Read Online Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2) by Caroline Ashton - Free Book Online
Authors: Caroline Ashton
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him I beg you will grant me the favour of the first consultation.’
Archibald absently tucked the card into his pocket without troubling to read it. ‘I thank you, sir, but I bought him for my daughter. I doubt she will ever wish to part with such a beautiful creature.’
‘Then the young lady is most fortunate, sir, in both her mount and her sire.’ With another bow he prepared to leave.
A touch on his arm prevented him. The dark man who had observed Archibald throughout the proceedings smiled. ‘Won’t you present me to your new friend, Frederick?’
A restrained expression covered the young man’s face. He simmered at the unwonted familiarity with his name but he bowed nevertheless. ‘I have not the pleasure of the gentleman’s acquaintance but if you will permit me, sir,’ he said to Archibald, ‘this is Lucius Renford, fifth Viscount Trelowen.’
The dark man bowed, his face formed into a pleasant smile. ‘Delighted, sir.’
‘Similar, I’m sure.’ Archibald Neave replied, preoccupied with his purchase and ignoring the opportunity to divulge his name to a lord. ‘If you’ll excuse me I must see to the stabling.’ He scurried off.
Viscount Trelowen’s smile faded. ‘Perhaps you will excuse me too, Frederick. No doubt we’ll meet up later.’
He wandered through the departing crowd, seemingly without haste, to the two shabby men still lounging at the entrance. Gazing at nothing in particular and apparently paying no attention to the pair but simply pausing to adjust his cuff, Trelowen said, ‘Short, fat, hideous yellow waistcoat. Tell me where he lives.’ His cuff rearranged, he moved on.
The stabling approved and paid for, Archibald Neave stood by the street, watching for a hackney. A mounted groom, hired for the purpose, waited behind him, holding firmly onto the white horse’s reins. The stallion stood quietly until it took exception to the red dress of a woman in a passing carriage and reared. The groom dragged on the reins, muttering fiercely not quite under his breath.
An empty cab hove into view from among the multitude of carriages coming and going at the Corner’s turnpike. The thin covering of paint barely hid previous owner’s coat of arms on the door panel. Archibald pushed forward and raised his pudgy arm. The jarvey hauled on his reins. The curse he hurled at a phaeton driven far too sharply around him was lost in the general hubbub. The conveyance drew to a halt.
Archibald pulled the door open. ‘Drive on,’ he called, one foot on the step. ‘You,’ he indicated the groom. ‘Be sure to keep up.’
The jarvey took Archibald at his word and pulled smartly away. Taken by surprise, Archibald toppled onto the cracked leather seat.
‘Damn and blast ’im,’ the heavier of the shabby men watching grumbled. ‘Get after ’im, Webb. Quick.’ He encouraged his companion with a sharp shove at his side. He nudged his companion with a sharp elbow. ‘See where ’e goes. I’ll catch you later, at Bella’s.’
The slighter man ran four steps after the cab. The thronging traffic impeded its progress for which he was grateful. Running was not his pleasure. His gratitude died when the traffic eased and he hackney drew quickly away. Too quickly for him to follow with ease. Hurrying after it past several buildings alongside Green Park, he eventually stopped, one hand pressed against his heaving ribs. His panting breath allowed him only a gasping curse.
‘Damn it,’ he said. ‘That’s a sixpence lost.’ Chest still heaving, he chewed a thumbnail. ‘I’ll be cussed if I’m gonna face Trelowen.’ He shuddered. The Viscount had a turn of phrase, despite the invariably soft tone of its delivery, that did not appeal to him at all. ‘Griggsie can do it. I’m not having him venting his spite on me again.’
Griggs muttered balefully about Webb’s desertion in the face of the enemy for the rest of the day. He was still muttering well into the night while he plodded through
Archibald absently tucked the card into his pocket without troubling to read it. ‘I thank you, sir, but I bought him for my daughter. I doubt she will ever wish to part with such a beautiful creature.’
‘Then the young lady is most fortunate, sir, in both her mount and her sire.’ With another bow he prepared to leave.
A touch on his arm prevented him. The dark man who had observed Archibald throughout the proceedings smiled. ‘Won’t you present me to your new friend, Frederick?’
A restrained expression covered the young man’s face. He simmered at the unwonted familiarity with his name but he bowed nevertheless. ‘I have not the pleasure of the gentleman’s acquaintance but if you will permit me, sir,’ he said to Archibald, ‘this is Lucius Renford, fifth Viscount Trelowen.’
The dark man bowed, his face formed into a pleasant smile. ‘Delighted, sir.’
‘Similar, I’m sure.’ Archibald Neave replied, preoccupied with his purchase and ignoring the opportunity to divulge his name to a lord. ‘If you’ll excuse me I must see to the stabling.’ He scurried off.
Viscount Trelowen’s smile faded. ‘Perhaps you will excuse me too, Frederick. No doubt we’ll meet up later.’
He wandered through the departing crowd, seemingly without haste, to the two shabby men still lounging at the entrance. Gazing at nothing in particular and apparently paying no attention to the pair but simply pausing to adjust his cuff, Trelowen said, ‘Short, fat, hideous yellow waistcoat. Tell me where he lives.’ His cuff rearranged, he moved on.
The stabling approved and paid for, Archibald Neave stood by the street, watching for a hackney. A mounted groom, hired for the purpose, waited behind him, holding firmly onto the white horse’s reins. The stallion stood quietly until it took exception to the red dress of a woman in a passing carriage and reared. The groom dragged on the reins, muttering fiercely not quite under his breath.
An empty cab hove into view from among the multitude of carriages coming and going at the Corner’s turnpike. The thin covering of paint barely hid previous owner’s coat of arms on the door panel. Archibald pushed forward and raised his pudgy arm. The jarvey hauled on his reins. The curse he hurled at a phaeton driven far too sharply around him was lost in the general hubbub. The conveyance drew to a halt.
Archibald pulled the door open. ‘Drive on,’ he called, one foot on the step. ‘You,’ he indicated the groom. ‘Be sure to keep up.’
The jarvey took Archibald at his word and pulled smartly away. Taken by surprise, Archibald toppled onto the cracked leather seat.
‘Damn and blast ’im,’ the heavier of the shabby men watching grumbled. ‘Get after ’im, Webb. Quick.’ He encouraged his companion with a sharp shove at his side. He nudged his companion with a sharp elbow. ‘See where ’e goes. I’ll catch you later, at Bella’s.’
The slighter man ran four steps after the cab. The thronging traffic impeded its progress for which he was grateful. Running was not his pleasure. His gratitude died when the traffic eased and he hackney drew quickly away. Too quickly for him to follow with ease. Hurrying after it past several buildings alongside Green Park, he eventually stopped, one hand pressed against his heaving ribs. His panting breath allowed him only a gasping curse.
‘Damn it,’ he said. ‘That’s a sixpence lost.’ Chest still heaving, he chewed a thumbnail. ‘I’ll be cussed if I’m gonna face Trelowen.’ He shuddered. The Viscount had a turn of phrase, despite the invariably soft tone of its delivery, that did not appeal to him at all. ‘Griggsie can do it. I’m not having him venting his spite on me again.’
Griggs muttered balefully about Webb’s desertion in the face of the enemy for the rest of the day. He was still muttering well into the night while he plodded through
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