The Louise Allen Collection: The Viscount's Betrothal / The Society Catch. Louise Allen
carriage in the lead. Both men had chosen to bring ordinary curricles and Decima could only be grateful. Being tooled around Hyde Park by Henry in his high-perch version was all very well on well-rolled tan surfaces and for short distances, but she did not relish the thought of it swaying over country roads, with the passengers sitting several feet off the ground.
She found she was watching Adam’s back as he negotiated the traffic, handling the team lightly through the confusion of carriages and carts. But even he seemed taken by surprise as a rapidly moving shape slid soundlessly out of Upper Brook Street. His team sidled and shied, then he had them under control again and the strange vehicle had passed.
‘What on earth was that?’ Decima craned to see it, but it had vanished.
‘A pedestrian hobbyhorse, I believe.’ Henry settled his own horses as they took exception to a coal heaver’s cart. ‘They’re supposed to be the next big thing—I think they should be banned. It’ll be steam engines on the roads next, frightening the horses.’
‘It looked fun,’ Decima said wistfully. ‘Not as good as a horse, naturally, but think how convenient for town use—no waiting for it to be saddled up and fetched from the mews.’
‘They do say there is a ladies’ version with three wheels.’ Henry checked his team, then followed Adam’s lead into Edgware Road. ‘But how one could ride one of those things side saddle and still propel it defeats me.’
They bickered amicably over the merits of new inventions, Decima teased Henry about investing in steam engines and then condemning them if they might inconvenience him, and they looked with interest at the route of the new Regent’s Canal as they crossed it just before Maida Vale.
Henry gave his team their head as they came to Shoot Up Hill and drew alongside the other curricle as the hamlet of Crickle-wood hove into view. Adam looked over and grinned. ‘Do you want to race? First past the Dog and Duck in the High Street?’
Decima’s eyes sparkled and she took a firm grip on the side rails, but a squeak of alarm from Olivia was greeted by a firm refusal by Henry. ‘I think not, Weston—it would alarm the ladies.’
‘No, it would not,’ Decima said crossly as they dropped back to follow once more. ‘Not that you would win, Henry,’ she added to take her revenge. ‘That is a particularly fine team Adam’s driving.’
‘Not bad,’ Henry admitted grudgingly. ‘But mine has the better bone.’
That minor squabble lasted all the way until they crossed the River Brent, by which time Henry was maintaining that he was blowed if he was going to advise Decima on the purchase of horses in the future if she had so little faith in his judgement.
Decima finally gave in with a laugh. ‘Henry, we sound like brother and sister, arguing like this! I yield absolutely—Adam’s team will break down with splints and spavins at any moment and I bow unreservedly to you in the selection of a pair for my phaeton.’
‘What phaeton?’ he enquired suspiciously.
‘The one you are going to assist me in purchasing next week,’ she responded. ‘I intend to cut a dash in the parks.’
‘Your brother will have kittens,’ Henry observed. ‘And I will figure large in his conversation as the man who led you astray. Not a high-perch, I devoutly hope?’
‘Not until I have mastered the ordinary type,’ Decima promised. ‘Then I will take Charlton for a drive. Now what?’ Adam had come to a halt and she could not help noticing Henry feeling under his seat as he reined in, as though to reassure himself something was there. His pistols, no doubt.
But it was only a large wain being backed across the road by two heavy horses with an alert-looking lad at their heads. Adam drew abreast as the heavy wagon straightened up and Decima saw the lad pointing up ahead, then tugging his lank forelock as Adam sent a coin spinning in his direction. He caught it neatly and grinned as the two carriages bowled past.
‘Where are we?’ Decima queried, looking round at the gently rolling countryside. ‘I do not think I have ever been so far north on this road.’
‘Hendon’s over there…’ Henry gestured with his whip to their right ‘…but I don’t know what this hamlet is. Looks as though Weston’s found us an inn, though.’
Decima, who had been beginning to think that she had drunk too many cups of tea at breakfast for comfort on a long drive, greeted that news with some enthusiasm. It proved to be a substantial, ancient place, rambling with lean-to extensions under a thatched roof.
Decima’s discreet questioning of the landlady produced directions to an airy privy at the bottom of the garden, neatly placed between the chicken run and the woodpile. Olivia came with her, blushing frantically at the thought that anyone might guess where they were going.
‘Thank you for asking,’ she whispered. ‘I would never have liked to do so. I feel so conspicuous. Mama says a lady should simply not drink before setting out, but I became so thirsty.’
Decima chuckled. ‘It is why so many privies are next to the woodpile. Then the maids can pretend that is all they’ve come out for and it means they always come back in with an armful of wood. That or they feed the chickens.’
Olivia smiled. ‘What a good idea! I do wish I was as brave and as practical as you are, Decima. I know I must disappoint Lord Weston—he admires your spirit so much.’
‘He does?’ But Olivia had slipped into the privy, pulling the wooden door with its cut-out half-moons shut behind her, and Decima was left addressing a small flock of brown bantams who eyed her hopefully for kitchen scraps.
Back in the parlour that the men had bespoken, Adam was slouched at one end of an ancient settle and Henry was leaning against it. They were drinking ale with the air of men who could companionably sup their drinks for hours on end without any need to do more than grunt at each other occasionally.
Decima felt her lips twitch as they straightened up and stood, then Adam slid back into his corner, long legs stretched out, and Henry passed cups of tea to her and Olivia.
‘What are you smiling at?’ Adam asked with a lazy lift of one brow.
Decima eyed the dark brown tea with some misgivings as she took the seat next to him. ‘You and Henry. Men seem capable of sitting together for hours on end, communicating in grunts. Women talk.’
‘I’ve noticed. Chatter.’
‘Communication,’ Decima said firmly. ‘It makes society go round.’ She checked that Olivia was on the other side of the room talking to Henry and lowered her voice. ‘Please do not suggest we race again, not with Olivia here. She is very nervous.’
‘But you would like to race?’ Adam appeared to ignore her reproof, his eyes fixed on the foam on top of his tankard.
‘Well, yes. But then I like speed, she does not.’
‘You do, I have noticed.’ He looked up, his eyes green with sparking amusement. ‘Ice skating, riding, sledging…’
‘Yes, all of those things.’ Decima found she had to look away and began to study a blackened print on the wall with apparent interest.
‘And you don’t run away from danger, either.’ His voice was soft velvet with a reminiscent tone that sent the colour hot into her cheeks. It was not the dangers of speed to which he was referring.
‘Charlton would tell you that is because I am a hoyden and have no conduct.’
‘But that is new, is it not?’ Adam asked, drawing swirling patterns in the spilt ale on the tabletop with one elegant finger. ‘You used to be a dutiful young lady who would never step out of line and who always deferred to her relatives. You told me so.’ He lifted his hand away from the table,