Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2) by Caroline Ashton Page A

. . .’ Her soft voice became totally suspended.
    ‘I’m sure both of them will find themselves a young lady worthy of their attentions very soon, Your Grace,’ Mitcham said stoutly. She held up a striking gown of deep mauve silk, thickly scalloped around the hem with rippling frills caught up with bows and miniature silk violets. ‘This, Your Grace?’
    The Duchess waved it away. ‘For anyone to catch either of their attentions it will take a girl dressed as an infantry drummer for George or mounted on a horse for Frederick.’
    Mitcham elevated a rose-pink gown for inspection. She smoothed her fingers over the cream Valenciennes lace trimming the neckline. ‘They say the Neave girl in Lady Perlethorpe’s house rode out on a wondrous grey this morning. Long before decent people were awake.’
    ‘Did she?’ The Duchess nodded at the pink charmeuse. ‘Yes, that one. I’ll have my rose slippers with it. The ones with the bows. And my Norwich shawl.’
    Mitcham laid the gown across the foot of the bed and hurried forward to assist Her Grace to rise.
    ‘I suppose that must be the horse that Freddie has spoken of,’ the Duchess said. ‘I wonder if the girl owns it?’
    Mitcham noted the comment.
    While his Mama was being helped into her gown, Lord Frederick removed himself to his own bedchamber with desultory steps. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his pantaloons and propped a shoulder against the painted shutter folded back from the tall window. His room on the third floor overlooked the square. The house from which Araminta had emerged was clearly visible. He stared at it.
    His valet, one Horace Kidwall, cast one look at his master’s face and forbore to speak. It was unlike his young lordship to be gloomy. His current lowering expression was a rare sight. Kidwall hovered by the clothes press. After several minutes his master turned.
    ‘I’ll ride.’
    ‘Certainly, my lord. Do you wish to change to your green?’
    Frederick stared down at his newest tailcoat of fine blue broadcloth. The fit was excellent. Everett had persuaded him to adopt it as suitable, and fashionable, for a noble scion. It usually took Kidwall several minutes of intense effort to lever him into it. However the constraint it forced upon his movements irritated Frederick. Particularly now, when frustration and disappointment bore heavily upon him. It was bearable for strolling, sitting and so forth but for riding? No. He had changed into it after arriving home this morning in hopes of pleasing his Mama.
    Kidwall coughed.
    Recalled to the mundane, Frederick said, ‘Very well. Bring it out.’
    Kidwall removed the alternative from the clothes press and placed it on the bed. With gentle hands he eased the double-breasted broadcloth from his master’s robust person and laid it beside the coat Lord Frederick much preferred. He wished his lordship would return to the country estate. He himself much favoured life there and he knew his master was of similar mind. The dark green coat was on in moments.
    ‘And the breeches, sir?’
    The buckskin breeches he was wearing were also new. As yet they were unstretched by any activity.
    Frederick nodded. He allowed his valet to replace them with a pair that was most certainly bagging at the knees. Finally clad and equipped to his satisfaction with a beaver on his head and a whip in his hand, he descended to the hall. Kidwall hurried down the back stairs to send for the young master’s horse to be fetched from the mews.
    Disappointed in his quest to identify the grey’s owner, it was a very apathetic young man who rode out of the Square. Several of his acquaintances strolling up St James’ Street received no more than a perfunctory wave of a hand. His mood lightened the closer he came to Hyde Park Corner. Perhaps the object of his interest might still be riding there. Even if she was being conveyed in a carriage, it must present an opportunity.
    He was destined for disappointment. Araminta