Page 8 of Rogue’s Holiday

Robbie left Carlton House and stepped into the afternoon sun. A quick hail of a hackney and he was on his way, hoping he would not be too late to meet Jack.

He arrived at Tattersall’s to find the dirt courtyard where the horse auctions were held crowded with gentlemen from London society. On one side, under a raised roof supported by Doric columns, prospective buyers stood in a line watching a white horse being paraded before them while Richard Tattersall expounded upon the mare’s virtues.

Across the yard, standing next to a team of black horses, Robbie glimpsed the tall Sir Bellingham Graham, a noted whip, speaking with Sir John Lade, often a fixture at Tattersall’s. Both were members of the Four-Horse Club of expert barouche drivers and wore the yellow-striped blue waistcoats and black-spotted neckerchiefs that were the club’s insignia. Sir John always dressed in riding attire, whip included.

Bellingham was of an age with Robbie and a good friend. Lade was older, a contemporary of the king and one of his Carlton House Set. Robbie thought to join the two of them when he saw Jack striding in his direction.

“I say, old thing,” said Jack, arriving at his side, “what kept you so long?” Jack was proud of his English half, often spouting English expressions. “Old thing” was his current favorite. However, he invariably sprinkled his speech with French. That and his lace-edged cravat made him appear decidedly French. Robbie found the whole thing highly amusing.

He allowed himself a wry smile. “You won’t believe it when I tell you, dear uncle, but, henceforth, you may address me as ‘Sir Robert’.”

“Sir Robert?” Jack blinked twice. “What have you done to merit such an honor?”

“A favor for the king. And don’t ask because I will say no more.”

“Très bien,” Jack said with a smug smile. “Be secretive if you must, but I will have the truth of it eventually.”

Robbie lifted his gaze to where Sir Bellingham and Sir John were still engaged in conversation. “What do you suppose those two are talking about with their heads so close together?”

“The word is out,” whispered Jack. “Lade is selling off the team to pay some of his gambling debts.”

“A sad day when Lade parts with a team of his prized horses,” mused Robbie. Sir John Lade was known to have money problems and his notorious wife, Letty, a horsewoman of some repute, did little to discourage her husband’s bad habits.

Jack regarded the two whips. “Indeed, and the on dit is the Four-Horse Club is having difficulties as well.”

Richard Tattersall, leaving the group of prospective buyers, looked toward Robbie and Jack and raised his hand in greeting.

Robbie held up the message from the king and beckoned the horse master to him.

Tattersall strode across the yard. “Good day, gentlemen.”

“A good day it is, indeed.” Robbie handed him the paper. “For you, from the king.”

Tattersall read the scribbled note and looked up, a wide smile on his face. “Congratulations, Sir Robert. Come, I’ll show you the grays.” He strode ahead of them, saying over his shoulder, “A superb matched pair, already trained and accustomed to London’s streets.”

Tattersall had one of his assistants lead the pair around the courtyard. Robbie grew excited to think they would be his. “High-steppers,” he remarked. “Good bone and a nice slope to the shoulders.”

“I like the high-set tails,” remarked Jack.

When the assistant brought the horses to a halt, Robbie approached to get a better view of their heads. They had large eyes, well-spaced, and small ears. “I could not ask for a better looking pair.”

Tattersall shifted his gaze to the grays he would soon part with, a wistful expression on his face. “You must have done something of great import for the king to give you Zeus and Apollo. ’Tis the best pair I’ve seen in the past six months.” Turning to Robbie, he said, “Sir Bellingham has been admiring them.”

“Sir Bellingham will have to content himself with Sir John’s team,” said Robbie. “I am already quite attached to my Greek grays.”

Dudley Hall, Northampton

Chastity gasped as the chest slipped in the footman’s hands nearly plunging the precious cargo from the top of the carriage to the gravel in front of her home. She held her breath until the footman regained his hold and safely stowed the chest with the others.

Crispin resettled himself in her arms and her heart slowed to a normal rhythm. “That one is heavy,” she told Rose, “but I would not have him drop it. It carries the shoes.”

Rose faced her with a surprised look. “You’re bringing them all?”

Chastity experienced a twinge of guilt for her indulgence in the footwear she loved but, well, there really was a good explanation. “Most are my own designs and I could not bear to leave them behind. You never know what fancy will strike me to wear a certain pair of slippers. And one needs to be prepared for the weather. Among the new half boots is a pair just right for you. I designed them for rain and mud yet they are lovely. Not those plain brown things or ungainly wooden pattens most women are forced to wear.”

Rose’s eyes grew round in wonder. “You would gift them to me? Truly? And they are not plain brown leather?”

“No.” A sigh escaped her as she thought of them. “They are blue leather with crimson flowers on the shaft, boots to attract a suitor. Very pretty.”