‘Have you anything specific in mind, Susan?’ Sophy enquired of her cousin, and caught the flash of Susan’s angry eyes at Sir Esmond.
‘I want a beast with some fire beneath me,’ declared Susan, tossing her head.
Mr Cannings swallowed rather hard and felt the day had become rather warm in an instant.
‘I doubt they stable dragons in London,’ murmured Sir Esmond, provocatively.
Miss Tyneham made a sound akin to a high-pitched growl, but did not look at him.
‘I do not want some plodder. I can ride, not just sit on a horse that puts one foot in front of the other. Show me something exciting.’
Mr Cannings was caught. The tall lady’s expression told him he should obey sense and ignore the young lady, but she was … magnificent. The assertive confidence, the flashing eyes and heightened colour, combined to hold him in thrall. Of course, he did not have the sort of mettlesome mount she clearly envisaged, since hiring out an animal that would be unmanageable to anyone less than an excellent horseman or woman, and risking retribution if anyone suffered injury, would put him out of business. He called for the liveliest mount he owned, and one which was sometimes ridden by older and more substantially dimensioned ladies used to hunting, and hoped that the young lady would not be too disparaging.
The former was a moody beast, inclined to kick out at the stable lads when out of humour, but today clearly at peace with the world. The lady curled her lip. The other was a handsome animal, with an arrogance to the carriage of its head, but too big and strong for a young lady of her stature. Susan eyed it speculatively, and saw potential. She would attract attention upon a horse like that, and if it was not going to show off her skills in controlling wildness, it would mark her out as being upon an impressively built beast that other young ladies would be afraid to ride. A slow smile dawned upon her face.
‘Your ladyship would not be advised to take him,’ declared Deeping, grimly. ‘You are too light for him, and controlling such …’ He shook his head.
‘I did not request your opinion. Trot him up and down for me.’ She was imperious.
The stable lad obeyed instantly.
‘I asked Deeping to come with us because of his experience, cousin. You would do well to listen.’ Sophy heard herself, and resented that she was forced to sound like a censorious aunt.
‘But my brother will be paying for the hiring of the horse, and if you will not arrange for it to be kept in my uncle’s stables, I shall come here.’
‘Really, Miss Tyneham, the horse is simply too large.’ Sir Esmond added his vote against.
Miss Tyneham did not appear to hear him.
Sophy had not considered that she had no veto, but this was the case. She was tempted to tell her cousin that it was her decision but if she broke her neck, it was her own silly fault, but that would sound petty. Instead, she spoke to Deeping.
‘Thank you, Deeping. I accept your assessment, but if Miss Tyneham ignores advice, it is upon her own head. I assume that there is no problem accommodating three horses in our stables?’
‘None, my lady. There are but two pairs of carriage horses at present.’
‘And Mr Cannings, if we feed and lodge the animals, I take it there will be a reduction in the charge?’
Mr Cannings, still slightly overwhelmed by Miss Tyneham, nodded.
‘Good, then I am happy to sign an undertaking to lease them upon a monthly basis. You may send them round this afternoon.’ Sophy was keen to leave what she found to be an embarrassing situation. ‘Thank you for your assistance, Mr Cannings.’
She glanced at Sir Esmond. He did not look shocked, outraged or disgusted. If anything, he looked mildly entertained. Sophy resented being reduced to ‘entertainment’, though she could scarcely blame the gentleman.
‘You may rely upon my discretion, ma’am,’ he murmured as he offered his arm to her, seeing her face and thinking she feared her cousin’s behaviour might become known.
‘Oh, I do not doubt it, sir, but regret that I should be reliant upon it. She makes me feel old you know, even older than my years.’
He laughed, and Susan, who had been watching ‘her’ horse led back to its box, frowned.
‘Your years, ma’am? You make it sound as if you numbered those of Methuselah.’
‘Not that many, it is true, but enough to mark me as “no longer youthful”, and trying to hold my cousin in check makes me feel the equivalent of my own mama. I shall start needing regular restorative naps!’
‘You are looking in a distorting mirror, ma’am, I assure you.’ He dropped his voice. ‘You are confusing years and maturity. I think your cousin very young in that, younger than her number of birthdays may declare.’
Sophy looked at Sir Esmond with respect.
‘How … perspicacious of you.’
