The Bumblebroth by Patricia Wynn

became quite heated, Gerald being of the opinion that the horse he had backed, and on which he had lost thirty pounds, had been grossly mis-ridden by its jockey, while William demurred, having backed the winner.
    But by the time they pulled up at Westbury Manor and Gerald had been given the opportunity to drive William's greys, he was in high spirits once again.
    This time, on knocking, William was greeted as if expected, although he could not fail to detect the disapproval in Barlow's carriage. Recognizing that it would behoove him to make an ally of Mattie's steward rather than an enemy, he set about placating him by being on his best behaviour.
    He agreed meekly when Barlow announced that Her Grace would be down shortly and asked whether the gentlemen would not rather wait outside "to keep their horses from setting on the fret." William even managed not to grin at this rather clumsy attempt of Barlow's to mimic coaching slang.
    Before the ladies joined them, Mattie's head groom, Stocker, limped stiffly out from the stables, ostensibly for the purpose of checking out the harness, although William suspected Stocker could not forego the opportunity to see such rum goers. William had made the groom's acquaintance on his last call, and had not been surprised to find that he, too, was an octogenarian.
    "You'll be needin' a firm hand with these bits, my lord," he said, shaking his head dourly.
    "You needn't fear for your mistress, Stocker. Even if I prove to be ham-handed, my brother Gerald will bring us about."
    Gerald snorted, as well he might, for William was a noted whip. He had set a record time from London to Reading, which still had not been broken. However, Stocker gave no sign of having heard of William's well-earned reputation. He seemed to think that the entire party would be carried home on litters.
    The arrival of the ladies put an end to their idling. William presented his brother, and Gerald managed a creditable bow. Lady Pamela, though shy, seemed eager to meet a boy about whose daring exploits she had heard so much.
    William handed her into the front seat of the phaeton he had brought down for the purpose from London, while Gerald helped Mattie onto the rear bench.
    "Now, you hold on, Miss Mattie," Stocker called anxiously from the horses' heads. "If the carriage goes to rolling, you just duck down below that box."
    Amused by her groom's familiar address, William glanced over his shoulder in time to see Mattie flush. Had they all known her since her infancy then?
    He did not let himself be distracted by her appearance, although this was the first time he had seen her without a smudge on her face. She was garbed in a blue riding habit which, though dated, seemed hardly to have been worn, and this piece of evidence helped to explain Stocker's unwarranted concern.
    The blue became her, bringing out the blue of her eyes and the rose of her cheeks. So much so, in fact, that William felt an incurable urge to discover how Mattie would look in a ball gown of the same hue.
    Pamela was eager to begin, so he raised the reins and coaxed the greys down the carriage way. Gerald had taken the edge off their friskiness, but still they took a moment to settle in to their paces. Unused to the countryside, they had the tendency to shy at the scurry of every squirrel or the flutter of every pheasant.
    "Are you ready to take the ribbons, Lady Pamela?" William asked, when he thought they were ready for her.
    She nodded, so he pulled the carriage to a halt. Gerald hopped down and ran to their heads while William explained the proper way to thread the reins through her fingers.
    Watching from the back seat, Mattie strove not to appear too anxious, although the prospect of this outing had loosed butterflies in her stomach. She knew that the way to her daughter's heart would likely be through horses, and she had put herself on guard for Pammy's sake.
    Nothing would be simpler for Lord Westbury, Mattie feared, than to exercise his