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Livie started laughing. “It’s not so easy, Daisy.”
“Actually, I think it is so easy. Just think of those young ladies who debuted with us this Season, Livie. I don’t know how to explain it, but their conversation was rather flat.”
“None of them were allowed to speak freely because their mothers were watching them like hawks,” Livie pointed out.
“Yes, well,” Daisy said, shooting her a mischievous twinkle. “It is my distinct impression that young men do not care to marry flattened ladies, and I do intend that pun. I shall find a duke, after which I will squash Lady Regina beneath my slipper.”
She jumped from the bed and arched her back. “Obviously, men can be brought to heel by a generous show of bosom. Just look at the women who flocked to Rothingale’s house! Luckily for me—and my future duke—I have the best bosom on the market. The rest of you are too slim.”
“You do look like the figurehead on the bow of Father’s ship,” Livie said, giggling. “The Royal Oak features a buxom lady, who supposedly represents Queen Elizabeth.”
“Just wait,” Daisy said. “This bosom will mow down polite society as easily as the Royal Oak plows through the waves!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GROUNDS FOR JUDGMENT IN TRIVIAL & TREASONOUS TRIALS
Early in the morning, Hyde Park is not yet thronged by elegant carriages, ladies walking their recalcitrant dogs, and gentlemen swinging their ebony canes. Rather than camouflage for children playing hide-and-seek, the poplar trees serve as racetracks for excited gray squirrels. The horse-chestnut trees flaunt brilliant pink and yellow fluff, not yet competing with ladies in bright cottons and silks.
It was the only time that Livie and Daisy could ride without being snubbed.
Moreover, if they arrived early enough, they could even gallop down Rotten Row—something that no properly-bred young lady would do.
“Race you to the end?” Daisy asked, raising an eyebrow at Livie as she pinned back the veil of her masquerade hat.
Livie patted her mare, Jacqueline. The Row stretched ahead, the gravel still neatly raked. No one was in sight to chide them. “Jack and I will slay you!”
“One, Two, Go!” Daisy shrieked.
“What happened to ‘three?’ ” Livie called, but she loosed the reins anyway.
Her mount snorted and surged forward on her powerful front legs. A groom had brushed Jack’s mane to sleek elegance, draped on one side; now it flared up and tangled in the air. Wind whipped past Livie’s face, and the poplars lining the path merged into a green blur. Instead of the chirps of London sparrows, she heard only the pounding of Jack’s hooves and the spray of gravel; it was as if she rode the crest of a tidal wave roaring toward an unseen shore.
Livie laughed aloud, loving the wild freedom that came from ignoring ladylike behavior. Daisy was ahead by a length, but Jack was steadily catching up—until a huge black horse flashed past. The rider veered close to Daisy, reached across the gap between them, and snatched her reins.
Livie pulled up Jack abruptly, her mare snorting with displeasure and rising onto her back hooves in protest. Livie barked “No,” pulling the reins down. In the country, she could cling to the saddle with her thighs while Jack bucked, but in London she was forced to use a side-saddle, which made it harder to control her mount.
As soon as Jack’s hooves were back on the ground, Livie turned—and grimaced.
Lord Devin held Daisy’s reins.
Her cousin’s face was red with fury. “You risked tripping Iris and perhaps injuring her!” Daisy shouted. “Just what did you think you were doing? You bacon-brained buffoon!”
“You appeared to have lost control of your mount.” Lord Devin’s genial mouth was compressed into a grim line.
“I’m not one of your little sisters.” Daisy yanked her reins from his hand. “I never lose control of Iris. Ever.”
“Good morning, Lord Devin,” Livie said, nodding to him. Temper tantrum forgotten, her mare pranced sideways, coquettishly introducing herself to his gelding.
“I suppose you think that Livie’s mount had run away with her as well?” Daisy cried. “That we’re both such wretched horsewomen that our horses were startled at the same moment?”
“I was of the belief that young ladies didn’t ride helter-skelter down Rotten Row,” his lordship said icily. “Though I see now that I was mistaken.” He doffed his hat. “Good morning, Miss Tyron. How are you?”
“Very well,” Livie said. “I am glad that our paths have crossed, Lord Devin, as I wished to thank you. Daisy tells me that you are helping with my father’s case.”
“I am.”
“When his lordship is not busy interfering in races that have nothing to do with him.” Daisy’s hair had tumbled down past her shoulders. Pulling hairpins from her pocket, she began twisting up the heavy coil of hair again.
