“I could not do that!”
“Chivalry in our dour Earl? What is the world coming to?”
“Laugh if you want, but I seen your reaction to Kirkson and the other Miss Shreveton.”
“My dear sir, what is that to mean?”
“You know damned well. Not another word I’ll say.”
Stefton straightened in his chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Kirkson has a score to settle with Miss Shreveton and with me. Miss Shreveton is not up to his weight, but I’d venture to say that won’t make odds with her.”
“Lady Harth has fixed on Kirkson as a suitor for her.”
The Marquis raised an eyebrow and pulled on his chin, thinking. “It might be best to turn Lady Harth’s attention elsewhere. I’ve not heard any talk of Catherine Shreveton riding.”
“Does she?”
“Beautifully. Yes. I think I need to pay a call on Raymond Dawes.”
“Burke’s man? What’s he to do with this?”
“Maybe nothing. Then again, maybe a lot,” Stefton murmured, a slight smile playing upon his lips.
An hour later,the Earl of Soothcoor bade his host goodbye and set off for his club, for he’d contrived the happy notion of napping in an armchair in the library. The Marquis good-humoredly waved him off, then set off in the direction ofSt. George’s Hospital, for in the mews in that vicinity was Tattersall’s, the celebrated mart for selling horses, and also the offices and London stables of Burke’s, the renowned breeder of horses.
He stopped first at the Burke stables, ambling down its wide, well-swept corridor. He halted in front of the stall of an elegant black mare.
The inquisitive horse nudged him. He laughed softly and reached up to scratch her head.
“That one ain’t for sale, guv’nor,” said a wizened old man who rocked forward on bowed legs.
“I know. I believe her name is Gwyneth.”
“Aye, sir. Did you be wanting somethin’, guv’nor?” asked the old groom, suddenly suspicious of the well-dressed, soft-spoken swell.
The Marquis caught the man’s hesitant, suspicious manner and laughed, clapping the fellow on the back. “You’re a loyal man. Tell me, where might I find Raymond Dawes at this hour?”
“In the office. Take those stairs over there,” the man said, jerking his head to the right. “It’s shorter.”
“Thank you.” The Marquis flipped a coin in the old man’s direction. The man caught it easily. When he saw a yellow boy lying in his palm, his eyes grew wide as saucers. His stammeredthank youfollowed Stefton up the stairs.
Stefton quietly entered the main office of Burke’s and stood before Dawes’s high desk.
Dawes reluctantly pulled his attention up from the ledger spread open before him. Recognizing his visitor, he surged to his feet, bobbing his head twice in deference. “My lord! Begging your lordship’s pardon. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“It’s quite all right, Dawes.” Stefton glanced about the well-appointed office, spotting two worn armchairs by the fireplace. “Let’s sit down over there.”
“Please, your lordship,” Raymond Dawes said, coming around the desk and escorting the Marquis to one of the chairs.
“You too, Dawes, I’ll not crane my neck looking up at you.”
Dawes hesitated a moment, then sat down opposite the Marquis.
“I’m not here to buy a horse. I’ve come to discuss Miss Shreveton. Don’t shake your head so quickly. You’re a loyal man, I know, but hear me out. I believe Miss Shreveton to be acting out of character and in a manner bound to distress Sir Eugene if he but knew of it.”
“How so, my lord?” Dawes asked warily.
“She insists on letting everyone believe she is a poor relation. To strengthen this belief, she dresses dowdily and scrapes her hair back hideously.”
