“But surely amongst your immediate friends there must be many others,” the Prince said. “Sir Charles, for instance?”
“Charlie is riding his own horse,” Lady Grace answered. “He hasn’t the ghost of a chance, but, of course, he won’t give it up.”
“Not I!” Somerfield answered, gorgeous in pink coat and riding breeches. “My old horse may not be fast, but he can go the course, and I’m none too certain of the others. Some of those hurdles’ll take a bit of doing.”
“It is a shame,” the Prince remarked, “that you should be disappointed, Lady Grace. Would they let me ride for you?”
Nothing the Prince could have said would have astonished the little company more. Somerfield came to a standstill in the middle of the room, with a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of ham in the other.
“You!” Lady Grace exclaimed.
“Do you really mean it, Prince?” Penelope cried.
“Well, why not?” he asked, himself, in turn, somewhat surprised. “If I am eligible, and Lady Grace chooses, it seems to me very simple.”
“But,” the Duke intervened, “I did not know—we did not know that you were a sportsman, Prince.”
“A sportsman?” the Prince repeated a little doubtfully. “Perhaps I am not that according to your point of view, but when it comes to a question of riding, why, that is easy enough.”