Regency Buck by Georgette Heyer

the big stable yard. A glass of sherry was handed up to Peregrine, and sandwiches were offered to his sister, this being one of the superior attractions of the Green Man over the Red Lion that its customers had free refreshments pressed on them.
    The change of horses was accomplished in two minutes; a couple of post-boys cast off the smocks they wore over their blue jackets to keep them clean, and sprang into the saddles; and almost before the travellers had time to fetch their breath they were out of the stable-yard again, and trotting off towards London.
    Another two miles brought them to the village of Whetstone, and the turnpike which marked the beginning of Finchley Common.
    The very name of this famous tract of land was enough to conjure up terrifying thoughts, but on this fine warm October day the heath seemed kindly enough. No masked figures came galloping to hold up the chaise; nothing more alarming than a stage-coach painted all the colours of the rainbow was to be met with; and in a short space the village of East End was reached, and whatever terrors the Common might hide were left safely behind.
    Highgate afforded the travellers their first glimpse of London. As the chaise topped the rise and began the descent upon the southern side, the view spread itself before Miss Taverner’s wondering eyes. There were the spires, the ribbon of the Thames, and the great huddle of buildings of which she had heard so much, lying below her in a haze of sunlight. She could not take her eyes from the sight, nor believe that she was really come at last to the city she had dreamed of for so long.
    The way led down until the view was lost, and the chaise entered on the Holloway road, a lonely track which ran, still descending, between high banks until Islington Spa was reached. This was a charming village, with tall elm trees growing on the green, a rustic pound for strayed cattle, and a number of coaching inns.
    The last toll-gate was passed, and the ticket which opened it given up to the gate-keeper. In a very little while the chaise was bowling between lines of houses, over a cobbled surface.
    Everything seemed to flash by in an instant. Miss Taverner tried to read the names of the streets down which they drove, but there was too much to look at; she began to be bewildered. It was so very large and bustling.
    They seemed to have been driving through the town for an age when the chaise at last stopped. Leaning forward, Miss Taverner saw that the street in which they now stood was lined on either side with very genteel-looking houses, and had an air of being extremely well-kept, unlike some of those through which they had come.
    The door of the chaise was opened, the steps let down, and in another minute Miss Taverner was standing inside Grillon’s hotel.
    It was soon seen that Mr. Fitzjohn had not advised Peregrine ill. Grillon’s hotel offered its guests everything that could be imagined in the way of comfort. The bedchambers, the saloons, the furnishings, all were in the best of taste. Miss Taverner, who had been inclined to doubt the wisdom of following a strange young gentleman’s advice, was satisfied. There could be no need to inspect the sheets at Grillon’s.
    The first thing to be done was to see her trunks unpacked, and her clothing tidily bestowed; the next to pull the bell-rope for the chambermaid, and bespeak some hot water.
    On her way through one of the saloons to the staircase she had seen some of the other visitors to the hotel. There was a gentleman in tight pantaloons, reading a newspaper; two ladies in flimsy muslin dresses, talking by the window, and a stately dowager in a turban, who stared at Miss Taverner in a haughty manner that made her. feel that her bonnet was dowdy, and her dress crushed from sitting in the post-chaise for so long.
    She put on her best gown for dinner, but she was afraid, looking doubtfully at her reflection in the long mirror, that it was not fashionable enough for so modish a