Page 48 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

“She is,” Stella agreed with an unmistakable twinkle of pride. “Entirely unsuited.” She slipped her hands into her velvet muff. “While this fellow is merely feeling his oats. He’s not truly dangerous, I suspect.”

“No,” Teddy said. “He’s only testing me. Trying to see how much he can get away with.”

“Perhaps you should give him his head?”

“And let him bolt? No, thank you.”

“A good gallop always puts Locket in a more convivial mood.”

“A good gallop would see us both pitched into a snowbank,” Teddy said. “Not ideal, given the circumstances.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

It took most of Teddy’s attention to keep the horse from breaking into a canter. “How was dinner?” he asked. “I couldn’t see you from the bottom of the table.”

He’d caught sight of her only once, as the ladies had risen to withdraw from the dining room. She’d been wearing the fashionable lace cap he’d loaned her. It had effectively concealed her hair, without making her look like too much of an oddity.

“I couldn’t see you, either,” she said. “The earl does insist on that long row of epergnes to display his flowers.”

He cast her a glance. “Who were you seated between? Anyone interesting?”

“Lord Gaines and Mr. Moncrief. They’re friends of Lord March, and both old enough to be my grandfather.”

Teddy felt an inexplicable flicker of relief. “Not matrimonial prospects, then.”

“By no means. It was a fortunate thing, really. They were far too stuffy to ask why I’ve been absent from dinner most of the week. I suspect they were too embarrassed. Lady Anne has apparently put it about that I’ve been suffering from a mysterious stomach complaint.”

Teddy’s lips twitched with amusement. “So I’ve heard.”

She gave an eloquent grimace. “Is there anything more indecorous? A stomach complaint could be anything, from indigestion to—”

“Quite.”

“I told Anne as much, but she said that it must be my stomach. She claims there could be no other believable reason for me to absent myself at meals while still appearing for all the outdoor activities.”

“She’s not wrong,” Teddy said.

Stella heaved a sigh. “I’m not persuaded that anyone truly cares anymore. Between Lady Anne’s engagement and the revelations about Mr. Neale’s parentage, my participation—or lack of it—must be the least interesting thing at this house party.”

“I wouldn’t let your guard down just yet,” Teddy advised. “At any moment some well-meaning busybody could importune you about your illness—or, more likely, about your cap. I trust you have a convincing story at the ready for why you wore it at dinner?”

“I intend to credit the French.”

“Ah yes. The French. Let the gossips try to argue with that logic.”

“They can’t. We none of us can. Not when it comes to fashion.” Her expression became serious. “Thank you again for lending it to me. Both you and your sister have been exceedingly generous.”

“It was all to the good. You could hardly have justified going sleighing if you’d missed dinner.”

“I’d have found a way,” she said stoutly. “But I take your point.”

He skillfully guided the horse around the curve of the road, turning toward the path that ran alongside the woods. A row of torches blazed ahead. He stopped the sleigh beneath them. “Will this do?”

Stella stared at him blankly for an instant before comprehending his meaning. She gave an eloquent grimace. “My sketches! Of course.” She hurriedly extracted her sketchbook from the seat beside her. “Amid all the excitement, I’d nearly forgotten.”

She offered the book to him, a little self-conscious. He gave her the reins to hold in return.

The horse stamped its hooves restlessly in the snow as Teddy examined Stella’s drawings in the torchlight. It was a new sketchbook. Most of the pages were still empty, save a half dozen at the back. Those were covered with detailed pencil sketches of horses. Teddy recognized the subjects. They were the retired horses who resided in the pastures at the back of the earl’s estate.