would you want