Beth gave him a de Vaux look.
In a few moments she was talking to Robin in Stella’s stall. The boyeyed the horse nervously all the time.
“Really, Robin,” said Beth, “you can’t possibly be scared of Stella. Hehas the sweetest nature.”
Robin just looked down sullenly.
“I do think it would be better if you let us find some other positionfor you,” she said gently. “Is there nothing you’d rather do?”
The boy wriggled around and scuffed up some wisps of hay. “Don’t mindas long as I serve him,” he muttered.
Beth smiled as she understood at last. Pure hero worship. “I’ll thinkabout it, Robin. Now, I want you to take me to Mrs. Hardcastle’s. Withouttelling anyone.”
The boy looked up, wide-eyed. “I can’t, milady. Old Granger’ll have mehide. Honest he will.”
“Robin. If I give you a task, it is nothing to do with Granger.”
Robin fidgeted some more. “The marquess told me not to,” he muttered atlast, looking down.
“The marquess! When?”
“This mornin‘. Said if you asked, I weren’t to.”
Well, the cunning rogue, thought Beth, not unhappy to be back in abattle of wits with her husband. She bit her lip as she thought.
“Can you tell me how to get there, Robin?” she asked at last.
He looked up. “You’d never go by yerself, milady!”
“Why not? It didn’t seem a very dangerous route.”
“Ladies just don’t,” he said with a masculine assertiveness which madeher eyes twinkle.
“This lady does as she pleases,” said Beth firmly. “If you don’t tellme I’ll just try to remember the way and ask for directions if I becomelost.”
This clearly alarmed the boy even more. After a few more protests hegave in. “They’ll be standing in line to leather me after this one,” hemuttered morosely.
He gave the directions clearly enough, however, and Beth slipped him acrown as she left.
For the first little while she felt an itching between her shoulderblades and expected pursuit. Then she settled and began to enjoy the walk.It was a fresh June day and the streets were abustle with people. Theexcitement of the news of the victorious engagement was fizzing aboutLondon like champagne. Every now and then some man would call out, “Threecheers for Wellington!” and everyone would huzzah.
The mood was so good, however, that Beth felt in no danger. As therewas little chance of recognition in her dowdy clothes and wearing aconcealing bonnet, she was enjoying being one of the people again insteadof isolated in the ranks of the high aristocracy. She decided there werechanges to be made in her life. She grinned at the thought of the battlesto come over it.
Soon she left the busier thoroughfares behind and did experience somenervousness as the streets became quieter. Then she took herself to task.These were hardly notorious warrens, full of beggars and criminals, butquietly genteel residential streets. She had walked through such areas inCheltenham all her life. Just because she was the Marchioness of Arden shewould not be deprived of her freedom.
When she was close to Blanche’s house, however, she acted on a cautiousimpulse and went down the back lane instead of knocking at the frontdoor.
Agnes, the maid, gawked when Beth walked into the kitchen. There wasanother person there, a wizened older woman who was obviously thecook.
Agnes dropped a bemused curtsy. The cook put her hands on her hips.“And who might you be?”
“Hush, Lily. It’s ... it be the march’ness. You know.”
The cook gaped, too. “Lord love us. What is the world coming to? Youought to be ashamed of yourself,” she said to Beth.
“Well, I’m not,” said Beth, holding back amusement. “Is Blanchein?”
Agnes rubbed her hands on her apron. “I’ll go ask. Please to take aseat . . .” She looked helplessly at the two plain chairs. “Oh, I don’tknow,” she wailed as she left the room.
