Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen

with an emphatic flourish by a burly coachman he recognised, entered the park to a long blast on the horn.

      To a man the Whips applauded and the coachman, every inch the showman, took a bow. Max grinned, his dark mood forgotten, and waved to Piers, perched up on the box, serious in his many-caped greatcoat. He waved back, suddenly looking more fourteen than seventeen.

      Then he saw Bree looking out of the window of Latymer’s drag and it was as though something had sucked the air out of his lungs. ‘Sir? My lord?’ Gregg, who had remained silent beside him throughout his brooding abstraction on Drusilla, sounded mildly agitated.

      ‘What?’ Max pulled himself together and looked at his team, who were sidling uneasily. His right hand had clamped down on the reins, quite unnecessarily. He lifted it off, steadied them with his voice. ‘Sorry, Gregg, I wasn’t concentrating.’

      ‘Not to be wondered at, my lord,’ the groom remarked with the familiarity of a man who had known his employer since he was learning to ride. ‘The young lady makes a right lovely picture in that blue garment. A pelisse, is it? Goes a treat with Mr Latymer’s paintwork.’

      ‘Mind your tongue,’ Max snapped, caught himself, and added ruefully, ‘She does, doesn’t she?’

      ‘Are we expecting an announcement in that direction, my lord?’

      Gregg was one of the servants who knew about Drusilla. ‘Possibly. It is not something I would wish talked about.’

      ‘Certainly not, my lord. Do you think I’m a pickthank, to be gossiping about your business all over?’

      ‘No, but take care, all the same. There’s a lady’s reputation to consider.’

      ‘Aye, my lord. We’ll be off then.’

      Viscount Lansdowne had drawn first drive with the stage and changed places with William Huggins, who was grinning like a youngster at the prospect of driving the viscount’s blacks. Piers stayed up on the stage. Max could see him earnestly explaining the foibles of the team to Lansdowne. A likeable lad that, he would enjoy having him as a brother-in-law. He caught himself up; it was too soon to think like that, far too soon to be able to make any commitment to Bree.

      Bree leaned back in the comfort of the drag and listened with half an ear to Rosa’s enthusiastic comments on the vehicle. Other than the space taken up by Mr Latymer’s contribution to the communal picnic, they had the interior to themselves.

      ‘It is so lavish,’ Rosa commented, running a palm over the well-stuffed, tightly buttoned cushions. ‘This is best serge, and I am sure he has had it dyed to match the livery.’ She began to rummage about, playing with all the fittings. ‘Look at these door pockets, and what are those cords in the ceiling?’

      ‘For gentlemen’s hats.’ Bree roused herself from gazing at the landscape in a sort of daydream. ‘The brims fit under the parallel cords and the hat hangs down.’

      The drag lurched and she peered out of the window with more attention. ‘Mr Latymer is not as smooth a driver as his lordship.’

      ‘Which lordship?’ Rosa kept her face straight, but Bree sensed she was being teased.

      ‘Lord Penrith. I have not driven in a four in hand with any of the other gentlemen.’

      ‘Of course. Silly me.’

      Bree narrowed her eyes at her companion’s teasing, but made no comment. From wanting nothing more than to discuss Max Dysart the other afternoon, she felt she could hardly bear to mention his name, such was her state of unsettling preoccupation with him.

      The stops to enable the various gentlemen to take over the stage made the journey to Greenwich longer than it would normally be, but finally they arrived at the sloping parkland with the Observatory perched above them and the palace below.

      Bree and Rosa allowed themselves to be handed out of the drag and on to the close-cropped turf, smiling in delight at the view that spread out before them over the Thames. Servants clustered round, lifting out the picnic hampers from the various vehicles and carrying them off to the spot where the meal was to be taken.

      The drivers set down their passengers and then moved the drags on to various patches of flatter ground. The grooms began to unharness the horses and lead them off under the shade of the trees where an impromptu horse-line had been set up with hay nets and water buckets.

      ‘It is all very well organised, Mr Latymer,’ Bree commented as he led her and Rosa over to a spot where they could watch without being caught up in the bustle.

      ‘We usually bring the same grooms, and the servants come on ahead with rugs and cloths and so forth. Everyone knows the routine.’ They watched in companionable silence while the last hampers were lifted out and carried away to the picnic area. ‘There now, nothing left to do but enjoy ourselves,’ Latymer observed.

      ‘I see we are not the only lady passengers,’ Rosa commented. ‘Look, Miss Mallory, there are the Collins sisters, and is that Lady Harrison I can see over by the oak tree?’

      ‘Do you mind if we stroll over and greet our acquaintances, Mr Latymer?’

      ‘Not at all, Miss Mallory. Perhaps you will give me the pleasure of pointing out some of the landmarks to you after luncheon.’

      With that agreed, the ladies made their way down the slope to join the small group who were finding cushions and rugs and making themselves comfortable.

      ‘Miss Mallory, do join us!’ The three Collins sisters waved and Bree strolled across, leaving Rosa chatting to Lady Harrison, her daughter and her companion.

      ‘The gentlemen have all deserted us.’ Miss Collins, the eldest of the three and a pretty red head, laughed. ‘They always do, of course. I do not know why I am surprised. They would like us to think they are engaged in earnest discussion of matters of substance, but we know they are only talking about horses and prize fights.’

      Bree found a cushion and settled down between Miss Jane and Miss Catherine. ‘You came with your brother?’ She followed their gestures to where the men stood round the stagecoach, all in vigorous discussion with William Huggins. ‘Oh dear, do you think they will spare us any of their attention with such a distraction?’

      ‘Well …’ Miss Collins pouted comically ‘… I am used to being cut out by that spiteful cat Augusta Harrison, but I’ve never been ignored for a red-faced man with three chins before!’

      ‘Ah, but that red-faced man is Bonebreaker Bill,’ Bree explained. ‘It is not every day you have the opportunity to talk to a legend.’

      ‘And he works for you?’ Miss Jane asked.

      ‘For my brother,’ Bree said firmly. ‘Oh, look, the gentlemen are coming to join us at last.’

      They were straggling down the hill, still intent in discussion of the stagecoach, as was obvious from their hand gestures. Bree watched and waited. Max was heading directly for them. She caught his eye, smiled and felt the curve of her lips freeze as he nodded pleasantly and went to sit on the rug next to Lady Harrison.

      ‘Humph,’ Miss Catherine observed inelegantly. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Do you think Lord Penrith is having an affair with Lady Harrison? They do say her husband’s hardly ever at home.’

      ‘Why ever should you imagine such a thing?’ Bree demanded. She knew why she felt so snappish, but what she did not know was why she had so confidently expected Max to come to her side. As though we belong together.

      ‘Well, they do say that his heart was broken, years ago, which is why he has never married. So I expect he has lots of lovers.’

      ‘Really?’ That was what Lady Georgy had said. Bree knew she should not be gossiping, not about such a subject. It was like sucking a sore tooth: painful but irresistible. ‘What happened, to break his heart?’

      ‘No one knows, or at least, if they do, they are not telling unmarried