The Scandalous Life of a True Lady by Bárbara Metzger Page A

horse, a prettily behaved bay gelding, and the noise and traffic. The gelding was more used to navigating the crowded streets than Simone, so they managed. Then they were in the park, and could head down a riding path clear of carriages and strollers.
    “Ready for a trot?” Mr. Stamfield asked.
    Simone clucked to her horse and took off.
    When they stopped to rest the horses, Simone was out of breath, but she was exhilarated, too. Mr. Stamfield was humming and smiling, enjoying the day and the ride also, Simone could tell. He seemed much more at home in the saddle than in a parlor. According to Sally, who rattled on the whole time she was fixing Simone’s hair when Mr. Stamfield was bringing the horses around, he was a profligate, prodigal son. He was supposed to be a country squire, taking over his father’s estate, but he came back from the wars wanting nothing but pleasure, no responsibility, no work. Gaming and drinking and wenching, that’s what everyone said he did, among the lower orders. According to Sally, he was not accepted in polite society unless his uncle and cousin were with him.
    So he was a town buck, a blood, a rakehell? That was precisely the kind of gentleman Simone never wanted her brother to meet. Still, he did not look dangerous, laughing at the ducks in a pond, humming to his horse. Simone found nothing flirtatious or suggestive about his manner, either. If he seemed a bit rough around the edges, he treated her with courtesy, almost like a friend.
    Simone relaxed and felt the clean air sweeping the last cobwebs away from her mind. Only certainty remained. She could enjoy the day, wait for the major, and not regret leaving. After another short trot, she told her companion, “I doubt I’ll be needing to name a guardian for my brother. Whatever peril the major might face, I shall not be with him. I know I might fall off this beautiful fellow and break my neck, or fall down the stairs at the house. But I am not going to the country.”
    She was not going to become the major’s mistress, that was what she wanted this bluff, cheerful man to know. He didn’t seem to think badly of her, but he had to know what she was doing at the Kensington hideaway. “I am not going to the house party,” she repeated, hoping he would understand.
    He nodded, unsurprised, but said, “Too bad, you’d win the contest. If you can sing. That’s one of the competitions.”
    “You mentioned singing before. My voice is passable, enough to instruct young girls, although my pianoforte is far more skillful. But what contest are you speaking of?”
    “Harry didn’t tell you? I suppose not, with him turning into a dry old stick. There’s to be a tournament of sorts at Gorham’s. The betting will be deep, and amusing because each house guest will have to back his own lady friend, if he wants to keep the peace. No matter if she doesn’t stand a chance. I hear there will be side bets behind the women’s backs.”
    “But what is the contest?”
    “Didn’t I say? The women will vie against each other in various fields. I heard voice was one of them. Archery is another. Looks, of course. I don’t know what else. Oh, horsemanship. You’d beat them all to flinders.”
    “Thank you. My grandfather taught me. He was magical with horses.”
    “You could have taken that event and the purse hands down.”
    “The purse?”
    “Seems each event has a prize and points. At the end, the overall point winner gets crowned Queen of the Courtesans. And a thousand pounds.”
    A thousand pounds? Grandfather would be ashamed; Simone almost fell off the horse.

Chapter Nine
    Major Harrison arrived at the end of the week, in time for dinner. Mr. Harris had a previous appointment, which suited Simone, who felt better having the major to herself. He was kinder, more understanding, more flexible than the ramrod straight secretary. How could the major disapprove of her, when he was the one wanting to hire a mistress?
    While Jeremy served, the