She rode a horse but only walked it. It was perhaps emblematic of what he understood of Lady Valor’s temperament. She was naturally cautious.
“I see,” Damiano said. “So horse and rider must be brought to an agreement. What I would do if I were to oversee such a horse would be to send a groom to gallop Tulip, and then when she has rid herself of pent-up energy she will be happy to walk.”
“That is a clever idea,” Lady Valor said. “Why argue with her when we can both have what we want?”
“Just so. That way, you may always feel safe when you mount her.”
Lady Valor nodded in hearty agreement.
“What say you, Val?”
The duke had appeared behind them.
“My flask is empty and my patience is empty too. Have you had enough of the place?”
Lady Valor smiled indulgently at her father. The duke was strange, but his daughter seemed fond of him. Perhaps that was well. His own father was strange. It would be well for a bride of his to be prepared for some eccentricity. His marquis had lately begun to believe he was untouchable and might do anything at all that sprang to mind,including poisoning Monsieur Bernard.
“We can go, Papa,” she said. “I know you have had to put up with this for six prior seasons so I am not surprised your patience has run out.”
She rose and Damiano rose too. The duke called to Tramondeley, who was looking like a cornered hare in the clutches of Lady Letitia. “Come by the house in the afternoon if you like, we can go for a drive in the park.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Oh no, Papa,” Lady Valor said. “I have just committed myself to going to the British Museum. You did say that I could if Mrs. Right would come with me.”
“I did say that,” the duke said, looking a bit resigned.
“Never fear, Tramondeley,” Lady Letitia said, “Lady Monroe and I would be delighted to take you to the park. Consider the matter settled. One o’clock.”
Damiano had been considering what to do about Tramondeley, but Lady Letitia was helping out quite a lot in that effort. Tramondeley had an expression that could only be described as deep sadness.
Too bad for Tramondeley.
