To Win the Lady by Mary Nichols Page B

cards. In no time at all
Felicity had no dances left and was scolded by her aunt for not leaving at
least one free, in case the elusive Major Baverstock should arrive. And even
Georgie had few spaces left on hers.
    She was quite
sure the Major would not appear, for he had told her he was going to his home
and had no plans to return to London. She didn’t know how she felt about that;
she would have to see him again, and more than once, if their business
relationship was to develop, but did she really want to dance with him?
    Yes, yes, her
traitorous heart told her, while her head insisted that business should not be
mixed with pleasure, lest both should suffer. And if their aunt had set her
mind on capturing the Major for Felicity, who was she to object if that was
also what Felicity wanted? She had no idea how such a thing could be brought
about; it all sounded so contrived, so calculated. Sitting beside her aunt,
watching Felicity dancing a gavotte with John, she was reminded of how her
father bred horses, mixing the best characteristics of stallion and mare -
looks, speed, stamina - and she found herself smiling. Was it any less
cold-blooded for humans?
    ‘Miss Paget,
may I present Lord Barbour to you?’
    Georgie looked
up, startled out of her reverie, and found Lady Hereward standing in front of
her with a man in his late forties. He was heavily built and, she suspected,
tightly corseted, his complexion was florid and his grey eyes slightly watery,
but she could easily see that he might have been handsome in his youth. He was
dressed in old-fashioned knee breeches and white stockings with a long coat of
ochre satin trimmed with pearl buttons, a shirt whose collar-points reached his
cheeks and below which a diamond pin gleamed in the folds of a cravat of
immense proportions. His dark hair was cut short and curled forward over his
ears. He gave her a sweeping bow and held out his hand. ‘Do me the inestimable
honour, Miss Paget, of taking a turn round the floor?’
    Nudged into
action by a sharp dig from her aunt’s elbow, she rose and accompanied his
lordship on to the floor for a minuet. They were the same height and she found
she could not avoid those watery eyes.
    ‘Liked the cut
of your jib as soon as I clapped eyes on you,’ he said as the music began and
they bowed and curtsied. ‘Asked our hostess who you might be. Old Henry Paget’s
daughter, so she told me. Isn’t to be wondered at. Knew a good bit of horseflesh,
that one. Same for me. What happened to his horses when he stuck his spoon in
the wall? Sell up, did you?’
    ‘No,’ she said,
not at all sure that she liked to be compared to a horse. ‘Rowan Park still
deals in horses.’
    ‘That so?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Got a brother
or cousin to run things for you?’
    ‘No.’
    He was
certainly out of condition and his questions had been asked breathlessly, but
now he paused suddenly, making the following couple collide with them. ‘Beg
pardon,’ he said, turning to make them a bow. ‘Talking too much. Come, Miss
Paget, let us perambulate.’ And, without waiting for her to reply, he offered
her his arm and led her to the side of the ballroom, where they circulated
round the perimeter in stately fashion.
    ‘No one to run
things?’ he asked. ‘How do you go on?’
    ‘Very well, my
lord. I manage everything myself.’
    Her answer
seemed to amuse him but she would not let it fluster her. If she wanted to
breed and sell horses, she must be prepared to answer questions, and she had
nothing to hide. But when the questions became a little too personal she was
not so sure.
    ‘Left you well
up in the stirrups, did he, old Henry?’
    ‘Well enough,’
she said.
    ‘Good dowry?’
    ‘Lord Barbour,
that is hardly a question I care to answer.’
    ‘Have to answer
if you want to wed, m’dear.’
    ‘Naturally, I
shall answer such questions when the time comes...’
    ‘Had no offers,
then?’
    ‘That, too, is
a question I do not care to answer.’
    He