The Reluctant Husband by Madeleine Conway

reached Paris. You are safe here. But, since you are the friend of my son, I should warn you that the so-romantic Englishman is unlikely ever to see Giugliana di Podenza again. Her mother is determined that her next husband will be a Bourbon, no matter how impotent and discredited.”
    Ormiston was mortified. That his delicate affair with Giugliana should be known to half the wagging tongues of the so-called diplomats, the spies of Europe! And now, no doubt, would follow the humiliating information that he had been passed over for a man with sixteen quarterings on his shield. But there had been something else that the dowager had said which had touched on another raw nerve—her casual assumption that all at home was well.
    If only that were the case , he thought. He was suddenly thrown back into the gloom that had obsessed him in Vienna. For the first time in years he thought seriously about the frightful truth that awaited him in England. He had become sufficiently a man of the world to recognize that his dreams of happiness with Giugliana might be beyond him. But the sure knowledge that he had no people at home who cared even a jot for his well-being was a harsh reminder of the realities of his life.
    The Comtesse de Ferrières was aghast at the effect her words had produced. Ormiston had sunk into the deepest reverie. She continued with her recital of who was who, but Henri’s friend was lost, sunk into a bleak and threatening world of his own. Perhaps she had been wrong to mention the Italian? Surely not. It was her duty as a friend to warn him that the affair was becoming publicly known, that sooner or later he would be identified as the romantic Englishman, and that he would be a fool to nourish hopes in that quarter. It was with some relief that she sighted the daughter of her best friend, and instructed the coachman to drive toward her.
    But Louise was riding accompanied by the most extraordinary creature and, involuntarily, she cried out.
    â€œThis girl is mad. Who can she be!”
    Ormiston roused to her unexpectedly sharp tone and his eye followed her startled gaze. There were three girls riding together, properly accompanied by what seemed to be elder brothers and grooms. But one of them stood out by the quality of her mount, an exquisite, spirited gray, and by the color of her habit, a brilliant, jewel-like blue. Almost pure cobalt , reflected Ormiston.
    The horse was obviously affected by the combination of sharp air and bright sunshine which had made so many of its stablemates so frisky that morning. Her horsemanship was superb as she controlled her mount, and he noticed that this was indeed a horse that the girl was riding, not a docile mare or gelding. Her companions were all riding lesser animals, but he watched this girl’s hands as she soothed the beast, as if promising a gallop in future, if he would just be good for a moment longer. As he watched her restless stallion, held to hand while she exchanged the time of day with her friends, he found himself drawing the furs up closer around his neck. Decidedly, the wind was getting fresher.
    As they passed the group, he heard Henri’s mother expressing her indignation that she had no idea of the identity of who that girl “riding that powerful horse and dressed in such an exquisitely pure blue” might be.
    â€œThe girl in pale gray is the Duchess of Dino’s niece, the one in green is Louise de la Trémouillère, but this mad girl riding that savage horse that is much too strong for her, aucune idée .”
    He felt a tinge of regret. Giugliana did not ride. The nobility of horses never ceased to amaze him. Despite the trappings of saddles and girths and bits, the instinctive desire to race forward was always there. He looked back, admiring the girl’s skill as she kept the horse calm, despite its obvious desire for more freedom.
    There was a sudden gust of wind. Ormiston felt the cold and was about to draw the