Lady Lavinia's Match. Mary Nichols
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‘Well, whatever it is, it has quite spoiled my ride,’ Lavinia said. ‘Do you think it will be like this all summer long?’
‘Undoubtedly it will, at least until after the coronation,’ Edmund put in. ‘Perhaps we should arrange a day in the country to get away from it all.’
‘What a splendid idea! I shall put it to Stepmama as soon as we return.’
‘In the meantime, do you think Green Park will be less crowded?’
‘Let’s go and see,’ she said, turning her horse towards the nearest exit which happened to be Hyde Park Gate. It took no time at all to cross the road and enter Green Park which was, as Edmund had predicted, far less crowded. The park was more informal than Hyde Park, with areas of grass on which cows grazed, little copses of trees and winding paths.
‘Oh, this is better,’ Lavinia said, throwing back her head so that the plume on her hat tickled her cheek. She lifted a gloved hand to brush it away. ‘But I really think if one wants to ride properly, it will have to be very early in the morning. To have a good gallop one needs space, do you not agree, Lord Wincote?’
‘Now, Vinny,’ James murmured. He did not want Wincote reminded that he had met Lavinia out with him at what polite society would consider an unholy hour. As far as he was aware nothing had been noised abroad and he supposed Wincote had decided it would not do to sully the reputation of the young lady on whom he had fixed his attention. But he did not want Wincote to conclude that Lavinia was ready to meet anyone who took her fancy at that early hour.
Although she had had three years’ schooling in the ways of the haut monde, she was not always aware of the consequences of flouting convention. For James, it was part of her charm and he loved to indulge her, but that did not mean he would sit back and allow her to meet Wincote, or any other young buck, before breakfast.
‘Indeed, yes, my lady,’ Lord Wincote said. ‘But in London, space is at a premium, especially this summer. Now, up in Cumberland, on our estate near Windermere, it is mostly heathland—’
‘I thought it was for the most part water,’ James put in, mischievously. ‘I do not know about you, but I for one cannot ride on water.’
‘James, do not tease,’ Lavinia said, then, turning to Lord Wincote, ‘Take no note of him, my lord, he is in a very strange mood. Tell me about your estate. What is it called? How many acres does it cover?’
‘The house is called Ridgemere, but I am not at all sure of the exact acreage. It used to cover several miles in all directions, but my grandfather reduced the holding before he died. I think there might still be five hundred acres.’
‘Heathland?’ James queried.
‘Three-quarters of it is. It supports a prodigious number of sheep. And below ground there are mines.’
‘You own the mining rights?’ James queried.
‘Yes.’ Forestalling more questions, he turned from James to Lavinia. ‘One may gallop for miles and hardly meet a soul. I should like you to see it.’
‘Perhaps one day I shall,’ she said. ‘But until then, I must make what I can of the space available.’ And with that she dug her spur into Misty’s flank and galloped off across the grass. ‘Race you to that group of trees,’ she shouted behind her and then crouched over her mount and concentrated on riding.
It was a moment or two before the men gathered themselves to follow her and it was James, more used to her ways, who was first off the mark. She could hear the hooves of his stallion behind her and laughed at the sheer exhilaration of it. Not that she could win, she knew she could not. James had the swifter horse and she was handicapped by having to ride side saddle. He overtook her easily and Edmund was drawing abreast as they reached the trees and pulled up.
‘You would not have done that if we had been at Risley,’ she said, dismounting to rest her horse. ‘I would have been riding astride and given you a run for your money.’
‘Hoyden!’ James laughed as he slid from his horse, followed by Edmund. ‘I will put that to the test next time we are there.’
‘Done!’
‘I am sure I could not take advantage of a lady by beating her,’ Edmund said pompously.
‘Fustian!’ she said.
‘Tell you what, Wincote,’ James put in. ‘If you are so averse to riding against a lady, why not pit yourself against your own sex? Join us on Hampstead Heath in a fortnight’s time for some racing. Nothing formal, just a few friends competing against each other for ha’pennies.’
‘Very well. I shall be honoured.’
‘Oh, good,’ Lavinia said. ‘We shall organise that day in the country we talked of. The ladies can come and watch. Or,’ she added with a chuckle, ‘we could hold our own events.’
James sighed. It was just like Lavinia to take what was to have been a purely masculine occasion and turn it into a big event, but she was in such a good humour, her apparent annoyance over his presence dispelled, that he could not remonstrate with her. Lavinia at her sunniest was irresistible.
‘“I do entreat your grace to pardon me,”’ murmured Lavinia to herself, consulting the text in the small book she carried. ‘“I know not by what power I am made bold—”’ She stopped suddenly, jostled by a passer-by, who did not stay to apologise.
‘My lady,’ Daisy entreated her fearfully, ‘I do think you should put that book away and hurry home. I have never seen such crowds.’
Lavinia had been so absorbed in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, one of several copies she had just bought at a shop in Oxford Street, she had not noticed the press of people in the street, all coming towards them. They were shouting, ‘Hurrah! God bless the Queen!’, running alongside an open landau, filling the road and the pavement.
Lavinia stopped to stare, knowing she was looking at the Queen and experiencing at first hand the adulation in which she appeared to be held. Her Majesty was stockily built and dressed in mourning for the late king, who had been her uncle as well as her father-in-law, but what surprised Lavinia more than anything was the huge black wig whose long curls hung each side of her rouged cheeks and the thickly painted black eyebrows which made her large head look even bigger. She was accompanied by the Lord Mayor, Alderman Wood, and Lady Anne Hamilton, her lady-in-waiting.
The carriage was going at little more than walking pace, but its chief occupant was revelling in the adoration, smiling and bowing first to one side and then the other, while from the houses and shops of Oxford Street more and more people emerged to add to the crowds, many of whom waved white ribbons or wore white cockades and shouted, ‘The Queen! The Queen! Long live the Queen!’
Lavinia and her maid, with Tom Bagshott walking a few paces behind them carrying the other books, were intent on going in the opposite direction, but it was impossible to force a way through the throng and they found themselves being pushed willy-nilly along with everyone else. It was like a great tidal wave, carrying all before it. Lavinia heard Daisy cry out behind her but she could not see the little maid, nor the tall figure of the groom, because she could not go back or even turn round.
She dropped her book, her hat came off and then a shoe and, as she hobbled along, pressed in on all sides, she began to wonder how much further she could go without falling down. And that she must not do, for it would mean being trampled to death. The whole procession had reached the corner of Portman Street and she was limping badly when she was suddenly grabbed from behind and held in two powerful arms.
‘Let me go!’ she shouted, wriggling to try to free herself. Her hair escaped its pins and cascaded round her shoulders and over her eyes, so that she could not