Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,36
staff. Moreover, the feeding and care of the horses he kept in the private mews behind his house was probably more than some folks paid for their own yearly nourishment.
Afterward, he would see who was lounging around the Jockey Club. He enjoyed the gathering place for gentlemen interested in all horse matters, particularly racing, even more than he cared for the company at White’s. Too many of those men let cards and drink go to their heads. Better to focus on...
Miss Sudbury! To his amazement, barely ten minutes after he was positioned under Tattersall’s columned portico, starting to bid on a matching pair of Cleveland Bays, he saw her out of the corner of his eye.
Faltering in his bid, Jasper turned to make sure it was really her. It was, and watching her pass by, his heartbeat sped up with excitement.
“Go on, Marshfield, outbid us all as usual,” a fellow member of the Jockey Club said half in jest, although it was the truth. Of the dozen others surrounding them, some laughed ruefully, as they nearly always lost to him if he had his heart set on winning.
Jasper couldn’t even recall the last amount he’d offered. Sighing, he decided to chase after the object of his desire, and it wasn’t the pair of carriage horses.
“Too rich for my blood,” he joked back. “I shall have to beg off.” With that, he darted out of the courtyard of Tattersall’s, and in a few steps, he’d caught up with her.
“Good day, Miss Sudbury,” he said, watching her startle and then stop dead on the sidewalk. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
She smiled at him, and he felt a twinge of gladness right down to his toes. What the devil! Since when could a female fell him with a glance?
“I’m hurrying, my lord, because the smell here is one of the worst in all London, save for Smithfield market.”
He chuckled. “I have never minded the smell of manure, but that’s the price you pay for living in London. It seems we have nearly as many horses as people.”
She nodded. “Truly,” she agreed. “I’m on my way to St. James’s Park.”
“This is a little out of your way, isn’t it? From Hanover Square, I mean.”
“I came through Hyde Park. I confess I prefer most of London’s green spaces to the streets.”
He must have given her a curious look, for her cheeks pinkened. She was all but confessing herself a country maid, a female hobnail. It didn’t detract from her appeal at all. He imagined laying her down in the fresh green grass near his ancestral home in Marshfield, seeing wildflowers in her hair, looking up at the blue sky together after swiving to mutual satisfaction.
“For the milk,” she said, and Jasper realized she had continued speaking while he’d gawked at her.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Sudbury, did you say something about milk?”
“My sister and I prefer the milk from the cows at St. James’s to what we can get from the cow keeper’s shop close to home. They water it down.”
“Water it down?” Jasper was trying to follow her speech, but in truth, he’d never given an ounce of thought to the milk in his home. He assumed his kitchen staff purchased good quality.
“Yes, sir. The cow keepers’ shops don’t let the cows graze outside, and they use any matter of foul water to thin the milk. Of course, they skim the cream, too.”
“Skim the cream,” he muttered. He was almost afraid to ask. “Do you milk the cow at St. James’s Park yourself?”
She had started walking again with him beside her, but this made her halt once more and start to laugh. Eventually, she shook her head.
“Do I seem such a bumpkin? The cows’ owners do the milking and will even deliver, which is what I shall pay a lad to do.” She patted her reticule dangling from one wrist. “As you can see, I didn’t brink my pail nor stool.” She started to laugh again.
“Ha ha, Miss Sudbury. You have made your point.” Jasper liked how she fell into good humor so readily, seeming to be not the least self-conscious. “So, you are out for milk? May I accompany you?”
“If your company won’t get my name into the gossip column, I suppose you may.”
Suddenly, he realized what seemed so singular about her compared to the females with whom he might normally have a brief word on the street.