Page 23 of The Meddler
Was she planning on using it as a drop point for any reports she could gather? Did she look for some discreet hidey-hole she might slip a note into, to be retrieved by somebody casually making their way down the mews?
If she had been any other lady under usual circumstances, he might view her determination to say hello to her horse as a charming eccentricity. Very charming, actually. He could not imagine the likes of Lady Annabelle setting foot inside a stable. But she was not any other lady. She was Miss Wilcox, who’d failed to mention she’d met the King of England on the road…
Jasper had a rather sickening feeling when he thought about the possibilities. Watching her determined strides, her straw bonnet obscuring her wonderful hair…he had to know the truth!
Part of him did not wish to know the truth, as the truth might be awful. But what if it wasn’t? What would he do then?
He could not know until he had found out one way or the other. First, he would warn the queen and gather her impressions upon meeting Miss Wilcox at their scheduled tea. Then, he would set a trap and see if she fell into it. He did not want to set a trap, but he must. It was his duty. And, he needed to know.
He was rather startled to notice that his shoulders had cramped up while he contemplated a trap.
Chapter Seven
Though Georgiana hadthought that riding sidesaddle would be the only challenge of visiting Hyde Park, she was now not quite sure. It was almost incredible how much she did not know about the habits of Town.
She had since discovered that nobody in the world called it Hyde Park—it was justthe park. She’d also found out that, though taking a horse out in the cool of early morning would be sensible and far better for the horse, nobody went to the park before two. Lady Mendleton was set on going at five, which she felt was the most fashionable of all the fashionable hours. Jenny told her that there was a favored jaunt called Rotten Row. Lady Mendleton instantly corrected this and informed hertheyreferred to it as the King’s Old Road and, in any case, it was not suitable for a carriage and they would sensibly take the carriage road.
Even her riding habit had been a bit of a mystery as she was certain there was a loop somewhere that would hold her skirt up, but it had been well-concealed. While a particular modiste named Mrs. Lanchester had made the rest of her clothes, that lady would not do for a habit. This was made by a certain Mr. Clark and was a lovely dark blue with matching braiding down the front of the jacket and around the cuffs. Lady Mendleton had explained that some young ladies fancied gold braiding, but she would not have her own girl riding around looking like a Hussar. The resulting garment was well-cut and discreetly sophisticated. The whole was topped off by a deceptively flimsy silk-covered bonnet that had firm padding in the crown, presumably to soften any blows to the head that might occur should one lose their seat.
Now, they had entered the park and Georgiana realized how much she had missed the countryside. Rather than cobblestones and bricks, she was surrounded by grass and trees. The very air seemed cleaner. It was extraordinary that such a place could exist in the heart of London.
As they rode in a barouche with the hood rolled down, it was unnecessary for Lady Mendleton to rap on the roof to stop the carriage. She simply said, “Carstares, there is a mounting block by that old oak. That will do very well.”
As Carstares angled the carriage in that direction, Lady Mendleton patted Georgiana’s hand. “You will be all elegance upon a horse, my dear girl.”
Georgiana certainly hoped that was true, but did not give any promises to it.
Worse, she realized that she had not thought through how to mount. Usually, she would hitch her skirt, put her left foot in the stirrup, pull herself up and throw her right leg over the back of the horse. Somehow, she had to pull herself up and fold her right leg around the pommel. But how was that done? Her right leg was used to going over the back of the horse but now it must land at the front.
Well, it must be done somehow or other.
Carstares had come down from the box and taken Minerva’s reins from the groom. He helpfully positioned Minerva close to the block. Georgiana stepped up and looked at the distance to the saddle. The block was shorter than the one outside of Manley Hall’s stables, Minerva was taller than her father’s sturdy hunter, and the stirrup was set higher than usual. How on earth would she get up there?
Georgiana took a deep breath and attempted to get her left foot high enough to place it in the stirrup. It was impossible, one would have to be a circus performer to manage it.
Carstares shook his head. “A moment, miss. Jimmy will give you a boost up.”
Georgiana nodded, thinking how stupid she was. She was so used to doing everything on her own that she had presumed that all ladies must mount themselves. But of course, they did not. The distance was so great and the stirrup placed so high that it could not be done. Goodness, what a ninny—how many times had she seen Miss Webster mount with assistance? All along, she’d just thought the girl was only lazy.
At least now she understood how itwasdone. The groom’s laced hands would act as a second, higher, mounting block. All she need do was push off and pull up, as hard as she possibly could.
The groom placed his locked palms between the block and the stirrup. Georgiana put her left foot upon them and said, “Ready?”
“Ready, miss,” he said, “one, two, three.”
Jimmy pushed up while Georgiana pushed down with her foot and pulled up with her hands, using every ounce of strength she could muster.
For a brief second, the scheme seemed to work exceptionally well. She traveled upward with remarkable speed.
After that brief and hopeful moment, it became apparent that the force of the groom and herself together was too much of a good thing.
Rather than landing gracefully in the saddle, Georgiana continued her upward ascent. She knew the exercise was an entirely lost cause when her hands lost touch with the pommel. A branch overhead stopped her progress, she grazed the far side of the saddle on her way down and hit the ground with a thud.
Amidst Lady Mendleton’s shrieks, Georgiana heard a voice not far off say, “My dear Miss Wilcox, are you quite all right?”
Georgiana was just assessing that very thing as the groom helped her up. Jimmy’s expression was at once horrified, and also relieved that she was not dead.
She could not yet see the speaker, he being on the other side of the disaster, though she recognized the voice well enough from Lord Ryland’s ball. It was Lord Asturt—the great fan of Lord Langley and referrer of his new valet.
