Читать книгу: «An Innocent Deceit», страница 3

To know that she might lose the position, for no other reason than that she was a woman, was sobering to say the least.

By Friday, Antonia had still not come up with a plan for either avoiding or deceiving Mr Bingham. She had toyed with the idea of dressing up as a man, and had even gone so far as to mention it to Catherine, who had naturally thought it a foolish and outlandish idea. But, friend that she was, Catherine had managed to sneak some of her brother’s clothes out of his room for Antonia to try on.

It had soon become apparent, however, that dressing up in a boy’s clothes simply wasn’t going to work. There was no disguising the feminine curves of Antonia’s figure, nor the shapeliness of her legs in the skin-tight pantaloons and tall boots she would be required to wear. Then there was the problem of her face. It was simply…too pretty. The long curving lashes fanning out over soft grey-green eyes could never have belonged to a man, nor could the high, prominent cheekbones or the decidedly feminine mouth.

As Catherine pointed out as they stared at Antonia’s reflection in the looking glass in her bedroom, if she and Mr Bingham were to stand at thirty paces and meet by the light of the moon, there might be a slight chance of accomplishing the deceit. But during a face-to-face confrontation in the glaring light of day, there was simply no mistaking Antonia for anything but the lady she was.

‘I shall just have to explain the situation to Mr Bingham as best I can,’ said Antonia, as she and Catherine shopped for fabric in the village on the following Monday morning. ‘It is unlikely that he will not have heard Eva or one of the other servants mention my affection for Lady Clara. Perhaps I can use that as justification for my wishing to secure the post.’

Catherine sighed as she turned her attention towards a particularly fine length of Italian silk. ‘You may be able to explain them to Mr Bingham, Toni, but will he be able to explain them to the Earl? And even if you are able to avoid meeting the Earl at the initial interview, no doubt you will be forced into an encounter at some time in the not-too-distant future.’

The timing of Catherine’s statement could not have been more propitious. As the girls concluded their shopping and made their way along the street, they were stayed by the unmistakable sound of a carriage approaching. And when an impressive looking coach-and-four rounded the corner and drew to a halt in front of the very shop before which they were standing, Antonia’s eyes widened in horror.

Carlyle! There could be no mistaking the elaborate coat of arms emblazoned on the coach door or the quality of the four black horses which drew it. Nor could she question that the man who flung open the door and climbed down moments later could be anyone but the omnipotent Earl of Carlyle himself!

‘La, Toni, it’s him!’ Catherine squeaked. ‘The Earl of Carlyle! Oh, upon my word, Cynthia was right. He is handsome!’

For once, Antonia was forced to agree with an assessment made by someone whose opinion she would normally have paid scant attention to. Lord Carlyle was handsome; as handsome as any gentleman she had ever seen. Tall and commanding of stature, his features were classically perfect. A slim, aquiline nose was set above an unsmiling mouth that topped a chin that was firm and slightly square, while dark brows drew together under a shock of even blacker hair. He sported a multi-layered cape over a jacket of dark blue superfine and smooth-fitting buff pantaloons, below which Antonia could see the gleam of highly polished Hessians. He wore no jewellery save a signet ring on the ring finger of his right hand.

Not surprisingly, the arrival of the Carlyle coach and the appearance of the dashing Earl were sufficient to cause quite a stir in the tiny main street of Upper Tipping. A small cluster of girls stood giggling together across the street, while some of the more daring ladies began to cast frankly longing glances in Lord Carlyle’s direction. But it was not until the town’s leading prattle box, Lady Dalrymple, rushed from the mercer’s shop opposite and made a beeline for the three of them, that Antonia knew it was too late for her to try to escape.

‘Lord Carlyle!’ Lady Dalrymple hailed him imperiously. ‘My lord, a moment, pray.’

The gentleman glanced up, clearly nonplussed by the sight of a large and bedizened matron steaming towards him at full charge, and did not smile as he doffed his glistening black beaver. ‘Madam?’

‘Lord Carlyle, how delighted I am to see you home again.’ Lady Dalrymple, winded by the short run across the road, took a few deep breaths before turning the full force of her countenance upon him. ‘I had heard rumours that you were…returning to Upper Tipping, of course, but I had feared them little more than that. One hears so much chatter about Town these days.’

The Earl inclined his head in a gesture that was polite, but nothing more. ‘As you can see, they are rumours no longer.’

‘No, indeed, and how pleased I am that they are not,’ Lady Dalrymple professed heartily. She smiled up into his face—expectantly, it seemed to Antonia—and when no light of recognition dawned in his eyes, added quickly, ‘But surely you remember me, Lord Carlyle? Your dear mother and I were the closest of friends.’

‘Indeed,’ he said, though with no noticeable increase in warmth.

‘Oh, yes. Though I was not in London as frequently as I might have liked, we used to spend a great deal of time together whenever she was at Ashdean.’

Still nothing. Lord Carlyle continued to regard the woman with the utmost civility, but with no more insight into who she was than he had upon her arrival. ‘Madam, I pray you will forgive me, but—’

‘Lady Dalrymple, my lord!’

This last bit of information was delivered, to Antonia’s way of thinking, with more than a hint of desperation, and its response awaited with equal trepidation. It was clear from the expression on Lady Dalrymple’s face that the interview was not turning out at all as she had expected.

Fortunately, it seemed that Lord Carlyle was nothing if not a gentleman. The merest shadow of a smile touched his lips before he bowed to her and said, ‘But of course, Lady… Dalrymple. How remiss of me. Mother spoke of you…often.’

Lady Dalrymple’s anxiety vanished like a puff of wind. Oblivious to the slight note of sarcasm in the Earl’s voice, she beamed her delight and blissfully furthered her perjury. ‘Oh, yes, we were the closest of friends, she and I. And as such, I am so very glad that I am the one to be on hand to welcome you back.’

‘Thank you, Lady Dalrymple. I must say, I had not expected such an…enthusiastic welcome before even reaching my own door,’ Lord Carlyle drawled.

Fortunately, Lady Dalrymple was both slow to take offence and quick to take advantage of an opportunity. As the mother of two unmarried daughters, she could ill afford to be otherwise. ‘Yes, well, as I said, it is truly fortunate that I happened to be so close. Am I to hope that you will be staying with us for a while, Lord Carlyle?’

‘My stay is of an undecided duration,’ Lord Carlyle remarked carefully, ‘since there are a number of things which I hope to accomplish while I am here.’

‘But, that is wonderful,’ Lady Dalrymple enthused, convinced by the Earl’s carefully worded statement that he must be looking for a new wife. ‘I was only telling my girls yesterday—lovely girls, both of them unwed—that it would be such a pleasure to see a Carlyle in permanent residence again.’

‘And so you shall. Eventually,’ he was quick to point out when he saw the unmistakable look of hope which appeared on her face. ‘Though I do not know whether it will be in the near future or not. And now, if you will excuse me, I fear I must be—’

Sebastian broke off in mid-sentence, having turned and found himself staring into one of the loveliest faces he had ever had the pleasure of seeing. A pair of unusual grey-green eyes stared back at him from a face of alabaster perfection, while rose-kissed lips and a delightfully retroussé nose completed the charming visage. The lady’s rich, honey-coloured hair had been drawn softly up and back, allowing a few wispy tendrils to escape from beneath the brim of the charming straw bonnet to frame her face. She was wearing a simple gown of pale lemon muslin trimmed with white lace, over which she wore a spencer of a deeper yellow hue. Neither were styled in the first stare of fashion, but there was no denying that the modest outfit more than flattered the feminine curves of its owner.

The young woman standing beside her was also very pretty, but as Sebastian waited for the introductions to be made, he felt his gaze drawn back towards the young lady with the beautiful eyes.

‘Lady Dalrymple, perhaps you would be so good as to introduce us,’ he said politely, when at length it seemed that no such courtesy was to be extended.

‘Hmm? Oh, yes, of course, my lord, forgive me.’ Lady Dalrymple quickly made the introductions, taking care to conceal the fact that she wished to do anything but.

Both girls curtsied, as was expected. Lord Carlyle bowed first towards Catherine, as was her due, and then turned to address Antonia. ‘Hadley,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘Did I hear that correctly?’

Antonia straightened slowly. She was not surprised that the Earl had asked for clarification of her name. Lady Dalrymple had uttered it so quickly as to render it almost unrecognisable. ‘You did, my lord.’

‘Then…could it be that you are also…Mr Peter Hadley’s daughter, and as such, a neighbour of mine?’

Antonia was astonished that he would remember, but took care not to let it show. ‘Our property adjoins yours to the south, yes.’

‘How strange that we have never met, Miss Hadley.’

‘On the contrary, given that I spend so little time in London, and you so little in Kent, it is not surprising at all.’

‘Perhaps that is a shortcoming I can remedy by offering to call upon your mother and father at the earliest opportunity.’

Antonia stiffened, and her eyes grew cold. ‘My mother died two years ago this November, my lord. Only my father and I reside at Buntings Hill now. I thought you might have heard.’

Beside her, Lady Dalrymple made a faint choking sound but Antonia did not care. The fact that Lord Carlyle was not even aware that her mother—a woman who, by his own admission, was one of his closest neighbours—had passed away that long ago made her exceedingly angry. While he might not choose to live in the country, the very least he could have done was to keep abreast of the lives of the families who did.

There was a brief silence as Lord Carlyle gazed down into her face. ‘Forgive me, Miss Hadley, I was not aware of your mother’s passing. Living in London has left me somewhat…out of touch. I can only say that I shall endeavour to set that to rights by paying a call upon you and your father at the earliest opportunity, in order that I might express my condolences to you both.’

It was a genuinely offered sentiment and, aware that Lady Dalrymple was listening to every word, Antonia managed a small nod of assent. She did not wish news to travel back to her father that she had been rude to the Earl—whether he was deserving of it or not. But she could not bring herself to be any warmer towards him than that.

‘Now I hope I am not rushing my fences, Lord Carlyle,’ Lady Dalrymple said, anxious to regain control of the conversation, ‘but I wonder whether you might consider joining us on Friday evening, for a small intimate dinner to welcome you back to Upper Tipping.’

The Earl reluctantly returned his attention to the speaker. ‘Thank you, Lady Dalrymple, but I fear I must decline your kind invitation, simply because I do not know how long I intend to remain in the area. However,’ he said, observing the crestfallen expression on the woman’s face—and aware that Miss Hadley was watching him closely, ‘if I am still in the vicinity and not otherwise engaged, I would be…pleased to dine with you.’

It was all the lady needed to hear. ‘How very good of you to say so, Lord Carlyle. I know how busy you must be, and I shall only say that we would be delighted if you were able to join us at, shall we say, half past five?’

Lord Carlyle winced and knowing the reason why, Antonia turned away to hide a smile. In London, she doubted that the Earl ever sat down to dine before eight. But this was the country, and here, half past five was the accepted time.

‘Thank you, Lady Dalrymple, I shall…endeavour to attend,’ he said finally. ‘But if circumstances warrant a change, I shall send a note round at the earliest opportunity.’

‘I hope there will be no need for such a note, my lord. However, if you are unable to join us, I know that it will only be as the result of a matter of extreme urgency,’ Lady Dalrymple said, not wishing to appear too desperate. ‘And now, I must be off. I did promise my girls that I would pick up a few items for them. La, there are just that many things to do when one has young, eligible daughters,’ she trilled.

Again, Antonia took pains to hide her amusement. Lady Dalrymple was no more likely to buy lace for her daughters than a hare was to sit next to a fox. No doubt the errand she intended to set out upon was the informing of as many of the female residents of the neighbourhood as possible that the handsome and eminently eligible Earl of Carlyle had returned to Upper Tipping and of her good fortune in being the first to secure him to dine.

‘Interesting woman,’ Lord Carlyle remarked carefully as Lady Dalrymple took herself off, her feathered bonnet bristling with excitement. ‘Is she always so excitable?’

‘I think she was somewhat…overwhelmed by your arrival,’ Antonia informed him drily.

She knew that her tone was somewhat sarcastic, and was not at all surprised when he addressed his next remark to Catherine. ‘Forgive me, Miss Shand, but I fear my arrival has prevented you from going about your business. May I, perhaps, offer you and Miss Hadley a ride somewhere?’

At the unexpectedly kind gesture, Catherine blushed and promptly forget where they had been going. Antonia, who was far more in control of the situation—and bothered with an entirely new concern—gave him a polite but dismissive smile. ‘Thank you, Lord Carlyle, but our carriage is waiting just there.’

Carlyle stared at her for a moment with eyes that were sharp and assessing. Antonia knew that she had sounded as unimpressed by his arrival—and by him—as Lady Dalrymple had been overwhelmed by it. But whether as a result of breeding—or simply a complete lack of interest as to what she thought—Lord Carlyle merely smiled and offered them a polite bow. ‘Then I shall detain you no longer. I bid you good day, ladies.’ With that, he walked into the merchant’s behind them and disappeared from view.

As the door swung closed behind him, Antonia closed her eyes in relief, aware that her body was trembling all over. Beside her, Catherine merely let out a long, ecstatic sigh. ‘La, is he not the most handsome of gentlemen, Toni? And so very gallant. He does not seem at all like a rake to me. Does he to you, Toni? Toni!’

‘Hmm? Oh, no, I suppose he does not,’ Antonia muttered. ‘But I cannot believe what bad luck our running into him like this is.’

‘Bad luck!’ Catherine turned to regard her best friend in astonishment. ‘Antonia, have you windmills in your head? We have just been amongst the first to be introduced to the Earl of Carlyle upon his return, and you say that it is bad luck?’

‘Goose! Of course it is! Have you forgotten that I have an interview with Mr Bingham this very afternoon? As Tony Davlin? What if the Earl should decide to attend?’

Catherine gasped in dismay. ‘Oh, dear, yes, I had forgotten! But what on earth could have induced Lord Carlyle to come down to the country so early? The Season is not yet over.’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Antonia said thoughtfully as the girls made their way back to Catherine’s curricle. ‘All I know is that he has chosen an exceedingly awkward time to make his obligatory visit to Ashdean—as if things were not awkward enough before!’

Chapter Three

At precisely fifteen minutes before the hour of two o’clock on Monday afternoon, suitably attired in her most formal habit of dark blue Georgian cloth—and with her stomach tied up in knots—Antonia waited for the stable boy to saddle her dapple grey mare in preparation for the ride over to Ashdean. She had been in a positive fidget all morning. Ever since meeting the Earl of Carlyle in town, Antonia had suffered agonies of uncertainty, wondering what she should do if the Earl chanced to be present for the upcoming interview.

She had toyed with the idea of saying that a friend had written the letter in jest, and that upon discovering the ruse she had felt honour bound to make her presence known to Mr Bingham, and to explain the situation as best she could. Alternately, she had thought to say that she had written the letter on a dare, never for one moment expecting that she would receive a reply, and that she had come to apologise for her imprudent behaviour.

Finally, Antonia decided that the best approach was simply to wait and to see what happened. After all, what was the point in fretting? If the Earl did not appear, then all of her worrying would have been for nought. And if he did…?

Well, as Catherine had said, she would just have to take her chances when the time came. And so, gathering her skirts in one hand, and her whip in the other, Antonia prepared to mount—and to boldly meet whatever Fate held in store for her.

The stables at Ashdean were located well behind the main body of the house. They were accessible only by the road which ran alongside it, or by a path which meandered through the heavily wooded area to the south of it. It was a path which had been cut there years ago, no doubt by neighbouring children who had travelled back and forth between the houses in an effort not to be seen by their elders.

It was this very path which Antonia chose that day, preferring to avoid the main part of the house altogether. She had travelled it many times, and had often found solace in the lush greenery, and its abundance of wild flowers and rich, verdant grass.

Coming to the end of the path, Antonia broke cover about a hundred and fifty feet behind the paddock area, and then quickly headed her mare in the direction of a large clump of trees about forty feet to the left of it. There, her presence concealed by the overhanging branches, Antonia turned her attention to the grassy paddock where Lady Clara was already seated atop her sturdy little Welsh Pony, Teddy, and walking him around the ring. A man was standing in the centre of the paddock. Mr Bingham, Lord Carlyle’s steward, leaned against the fence, quietly watching the performance.

The Earl of Carlyle, Antonia noticed with relief, was nowhere in sight.

The man in the centre of the ring was tall and thin, and reasonably well dressed, Antonia noted. He called out a series of instructions to the little girl as she circled, and for the most part, seemed quite competent in the way he conducted himself. But there was something in the tone of his voice that Antonia could not bring herself to like—a feeling evidently shared by Lady Clara. Even at this distance, Antonia could sense the tension in the little girl’s body. Her arms and legs were as stiff as pokers. So much so that, if she were to tumble from the pony’s back now, Antonia knew that she would hurt herself.

The gentleman also seemed to be having trouble getting Clara to do what he wanted. Antonia was not able to hear exactly what he was saying, but it was clear from the inflection in his voice that he was not pleased. And when he suddenly raised his voice and shouted at her, Clara screwed up her face and burst into tears.

‘Right, thank you, Mr Huddlesworth, that will be all,’ Mr Bingham said abruptly. His mouth was tight as he vaulted over the low fence and made his way to the little girl’s side. ‘There, there, Lady Clara, there’s no need to cry.’ He pulled a large white handkerchief from his pocket and gently dried the child’s tears. ‘You don’t have to ride any more.’ Stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket, he gently lifted Clara out of the saddle. ‘Why don’t you go and play with Bartholomew while I have a word with Mr Huddlesworth?’

In spite of the tears rolling down her cheeks, the child’s huge blue eyes suddenly brightened, and without a word, she ran off to find her puppy, obviously content to leave the irascible pony where he was.

Antonia did not need to hear what the steward was saying to know that he was not pleased with the gentleman’s performance. It was apparent from Mr Huddlesworth’s posture that he was not being complimented. Nor should he have been, Antonia reflected dimly. The man obviously knew nothing about the instruction of young children. His methods might have worked on older girls, or on boys who were easier to bully, but it certainly wasn’t the technique to use on a six-year-old girl who was just getting started.

Fortunately, it seemed that the steward was of the same opinion. After a few minutes more, Mr Huddlesworth turned and left the paddock, his drooping shoulders indicative of his lack of success.

Now, it was her turn.

Taking a deep breath, Antonia gathered the reins in her gloved hands. After casting her eyes about one last time for a glimpse of Lord Carlyle, she lightly flicked the crop against the mare’s withers and urged her forward. Once clear of the trees, she pushed Foxfire into an easy canter and made directly for the man who was still standing at the edge of the paddock.

The steward, having turned at the sound of a horse approaching and assuming it to be Mr Davlin, stopped short at the sight of a lovely young woman riding towards him. When he saw who it was, he smiled and respectfully tipped his cap. ‘Afternoon, Miss Hadley. Can I help you?’

‘I certainly hope so, Mr Bingham. I—’

‘Toni!’

The childlike cry of delight rang out before Antonia had a chance to say more, and it caused Mr Bingham to turn around in confusion. ‘Tony?’

‘Toni’s here, Paddy!’ Lady Clara cried. She flew down the field towards them with the spaniel yipping noisily at her heels. ‘Toni’s here.’ She came to an abrupt halt next to the steward and then stood gazing up at the lady on the dapple grey mare with an expression of adoration. ‘Toni!’

Mr Bingham’s expression was considerably more guarded. ‘Tony?’

‘It’s…Antonia, actually,’ Antonia stammered, colouring a little. ‘And the reason I have come is to see you about the position of…riding master to Lady Clara.’

The steward’s eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘There must be some mistake, miss. I was expecting a Mr Tony Davlin.’

Knowing it was too late to back out now, Antonia offered him a tentative smile. ‘Yes, I know. But as strange as this may sound, Mr Bingham, I am…Tony Davlin.’

It was quite clear that this was not the explanation Paddy Bingham had been expecting. He took off his cap again and scratched his head until Antonia felt sure he was in danger of rubbing a hole in it. ‘Well, I’ll be dam—that is, would you mind telling me what this is all about, miss?’

‘Yes, I certainly owe you that.’ Antonia unhooked her leg from around the crutch and, placing her hand in the one Mr Bingham offered, gracefully slid down from the saddle. After bending to give Lady Clara an affectionate hug, she straightened again, and then looked into the steward’s face. ‘I think perhaps I should start at the beginning.’

‘I think that might be a good idea,’ Mr Bingham agreed carefully. ‘Shall we take a walk?’

‘Before we do, might I ask if…Lord Carlyle is…likely to come down?’ Antonia enquired anxiously.

Mr Bingham shook his head. ‘His lordship is not at home this afternoon, miss. I doubt he’ll be back before dark.’

More relieved than she cared to admit, Antonia nodded and fell into step beside him. ‘Well, you see, Mr Bingham, it all started last Christmas, when I met Lady Clara at the children’s party at the vicarage…’

By the time Antonia had finished explaining the situation to Mr Bingham, they had walked fully twice around the ring. The steward had not made any interruption and Antonia had been able to relay her story in a clear and concise manner. At its conclusion, however, she paused and turned to regard the Earl’s steward with an expression that was decidedly apprehensive. ‘So you see, Mr Bingham, it was not my intention to deceive anyone. I merely wanted an opportunity to speak with you about teaching Lady Clara to ride, and I felt quite sure you would not have entertained a letter from a Miss Antonia Hadley.’

‘You’re right about that, miss, I wouldn’t,’ Mr Bingham agreed ruefully. ‘Nor do I know that I should even be talking to you about it now. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the reasons why.’

‘No, I can appreciate your concerns,’ Antonia was quick to assure him. ‘But is not the point of this exercise to find someone who has the skills and temperament necessary to teach Lady Clara how to ride?’

‘Well, yes, but…’

‘And were you impressed with the gentleman you just saw?’

Mr Bingham sniffed disparagingly. ‘Not a bit, but…’

‘Then will you not at least allow me to show you what I can do?’ Antonia implored. ‘I am a very good rider, Mr Bingham. I have studied with Captain Fozard in London, and I know that I have the skills to teach Lady Clara how to ride. She likes me, you see. More importantly, she trusts me, and you and I both know how important that is if she is to learn to ride well.’

Antonia glanced towards the little girl who was, even now, giving the pony a wide berth. ‘Look there, Mr Bingham. Lady Clara is already afraid of her pony and, if she does not learn to overcome that fear, she may never enjoy riding. That is why she needs to have trust in the person who is going to teach her. She needs to know that she will not be asked to do anything that she is not capable of doing or ready to undertake. And by trusting me, Clara knows that I will not push her.’

‘That’s all very well, miss, but—’

‘Oh, please, Mr Bingham, please say that you will give me a chance. At least let me show you what I can do. Then, if you are still in doubt as to my capabilities, I shall leave and not bother you again. What do you say?’

Mr Bingham, who was nothing if not fair, found himself in a definite quandary. Hiring a lady definitely went against the grain. But if Mr Huddlesworth was, by Bingham’s own admission, the best man that he could find for the job, did he not owe it to the young lady and to himself to see what she could do?

‘Lady Clara,’ Mr Bingham called. ‘Come here a moment, will you, sweetheart?’

Obediently, Clara rose from the grass where she was playing with the brown and white spaniel and hurried to his side. ‘Yes, Paddy?’

Slowly, the steward bent down and smiled into the little girl’s eyes. ‘Now, my little cock sparrow, how would you like Miss…that is, Toni, to take you around the ring on Teddy again?’

In spite of his reassuring voice, Lady Clara glanced at the pony with a dubious eye. ‘I don’t think Teddy likes me, Paddy,’ she replied in a small voice. ‘He…put his ears back and pulled the reins away. And then the man shouted at me.’

‘I know,’ Mr Bingham said with infinite kindness, ‘but Teddy’s fine now, and Mr Huddlesworth is gone.’

‘And you know that I am not going to shout at you, don’t you, Clara?’ Antonia said gently.

Lady Clara looked up into Antonia’s familiar face, and smiled brightly. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. Then will you try riding Teddy one more time, just for me?’

Lady Clara glanced at her pony again, but this time cautiously nodded her agreement.

Antonia didn’t even attempt to hide her relief. ‘That’s my girl.’

Mr Bingham resumed his place at the rail while Antonia led Lady Clara back into the paddock and across to where the pony stood peacefully grazing. She took up the reins, but instead of placing the little girl directly on the pony’s back as Mr Huddlesworth had done, Antonia put the reins in Lady Clara’s hands and encouraged her to lead the pony around the ring, talking to him all the while. Antonia herself stood at the other side of the pony’s head, just in case it became necessary to quickly take hold of the bridle.

As it turned out, it was not necessary, because Teddy behaved like a perfect gentleman. He walked quietly between them, never once tossing his head or pawing at the ground, until gradually, Antonia saw the look of tension in the little girl’s face begin to disappear. She even started to smile as she realised that the pony was not going to hurt her, and fed him a carrot which magically appeared from the depths of Antonia’s pocket.

In fact, it was not until Antonia felt completely sure that Lady Clara was comfortable at being so close to the pony, that she finally stopped and lifted the child on to its back, settling her gently into the saddle.

By the end of the demonstration, Mr Bingham took off his hat and scratched his head again. ‘Well, I’ll give you your due, miss. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’re the one to teach Lady Clara to ride,’ he acknowledged as Antonia and Clara walked towards him. ‘But I have to warn you, I don’t know how the Earl is going to take to this.’

‘I know that, Mr Bingham, but does the Earl…have to find out?’ Antonia inquired, embarking on what she knew would be the most difficult part of her plan.

Mr Bingham glanced at her sideways. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but what exactly are you suggesting?’

Antonia quickly bent down. ‘Clara, why don’t you walk Teddy around the ring while I talk to Mr Bingham? That way he can cool down a little before we put him back in the stable.’