“You will not,” said Mr. Beaumaris. “You may sit up beside me, however.”
“Yessir!” said Jemmy, recognizing the voice of authority.
“Up with you, then!” Mr. Beaumaris said, lifting him into the curricle. He turned, and found that Arabella was holding her hand out to him. He took it in his, and held it for a moment.
“I wish I might find the words to thank you!” she said. “You will let me know how he goes on.”
“You may rest easy on that head, Miss Tallant,” he said, bowing. He took the reins in his hand, and mounted into the carriage, and looked down maliciously at Lord Fleetwood, who had accompanied them out of the house, and was just taking his leave of Arabella. “Come, Charles!”
Lord Fleetwood started, and said hurriedly: “No, no, I’ll walk! No need to worry about me, my dear fellow!”
“Come, Charles!” repeated Mr. Beaumaris gently.
Lord Fleetwood, aware of Arabella’s eyes upon him, sighed, and said: “Oh, very well!” and climbed into the curricle, wedging Jemmy between himself and Mr. Beaumaris.
Mr. Beaumaris nodded to his gaping groom, and steadied the chestnuts as they sprang forward. “Coward,” he remarked.
“It ain’t that I’m a coward!” protested his lordship. “But we shall have all the fools in London staring after us! I can’t think what’s come over you, Robert! You’re never going to keep this brat in Mount Street! If it leaks out, and it’s bound to, I suppose you know everyone will think it’s a by-blow of yours?”