‘Are you quite well, Sophy?’ Harriet noted her sister’s flushed appearance. She had not seen Lord Rothley enter the house.
‘Perfectly so. Now, where was it that Lord Edward advised us to place ourselves for the best view?’
Sophy tried to sound normal and calm, but in truth she had no interest at all in watching the brightly uniformed soldiery, and her mind was imagining what was going on between her father and the man to whom she was about to become betrothed. Half past three seemed so distant. She wondered, and nearly laughed out loud at her girlishness, what she should wear for such an important occasion as receiving an offer of marriage. She felt that Lord Rothley would laugh too, if he knew, and say it mattered not as long as she said yes, and that he was biased, and thought her beautiful in anything.
She paid little attention to Susan, who was sitting with her hands neatly folded over her reticule, which was, had anyone noticed, suspiciously full. She was wearing the scarlet spencer over a demure white muslin gown, and her bonnet had a scarlet ribbon tied about it. The picture she presented was enchantingly beautiful. Harriet did ask why she had brought a cloak with her, but she responded that she was not entirely convinced that the hazy clouds might not thicken and bring on a shower and the temperature drop.
‘I would so hate to be seen with goosebumps.’ It was a very Susan reaction.
Harriet had paid no interest to possible meteorological problems. She was going to see her Edward in all his glory upon his charger and in front of his men, and was so proud she thought she might burst with it. As she said to her sister, he was a hero, for he had seen action, been wounded. That the injury had been slight was down to good fortune.
‘I keep thinking how lucky I am, Sophy.’ Her voice trembled.
‘You are lucky, but do not dwell upon what might have been in the worst of situations. Look forward.’
Harriet’s smile returned.
Susan said nothing, and if Sophy had been attending, she would have wondered why she sat without any sign of disdain for her cousin accepting a man she found unworthy, in that he had not done as she had wanted.
The barouche entered Hyde Park and made its way to the area from which the crowds of onlookers were to see the display of men and horses. The first troops were marching on, and the deployment of column into line that the ladies observed was made with the apparently effortless precision which had helped win so many battles against Napoleon’s marshals. A ripple of scarlet formed into long red ranks some time before the cavalry, with their jingling bits and ornate headdress, took up position. It was a hot day, and Sophy wondered if any of the men might succumb, standing as they did in the open without even the slightest shade. Notwithstanding Susan bringing her cloak, the ladies in the barouche had parasols, lest the sun’s rays harm their delicate pale skin.
Lord Edward’s recommendation that they should secure a place early was shown to be very wise. The flat area in the north-east corner of Hyde Park had long been used as a parade ground for these military spectacles, and its perimeter soon filled. Latecomers would be reduced to leaving their carriages and standing nearer to get an uninterrupted view. Harriet, with a very recently acquired interest in all things military, explained how King George II had reviewed troops there only two days before his death.
‘Edward says that today’s review is comparatively small, but some have been of thousands of men.’ Susan could not help but snigger, and received a cold look. ‘You find this amusing, cousin?’
‘Not at all, if “Edward” said it.’ Susan sniggered again.
Sophy winced, and gave Susan a repressive glare.
‘Is it so hard to be amicable for just a few hours?’
‘I do not know, cousin. We shall have to find out.’ Susan smiled, but it was brittle.
Over the next half hour Susan seemed unable to restrain herself from mocking Harriet’s choice of husband, by means of comments about the troops arrayed before them. Sophy had the feeling that Susan was actually setting out to annoy. Shortly after the Duke of York, who was conducting the review, had arrived and was commencing his inspection of the cavalry, Susan gave a muffled cry.
‘Ow! Oooh, my foot! I have cramp in my left foot.’
‘Try rubbing it,’ advised Sophy.
Susan did so, but seemed no better.
‘Please, may I get down and just walk up and down for a few minutes? Nobody will notice me.’
‘Yes, but stay close to the carriage, cousin.’ Sophy directed the groom to let down the step and hand the grimacing Susan down to the grass. She thanked him, weakly, declined his offer of an arm, and began to move the foot, gingerly setting it to the ground and hobbling to and fro to the rear of the barouche.
Harriet watched with bated breath as His Royal Highness approached the squadron of which Lord Edward’s troop formed part, and gripped Sophy’s hand in excitement, wondering if her betrothed might have the honour of being addressed by royalty. Her older sister was not as overawed, but took great pleasure in watching Harriet’s wide-eyed anticipation. Neither was thinking about Susan, which was just what that young lady wanted.
Having hopped a little theatrically, up and down, she waited until no longer observed, and for the Hadlow sisters to be focussed upon the spectacle. She then, with a fleetness of foot which was quite remarkable for one so recently ‘lame’, scurried towards the rear of the coach lines, throwing her cloak about her shoulders and the hood over her head, to the possible detriment of the straw bonnet. Opposite the end of Mount Street she espied Lord Pinkney, consulting his pocket watch, and scowling in a very unromantic manner for a man about to elope to Gretna Green. He stood beside a chaise and pair.
‘I had nearly given up on you,’ he declared, gruffly, as she reached him, ‘and why the cloak? It makes you stand out.’
‘It may do so, sir, but nobody would know who is standing out, and my clothing is distinctive.’ He offered his hand, and assisted her, rather ungraciously, into the chaise. ‘And as for being late, timing was everything. I had to wait until Harriet’s infatuation with her precious Edward would distract both my cousins for long enough that we might make our escape.’ She sounded both excited and in control, which, like her previous behaviour, piqued Pinkney a little. A damsel really ought to sound nervous and fluttery in such a situation. He gave the postillion the word, and the chaise sprang forward.
‘At last,’ breathed Susan, ‘this time I shall not be thwarted.’ She sounded, thought Lord Pinkney, triumphant rather than excited.
Perhaps it was the combination of Harriet’s enthusiasm and her own focus upon what the afternoon would bring, but whatever the cause, it was more than a quarter of an hour later when Sophy suddenly exclaimed, and looked about her.
‘Susan!’ She looked to the grooms. ‘Have you seen Miss Tyneham?’
