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the world as we had thought caused Frank to pull his horses over to the verge so he could give me his full attention.
    â€˜Are you serious about travelling to Scotland, Cat?’
    â€˜I am. I even have a plan – a good plan.’
    â€˜On your own?’
    â€˜Frank, I’ve been to America and back mostly on my own. I hardly think Scotland much of a challenge.’
    He harrumphed – a rather impressive noise that would stand him in good stead when he eventually became a duke.
    â€˜I don’t know, Cat –’
    â€˜You drive rather well, you know, for a beginner.’
    I knew a remark like that would make him relinquish the subject of Scotland.
    â€˜Beginner! I’m better than that, I hope. And I don’t
drive
. I
tool
the carriage.’
    â€˜I know, I know.’ I waved a hand airily. ‘You
tool
your
cattle
accompanied by your
tiger
. The brethren of the whip would be proud of you; you certainly have the language down pat.’
    He bowed at my compliment.
    â€˜But as you are an expert, can you explain why your
cattle
are currently eating the flowers from that old lady’s bonnet?’
    Frank turned in horror to see one of his bays grazing happily on the brim of a hat as the unfortunate woman leaned out of her open-topped carriage to wave to an acquaintance. He jerked on the reins but the horse merely looked up, dragging the bonnet in its mouth and thus alerting the woman to the ravaging of her favourite chapeau. Her eyes fastened on Frank.
    â€˜Your g . . . grace,’ stuttered Frank. ‘Please accept my heartfelt apologies.’
    The wrinkled countenance of the lady turned a pale puce colour. She raised her lorgnette to her eyes.
    â€˜Avon’s boy, isn’t it?’ Her voice was so sharp it could have sawn a plank in half.
    â€˜Yes, your grace.’ Shoving the reins in my hands, Frank leapt from the seat and wrestled the bonnet from his horse. He handed the mangled item back to its owner with as much aplomb as he could muster in the circumstances. I was amused to note that we were gathering quite a little audience as ladies and gentlemen paused to see what was happening.
    â€˜Your father will hear of this, you impudent pup!’ She threw the bonnet on to the floor of the carriage and nodded to the coachman to continue.
    â€˜I’m sure he will.’ Frank bowed as the carriage disappeared.
    Trying to hide his humiliation, Frank clambered up beside me. Silently, I handed him the reins and he flicked the horses into motion, fleeing the embarrassing scene as fast as he could.
    I leaned against him and gave him a nudge. ‘Six points.’
    â€˜What?’ he snapped, still annoyed with himself.
    â€˜Dowager Duchess’s bonnet: worth at least six points.’
    Torn between mortification and humour, Frank gave into the absurdity of the situation and began to laugh. Our curricle tooled once more around the park, the two occupants of the front seat near helpless with giggles.
    * For those of you who have not read my earlier adventures yet, this is Frank’s honorary title in Covent Garden due to him once having disguised himself as a sweep. He fooled no one but we humoured him.

A CT II

SCENE 1 – WAR IN THE MARKET
    I take it you are serious about going to Scotland?’ asked Frank.
    We had stopped for refreshments in the Crown and Anchor – Frank’s treat. Signs of last night’s riot had been swept away, though I thought I detected a slightly frantic air from the manager. I was currently enjoying my third breakfast in the smart dining room, served by the most obsequious waiters on God’s earth.
    â€˜Would the young lady like some butter with her muffin, my lord?’ drawled the attendant, practically falling over Frank’s shoulder in his eagerness to serve the needs of the earl.
    â€˜Yes, the young lady would like butter,’ I replied brightly, determined that he should acknowledge my right to