to brawl in public was not at all in his nature.
They rode on to the halfway point of the race, the ford across the river, which was not much more than a healthy stream this time of year, even after the rain of the other night.
Destry held back from crossing to assess the depth and speed of the water and to give Jupiter an equal chance to observe. Jess waited with him, lost in thought. He was unaware of the sound of a conveyance approaching.
This couple did notice his unusual position on the horse, and Destry could have cried with embarrassment. Cecilia’s father and the countess were riding in a rather elegantly tricked-out dogcart, with the countess holding the reins. In the back of the cart was a basket and blanket. Clearly the two were planning on a picnic.
The couple stopped to greet them. “Lord Jessup. Good morning to you.” Mr. Brent hailed them in an unexpectedly friendly way, and then saw how Destry was mounted. “My lord marquis,” he said with a careful, seated bow.
“Good morning, my lady and Mr. Brent.” Destry could not decide whether to try to explain his awkward seat or pretend that nothing was odd about a man riding sidesaddle. He opted for something in between.
“Mr. Brent, your daughter Miss Cecilia and I were discussing the disadvantage a lady endures because she must ride sidesaddle and I thought I would try it so that I could better understand her perspective.” He hoped that the countess at least would think that romantic.
“I see,” Mr. Brent said with a dubious nod. After a moment’s consideration he added, “Let’s just hope she does not convince you to try wearing a gown so that you can see how awkward that can be.”
With a laugh, the countess clucked the horse and they moved off, the horses and cart moving confidently over the ford and to the north, the opposite direction from what Destry and Cecilia had established as their racecourse. That he and Jess would not run into them again was the smallest of reliefs.
“That could have gone better.”
“That’s stating the obvious, Jess. Do you think he has me pegged as odd now?”
“Either that or a man who can be led by the nose,” Jess said with the first smile he had tested all day. “So why didn’t you tell him everything?”
“Because Cecilia never even suggested I wear a woman’s habit.”
“Not that, Des. Why did you not tell him about the race?”
“I was afraid he would forbid it and it’s too important for me to take that chance. Do I need to explain that to you again?”
“God, no,” Jess said with what sounded like an element of horror in his voice. “Let’s head back,” he suggested. “The last thing I want is to run into any more of the houseguests.”
Destry was certain that he was keen on avoiding one houseguest in particular. What had gone on between Jess and Beatrice Brent the other night? Beatrice was acting more subdued than usual and was painfully polite to Jess when compelled to speak to him. It was some relief that even a man as charming as Jess Pennistan found women a puzzle.
“DO I LOOK all right?” Cecilia twisted and turned in front of the cheval glass that dominated the dressing room.
“You look just right for an afternoon of fun.” Beatrice prided herself on finding different ways to reassure her sister. Phrases that did not involve the word “beautiful.”
“It really is a lovely habit. But I wonder if it is too severe.”
“The style suits you, Miss Cecilia.” Darwell spoke with the confident voice of one who understood fashion and style completely. “Excessive ruffles would be all wrong. This style announces that you are a confident, capable woman.”
On a horse, Beatrice thought.
“Oh, my. That is precisely what I wish to convey.” Cecilia left the dressing room and moved around the bedchamber, testing the swirl of skirts.
“I could kiss you, Darwell. You said exactly the right thing.”
“Thank you, Miss Beatrice,” Darwell said with a rare grin. “No kiss is necessary. Your appreciation is quite enough.”
“You will be so valuable to Cecilia in London.”
Darwell sobered suddenly.
“What is it?” Beatrice took a step closer. “Is something wrong?”
“Miss, I am so sorry, but I will not be going with you to London.”
“Really? Why not? Are the two of us too much work? I could employ a maid of my own.”
“No, Miss Beatrice, you and Miss Cecilia are a pleasure to work for.” She turned, surveyed herself in the