“By Jove, you have stolen a march on me, then, for I have had my eye on that pair ever since Manningtree sprang ’em on the town! How did you get wind of it, ma’am?”
“To own the truth, I knew nothing about the matter,” she confessed. “It was Sir Vincent Talgarth who put me in the way of buying them.”
“That fellow!” interpolated Mr. Rivenhall explosively. “I might have known!”
“Yes, so you might,” she agreed. “He is quite famous for knowing all the news before others have heard even a rumor. May I take you up, Mr. Wychbold? If I have stolen a march on you the least amends I can make is to off to let you drive my pair.”
“Don’t hesitate to tell me which of my mother’s or my horses you would like me to remove from the stables to make room for these!” begged Mr. Rivenhall, with savage civility. “Unless, of course, you are setting up your own stables!”
“Dear Cousin Charles, I hope I know better than to put you to such shocking inconvenience! John Potton here has seen to all that. You are not to be troubled with my horses! Get down, John. You need not fear to let Mr. Wychbold have your place, for if the horses should bolt with me he is better fitted to get them under control again than either of us.”
The middle-aged groom, having favored Mr. Wychbold with a long scrutiny, appeared to be satisfied, for he obeyed without making any comment. Mr. Wychbold leaped up lightly into the phaeton; Sophy nodded farewell to her, cousin; and the bays moved forward. Mr. Rivenhall watched the phaeton smolderingly for a moment or two, and then lowered his gaze to the groom’s countenance. “What the devil were you about to let your mistress buy a damned dangerous carriage like that?” he demanded.
“Don’t you put yourself in a pucker of Miss Sophy, sir!” said John, in a fatherly way. “Sir Horace himself couldn’t stop her, not when she’s got the bit between her teeth! Many’s the time I’ve told Sir Horace he should have broke her to bridle, but he never done it, nor tried to.”
“Well, if I have much more — ” Mr. Rivenhall pulled himself up short, realizing how improper was this interchange. “Damn your impudence!” he said, and set his grays in motion with a plunge that betrayed the state of his temper.
Mr. Wychbold, meanwhile, was most gallantly refusing to take the reins from Miss Stanton-Lacy. “Dashed if I ever thought I should say so, but it’s a pleasure to be driven by a lady who handles ’em as well as you do, ma’am! Very sweet goers, too; shouldn’t be surprised if Charles has had his eye on ’em, which would account for his flying into one of his miffs.”