“My dear St. Erth, your horse never cut his knees stumbling into rabbit-holes!” expostulated Theo. “I thought, when I saw him, you must have put him at a stone wall!”
“Are they badly damaged?”
“I hope not. He has done little more than scratch himself. Whether he will be scarred or not, I can’t tell. I’ve directed your man to apply hot fomentations.”
The Earl nodded, and went past him into the stable, followed by Chard. Theo looked up at the Viscount with a questioning lift to his brows.
“No good asking me!” Ulverston said, correctly interpreting the look. “He don’t want it talked of, that’s all I know. Where’s that damned fellow of mine? Clarence! Hi, there, come and take the horses in, wherever you are!”
His groom came running up. The Viscount relinquished the team into his care, and jumped down from the curricle. “Where’s young Frant?” he asked abruptly.
“Martin? I don’t know,” Theo replied, a surprised inflexion in his voice.
“Mr. Frant went out with his gun a while back, my lord,” offered Clarence.
“Oh, he did, did he? Very well; that’ll do!”
“What’s this, Ulverston?” Theo said, drawing him out of earshot of the groom. “What has Martin to do with it?”