The Primrose Path by Bárbara Metzger Page B

patient horse and the grinning groom, “and respect.”
    Gathering the reins and remounting in one fluid movement, Corin nudged the gelding with his heel. As they set out, he held Domino’s long rope to the side. Nothing happened until the dog felt the slack tighten on his rope, then the pull on his collar. Go with a horse? Never! Domino turned into a frantic, flying dervish, snapping at the gelding’s legs, growling and lunging for its vulnerable underside. The hunter was used to noisy hounds milling beneath its feet, not ferocious creatures biting at its belly. The gelding was up on two legs, then the other two legs. Then it was on its way back to the safety of the Knoll’s stables.
    His lordship was on the ground, in the dust and the dirt and the mud. Domino was licking his face. Corin didn’t have the energy to push the dunderheaded dog away. He merely lay on his back, staring at the clouds overhead and swearing. Of all the ignominious scenes, this one was beyond imagining. Not only had Corin, who prided himself on his horsemanship, come unseated, but things had happened so fast, before he’d gotten settled atop the gelding, that he’d also dropped the reins like the veriest green ‘un. Lord Knowle still held the dog’s rope, though. He tossed it away in disgust. Worst of all for the viscount’s amour-propre, his horse had parted his company in the road, in front of Jed with his gap-toothed grin, and yes, in full view of Miss Angelina Armstead’s morning room window. Even now, from his place on the ground, he could hear the door slam, hear her asking if they should send for a doctor, who was, of course, located in the town of Ashford, not in nearby Knowlton Heights village.
    Corin sat up, reassuring Lena that he still lived—much she’d care, he thought—to discover a ring of servants and dogs. More than a few of them, he estimated, wore smiling faces. He also discovered that Sadie had also joined the debacle and was even now gnawing on his boot top. All his day needed was Caesar, the one who didn’t like men.
    His coat was ripped, his breeches were stained, and his boots were ready for the dustbin. His pride was in tatters—and his mood was as black as the dirt that clung to his hair despite the efforts of Aunt Sophie’s old butler, Penn. Miss Armstead wouldn’t hear of his walking home, not after such a grievous toss, so she was lending him the donkey cart. The donkey cart! He’d be tossed out of the Four-in-Hand Club next!
    Before clambering aboard his humble conveyance, Corin threw open the gate of an ebony-colored spaniel’s fence. He picked up the silky-coated animal and dumped it in the back of the wagon. Ignoring Miss Armstead’s twitching lips, the viscount bowed, then stepped into the cart and flicked the whip an inch over the donkey’s left ear. The donkey was so impressed, he turned around to look at the viscount.
    It was, of course, Angelina, who, biting her lip to keep from laughing aloud at the viscount’s sour expression, had to tell him, “I believe if you just say ‘Hup, Dumpling,’ you’ll get home the faster. Oh, and do enjoy Spooky’s company.”
    Spooky?
    Angelina shook her head at male foibles, then went inside to spend the afternoon at feminine ones. She had decided, with the urging of Mrs. Penn, the housekeeper, and Mavis, Lady Sophie’s abigail, to improve her appearance. Now that their Miss Lena was a woman of means, they had tried to convince her, she should look the part. She was the mistress of Primrose Cottage, gently born, with education and manners to prove it. She was a lady, not a scullery maid. Mavis insisted the scullery maid was better dressed and had a handsome beau to boot.
    Angelina finally agreed. The constant intrusion of a certain London buck of the first stare had nothing whatsoever to do with her decision. The architect would be coming soon, and Angelina wanted to be sure he saw her as the administrator of the animal shelter, not a mere employee. He