There was a confident little laugh. “Let me have but wind of it!” Robin said.
“I shall see you yet as the heir of Barham,” my lady prophesied, and went off to send out the cards for her next evening party.
Along the road to Kensington Prudence rode by Sir Anthony’s side, and talked idly of this and that. Sir Anthony rode a big raw-boned chestnut, and sat his horse well. The brute had tricksy manners, but he seemed to know his master, and responded to the slightest movement of the strong hand on the bridle.
Prudence herself had horsemanship. The bay mare from my lady’s stable chose to curvet all across the road, in a playful endeavour to throw her off. She swayed gracefully to the mare’s buckings, humoured her a little, and brought her up alongside her chestnut companion.
Sir Anthony sat easily in the saddle, watching her, a hand laid lightly on his hip. “She’s a little fresh,” he remarked.
Prudence leaned forward to pat the mare’s neck. “Playful. There’s no vice.”
The mare reared up as though to protest against this reading of her character, and of a sudden all the indolence left Sir Anthony. He bent swiftly forward, and caught the mare’s bridle close to the bit before Prudence knew what he would be at. The mare was brought down by a man’s iron hand, but her rider sat unshaken.
Now, what possessed the man to do that? “She doesn’t throw me so easily, sir,” Prudence said gently.
“As I see.” Sir Anthony pricked onward. “In all, you puzzle me, boy.”
Prudence studied the road ahead. “I do, sir?” she said. “I don’t know why I should.”