‘It is no matter to me what Lord Bollington thinks, sir.’
‘Really? What has he said to upset you, I wonder?’
‘He … it is of no concern to you.’
‘Quite right, Miss Tyneham,’ interjected Sir Esmond, trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Shall I call this rude fellow out for you?’
‘Would you?’ Susan looked sceptical but interested. ‘I would rather like to have gentlemen to fight over me.’
‘Bloodthirsty young lady, are you not,’ murmured Lord Rothley, with a wry smile. ‘The thing is that Fawley and I have known each other for years, and everyone would guess it was a hum.’
‘So you will not offer pistols at dawn?’ Susan could not keep the disappointment from her voice.
‘Tell you what, we might arrange a compromise.’ Lord Rothley’s eyes twinkled as he looked at Sir Esmond. ‘I am going to Grierson’s tomorrow morning to try a new twelve-bore. How about you come with me. Shotguns at say eleven, rather than pistols at six?’
‘Thank you, I will be glad to join you. Grierson’s, eh? I had a pistol off him four years back.’
‘Oh, if you are going to talk men’s talk, I might as well go elsewhere,’ declared Susan, huffily.
‘My apologies, Miss Tyneham,’ Sir Esmond bowed, ‘that was inexcusable of us.’
‘Yes, I think it was,’ replied Susan, baldly.
‘Yet you will excuse us.’
‘I will?’
‘Yes, ma’am, because it shows your superior understanding, that men are all … just men.’
‘That, Sir Esmond, I have known since I was fourteen.’
He looked at her, a little intently. It occurred to him that whilst she did a lot to attract the opposite sex, she really did not like men, not underneath. He wondered why.
Lord Bollington was confused, and piqued. Miss Tyneham had taken umbrage because he had let slip that his mama was yet to be ‘won over’ by her, even though he had averred that he was himself at her feet. This clumsy admission, which said much for the viscount’s inexperience with women, had set up Susan’s back, although how his lordship was to blame for his mother’s not falling instantly under the ‘Susan spell’ was not a question she had even asked herself. He had then blundered further by suggesting, very gingerly, that perhaps she might act a little more ‘like other girls’ when engaged in conversation with her. Susan had glared at him, and then smiled, but not in a nice way. If he even cared what his mother thought, then he was not sufficiently subservient, and needed to be taught a lesson.
The lesson he had learnt, however, was not that Miss Tyneham must come first and foremost, but that she was just as Mama had warned him, ‘a fickle little madam without heart and without the maidenly virtues of docility, modesty, and sweetness of temper’. Well, he would dance no more to her piping, though she was so magnificent a creature.
Sophy, who had been trying to juggle conversing with Lord John, watching to see that Harriet knew where she was, and give that damsel a sign to return to her side when possible, and trying to work out how she might deflect Lord Rothley from her charge, at last succeeded in disengaging from Lord John Hythe, and turned a smiling countenance to Sir Esmond. Lord Rothley had the impression that he was less welcome, and wondered if she had come to unpleasant conclusions following the encounter with Tyneham in the Park.
‘Is my cousin entertaining you, Sir Esmond, with how well she controlled her horse on our first ride?’ She acknowledged Lord Rothley with a lesser smile and the briefest of curtsies.
‘Not as yet, ma’am.’ Sir Esmond’s smile faded. ‘I am sorry to hear that Lady Chelmarsh has had to attend Lady Tattersett. I hope the news is not desperate.’
Lord Rothley was suddenly on the alert. He had missed this information.
‘It is not, thankfully, but my sister is due her first confinement in a few weeks and has suffered the sudden loss of a friend in a similar situation. Her distress is acute, and my mama’s place is with her.’
‘Of course. But you do not abandon London, I hope?’
Sophy heard the note of sincerity in his voice, and coloured a little.
‘Oh no, Sir Esmond. I standin loco parentis.’
‘I am sorry for it,’ interjected Lord Rothley.
‘Really, my lord?’ Sophy was stung. ‘Do you think me unequal to the task?’
‘Not at all, ma’am, but I regret that you are thereby both burdened with responsibility and consigned to the ranks of the matrons.’
