“Very affecting tale,” Hart said dryly. He didn’t believe a word of it.
“It is, it is.” Sinc nodded. “No wonder the gel’s wary of the bit and bridle. Still, it makes a pleasant change to dance with a pretty young thing and know she’s not secretly plotting how to hook you.”
Hart shifted impatiently. “Don’t be naive, Sinc, of course she is. Her tactics are a little more subtle than usual, that’s all.”
“So speaks the eternal cynic. Well, if she’s so keen to hook a husband, why has she knocked back half a dozen fellows that I know of?”
Hart frowned. “Half a dozen?”
“At least. There’s Porter, Yeovil, Trent”—he counted them off on his fingers—“Towsett, Belmore and who else? Oh, yes, Morcombe—and they’re just the ones I know of.”
“Towsett? You mean the earl of?” They’d been to school with Towsett. The dullest boy he’d ever met had grown into the most pompous man.
Sinc nodded. “The same. He’s mad for her by all account. Won’t take no for an answer. Been refused several times, but determined to wear the girl down.” He chuckled. “It’s the joke of the clubs—such a stuffed shirt full of self-consequence, utterly desperate for such a lively, unconventional filly.”
Hart swirled his wine thoughtfully. Towsett was a more than eligible match for any girl in the ton: titled, wealthy and . . . solid—if you liked that kind of thing.
“My money’s on Lady George.”
Hart looked up sharply. “You’re betting on her?”
Sinc grinned. “Lord, yes, the odds are irresistible. Most of them are backing Towsett—well, you have to admit he’s very eligible. All the matchmaking mamas are in hot pursuit—any one of their daughters would snap him up in a heartbeat—but he won’t look at anyone except Lady George. But the others don’t know her like I do. She’s not like those other girls—she’s an original. Prefers her independence.”
“So you hope.”
Sinc grinned and raised his glass. “Oh, I’ll win, all right. She doesn’t want a bar of him—of marriage at all—and there’s the joke, you see. Hardly anyone believes her, least of all Towsett. He can’t imagine anyone turning him down, let alone a girl like Lady George.”
Hart shrugged. “There’s your answer then—she’s aiming higher.” For a dukedom, apparently.
“Cynic. Well, time will prove which of us is correct. Now, tomorrow night—what do you think about dropping into the opera? Dine at the club beforehand, of course.”
Hart raised a brow. “The opera?” It was the last place he would have imagined Sinc. “Whatever for?”
“Monty has his eye on one of the dancers, and the little minx has been leading him a right merry dance. She hinted that she’d give him her answer tomorrow night, so a few of us are going along with him in case the poor fellow needs consolation. Monty’s mama has a box. So, are you coming or not? Should be quite entertaining—not the caterwauling, of course, but watching Monty trying to corral the little filly.”
Hart shrugged. “I’ll dine with you at the club, but that’s all.” He was not fond of the opera, and was indifferent to Monty’s success or otherwise with the opera dancer. He knew it would be a purely financial transaction—if Monty offered the girl enough, she’d accept his attentions; if not she’d be looking for another protector.
Opera dancers and young ladies of the ton—in his experience they were all the same under the skin. It all depended on the offer.
* * *
* * *
George’s horse, Sultan, picked his way fastidiously through the crowded London streets, superbly disdainful of all the activity—the dogs, the urchins, the barrows, carts and carriages. Oh, he didn’t like them—George could tell by the way his ears went back and swiveled and the way he tensed up from time to time, but months in London had taught Sultan that at the end of these tediously unpleasant streets lay a glorious run.
It was too late in the day to ride again in Hyde Park, unless one wanted to walk placidly along, bowing to acquaintances, and every now and then to break out wildly with a staid trot for five minutes. Neither of them, nor Finn for that matter, would enjoy that, so they were making for the wide-open spaces of Hampstead Heath. Of course it took much longer to get there, but it was worth it, and Emm had said she had the afternoon free.
And freedom was what George craved.
She rode ahead, Finn trotting along at her side, magnificently indifferent to the yapping street curs. Kirk followed close behind. His eyes were watchful, on the lookout for trouble, but his expression was dour as usual. He’d made this excursion with her many times before and generally enjoyed himself—though it was hard to tell with Kirk—but today he radiated grim disapproval.
It had started when she’d met him in the stable yard, mounted and ready. He usually fetched the horses and brought them to the house, and he’d taken one look at her and frowned.
“Does his lordship know ye’re going out in public like that?”
George grinned. “It’s Hampstead Heath. I want a proper ride.”
“It’s no’ fitting, Lady Georgiana, ye know that.”
“It’s a split skirt, see.” She flipped up one of the panels of cloth that just barely covered her breeches.
He snorted. “It’s a man’s saddle.”
“No, really?” she said sounding amazed. “And yet here I am, mounted and ready.”
He’d opened his mouth to argue, but she’d cut him off. “Oh, don’t be stuffy, Kirk. You know perfectly well I’ve ridden astride dozens of times—even when Cal’s been with me.”
“Aye, at dawn,” he said. “When there’s no’ a soul about. But it’s broad daylight and we’ll be riding through the streets. Ye’ll cause a scandal, Lady Georgiana.”
“Pooh, nobody will recognize me.” She pulled out a man’s cap and crammed it on her head, tucking in her hair, which was short anyway. She tugged the bill down, almost over her eyes. “See? Now come on.” She put an end to the argument by trotting out into the street.
He pursed his lips but followed, looking gloomier than ever.
“Have you ever ridden with a sidesaddle, Kirk?”
He didn’t bother answering, just gave her an expressive look.
“No, of course not. And why is that? For all that men tell us that sidesaddles are soooo much better for ladies and are as safe as houses, you won’t get a man on one—and why? Because they’re silly, that’s why. And it takes more skill to ride with them, not less, because sidesaddle you only have the reins and your crop and your balance, whereas astride you can control your mount with your thighs as well—”