Page 33 of A Symphony for the Earl

The earl greeted him cordially, and they fell into an easy conversation regarding mutual memberships at Jackson’s Boxing Saloon. As she observed them both, Fiona concluded that two of the most elegant men in London escorted her.

After engaging her in an amusing dialogue about tonight’s ball, Sir William parted from them at Rotten Row, promising to call later the next afternoon.

When they were once more abreast, Richard settled the gray, who had sidestepped nervously at a particularly loud cart. “You ride a good deal better than tolerably, Fiona. Why don’t you enjoy it more?”

The promenade along Rotten Row was thick with riders, but Della handled the bustle with equanimity. She reached to smooth the mare’s black mane, grateful for her calm demeanor. “I do on a horse like this. At thirteen, I suffered a bad fall when my horse shied at a wild pig in the jungle, and it colored my joy of the sport for the worse, I fear.”

“Were you injured?”

“I broke my arm and my collarbone, but recovered well enough.”

“And what do you think of William Denton?”

She raised her brows at the abrupt change of subject. “I find him quite agreeable and sensible. But not the romantic figure Valentina would choose.”

They crossed the street after waiting for a break in the carriages and carts that made for heavy traffic along High Street.

“Goodness! I just had a revelation, Lord Richard!” she exclaimed. “I’ll set my sights on Sir William. We would suit admirably.”

His mount jerked its head as if the reins had tightened abruptly. “That won’t do, Fiona. Think how it would appear if someone who showed an interest in my sister suddenly changed direction and pursued my ward.”

“Valentina has refused to entertain Sir William, has she not?”

“The appearance,” he said through clenched teeth, “would be that he is determined to marry into my family for financial gain.”

“Why, Lord Richard, are you saying that I have nothing to recommend me but your fortune?”

“That is not what I meant.”

“No, but you wish us all to act as your puppets, my lord, and I will not dance to your strings. I’m quite old enough to choose my own suitors—Sir William is intelligent, charming, and very handsome. It’s my guess he wouldn’t run roughshod over a wife, which I couldn’t tolerate.”

“Perhaps you have forgotten that you cannot marry without my permission. You might have ruled the roost in the past, but that won’t do here. I will be master of my household, Fiona, make no mistake.”

She started to make a scornful retort but held her tongue as two riders trotted up to them. It was the elegant figure and pale-blonde hair of Mrs. Davenport, accompanied by a tall gentleman of a rather swarthy complexion and cold face. Mrs. Davenport pulled up to them. Her cobalt riding dress set off her blue eyes and voluptuous figure to advantage.

Lord Richard nodded in greeting, still stiff with anger. “Mrs. Davenport. Lord Fellingham. Good day.”

Mrs. Davenport surveyed them with a mocking expression. It must be obvious they had been quarreling. Of all people to come upon them at this moment, must it be the earl’s former attachment?

“So, this is your new ward of whom I have heard so much.” The gentleman tipped his hat. Fiona took an instant dislike to him; she had the impression that he sneered at the world.

“Miss Rafferty, you’ve met Mrs. Davenport, but not the Marquis of Fellingham.” It should have been clear to even the most obtuse of acquaintances that the earl did not desire company. Mrs. Davenport chose to disregard this and fell in alongside him, followed closely by the marquis.

“Are you returning home, Lord Seldon?” she asked. “Might we accompany you as far as Grosvenor Gate? This time of day lacks a certain excitement, I fear.” Fiona knew he could not refuse with any degree of politeness.

“Of course,” he replied tersely.

“I am quite sure Lord Seldon picked this time so there would be fewer people about should my riding prove embarrassing,” Fiona quipped.

Mrs. Davenport laughed gaily. “You are correct, I think. A Corinthian such as the earl would never be seen with a poor equestrienne. But you need not worry on that account, Miss Rafferty.”

“Indeed, you sit a horse most beautifully.” The marquis smiled.

The compliment reeked of familiarity. “Are you attending Almack’s tonight, Mrs. Davenport?” she asked to cover the awkward silence.

“Why, certainly. And the marquis will be my escort, will you not, my lord?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I assume the ball will announce your entry into our London society, Miss Rafferty?”