The Byram Succession by Mira Stables

tangle of emotions fought for expression. Family loyalty won. She said seriously, “I think you are under some misapprehension, milord. My time is my own. Aunt Maria would be the last person to deny me any rational enjoyment. But she has been so good to me that naturally I would not wish to neglect any attention that might contribute to her comfort.” She hesitated, then went on bravely, “And I think you did not quite like it when my cousin reproved me last night. But my aunt had asked her to show me how I should go on. So while I confess that I did not enjoy the rebuke, I have to acknowledge its justice.”
    “So do not I,” said Damon shortly. “Your cousin, my girl, spoke out of sheer jealousy, because for one moment you occupied the centre of the stage that she has always been accustomed to claim by virtue of her beauty.”
    Loyalty and honesty warred within her. “Perhaps,” she temporised. “But she is so very lovely that she has grown accustomed to being the centre of attention.”
    “Oh yes, indeed! A diamond of the first water,” he returned lightly. “And now may we forget her? I am longing to tell you the tale of my dealings with Master Ralph’s father. You will be delighted to hear that the bay colt is well on the way to recovery and that ‘Squoire’ was hopeful that, though scarred, he has many years of useful life ahead of him.”
    “Oh! How perfectly splendid!” she exclaimed in unfeigned delight. He pulled out a pocket book and took a letter from it, handing it to her to read as the horses dropped to a collected walk. There were two pages in a sprawling forceful hand, the first devoted to details of the treatment that was being used to restore the colt to full vigour and to minimise the scarring, with a request for any advice that might be helpful in such a case. There followed thanks for the care that had been bestowed on the animal and quite an animated account of the shifts to which the writer had been put in his efforts to trace his benefactor, an end which had been achieved at last by the happy accident of Judd’s having let fall his master’s name in the post-boy’s hearing.
    “I wrote to him at once,” explained Damon as she handed the letter back, “giving him such hints as I could that might prove useful, thought I daresay he is far more experienced than I in such matters, and enquiring for his son. The answer came yesterday.”
    The letter was shorter this time, and again most of it dealt with the colt’s continued improvement. There was a hearty offer of hospitality should his lordship chance to be in the vicinity, so that he might see for himself how well the gash had healed, and a brief postscript.
    “My son is well enough. Better than he deserves. I gave him a rare trimming for his folly and forbade him to drive my horses until he has mended his ways. So he is still in the sullens.”
    Alethea smiled. “One almost feels sorry for Master Ralph. His father seems far more concerned for the horse. And it was not his fault that the man on the stage gave him spirits and made him so horridly drunk. But Papa says it is most important for a young man to learn how much he can safely drink and still behave like a gentleman, so perhaps it is as well that Master Ralph should learn that lesson now. I expect he was very sorry when he saw what had happened to the poor horse.”
    “If not then, I daresay he was heartily penitent by the time his father was done with him,” retorted Damon. “I think we may safely leave his education in his father’s hands and consider our own interests for a while. What do you say to my notion of visiting Hampton Court Palace? It is old, it is very beautiful, and it has a history as romantic and enthralling as any I know. And it so happens that a cousin of my mother’s lives there. Most of the rooms were made into private residences, you know, after the King himself declined to live there—so I am pretty well acquainted with the place. It would give