“Certainly not!”
“Dear Cousin Charles, do you wish me to understand that I have the name wrong, or that there is a superior dealer?”
“Neither. What I wish you to understand is that females do not frequent Tattersall’s!”
“Now, is this one of the things you would not like your sisters to do, or would it really be improper in me to go there?”
“Most improper!”
“If you escorted me?”
“I shall do no such thing.”
“Then how shall I manage?” she demanded. “John Potton is an excellent groom, but I would not trust him to buy my horses for me. Indeed, I would not trust anyone, except, perhaps, Sir Horace, who knows exactly what I like.”
He perceived that she was in earnest, and not, as he had suspected, merely bent on roasting him. “Cousin, if nothing will do for you but to drive yourself, I will put my tilbury at your disposal and choose a suitable horse to go between the shafts.”
“One of your own?” enquired Sophy.