“You leave me nothing to say, sir. Grant me ten minute grace, and I will gladly drive out with you.”
He nodded, and moved to open the door for her. She glanced up at him under her lashes as she passed him and was once more baffled by his expression. He was the strangest creature! Too many men had been attracted to her for her to fail to recognize the particular warm look in a man’s eyes when they fell upon the woman of his fancy. It was not in Mr Ravenscar’s eyes; but if he had not fallen a victim to her charms what in the world possessed him to invite her to drive out with him?
It did not take her long to change her chintz gown for a walking dress. A green bonnet with an upstanding poke, and several softly curling ostrich plumes, admirably framed her face, and set off the glory of her chestnut locks. She was conscious of looking her best, and hoped that Mr Ravenscar would think that she did him credit.
Lady Bellingham, informed of the proposed expedition, wavered between elation and a doubt that her niece ought not to drive out alone with a gentleman she had met but once before in her life; but the obvious advantages of Deborah’s fixing Mr Ravenscar’s interest soon outweighed all other considerations. Lucius Kennet chose to be amused, and to quiz Miss Grantham unmercifully on having made such an important conquest, but she answered him quite crossly, telling him it was no such thing, and that she thought such jests extremely vulgar.
It was consequently with a slightly heightened colour that she presently rejoined Ravenscar in the Yellow Saloon. Glancing critically at her, he was obliged to admit that she was a magnificent creature. He accompanied her downstairs to the front door, where they were met by Kennet, who came lounging across the hall to see them off.
Ravenscar and he exchanged a few civilities, and the groom led the greys up to the door. Mr Kennet inspected them with a knowledgeable eye, while Ravenscar gave Miss Grantham his hand to assist her to mount into the curricle, and said that he should back them to beat Filey’s pair.
They were, indeed, beautiful animals, standing a little over fifteen hands, with small heads, broad chests and thighs, powerful quarters, and good, arched necks.
“Ah, I’ll wager they are sweet goers!” Mr Kennet said, passing a hand over one satin neck.
“Yes,” Ravenscar acknowledged. “They are beautiful steppers.”
He got up into the curricle, while the groom still stood to the greys’ heads, and spread a rug over Miss Grantham’s knees. Taking his whip in his hand, and lightly feeling his horses’ mouths, he nodded to the groom. “I shan’t need you,” he said briefly. “Servant, Mr Kennet.”