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

was not present. Lucius Renford, however, was. He hailed Frederick from the saddle of his hired hack.
    ‘In the name of all that’s fashionable, what’s that on your back?’
    Frederick looked at his green cuff. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
    Viscount Trelowen raised his eyeglass and examined the garment from collar to tails. ‘Everything, dear boy, everything. You look as if you’re some sort of country squire.’ The eyeglass lowered. ‘Are you about to rusticate yourself?’
    A twinge of annoyance flitted into Frederick’s tone. ‘No I’m not. I can’t see the point of wearing what’s little more than a corset for riding.’
    ‘My, my. What has stung you this day?’
    ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. It happened that I’ve seen the horse I wanted.’
    ‘The grey that amazingly clad person bought at Tatt’s?’
    Frederick brightened. ‘That’s the one. I’d quite forgot you’d seen it. I don’t suppose you know the fellow’s name do you?’
    Trelowen shook his head. ‘Not at all. He rushed off before giving it.’
    ‘Dashed thing. I know he lives opposite but I can’t find out who he is.’
    Trelowen’s attention sharpened. ‘Opposite?’
    ‘Yes. He’s taken the Perlethorpe house apparently.’
    ‘Ah.’ Trelowen recalled the terse conversation he had had with Griggs two days ago. Webb’s failure did not matter now. The pair could make recompense by finding the man’s name now he knew where he lived. Servants always gossiped. After that, well, Trelowen had contacts who would tell him all he might wish to know about the purchaser and the woman who was, apparently, his wife.
    The approach of a rather ancient brougham-landaulet distracted him. Two ladies, neither of whom could be described as young, sat in it.
    ‘Oh, it’s the Berrys. Forgive me, dear boy, I cannot stand their blue-stocking chatter.’
    Frederick pulled his horse round until he could see the object of Trelowen’s derision. He recognised the ladies referred to were the Misses Mary and Agnes Berry. They were renowned for holding informal salons where varied classes of persons attended. His brother George had once persuaded their Mama to visit after he had heard that Sir Arthur Wellesley was occasionally seen there. Frederick heaved a massive sigh. Trust George to push everyone towards his own advantage. That time had been no different. The Duchess was a doting mother and had obliged. Even so, she had only gone once.
    ‘Dearest,’ she had announced upon her return. ‘Please do not beg me to go again. It was such a trial. Sir Arthur was not there. He’s in Ireland, or somewhere, and I was forced to listen to an artist person for hours on end while he favoured me with his new approach to the painting of light on trees. I declare I have never been so fatigued.’
    The carriage drew closer. Left alone, Lord Frederick had no option but to rein alongside it and make his duties. ‘Miss Berry.’ He bowed. ‘Miss Agnes. Delighted to see you again. You are so infrequently here.’
    Miss Agnes smiled upon him, her eyes sparkling. ‘I agree we hate to leave dear Little Strawberry Hill but we heard that Drury Lane might stage Mary’s
Fashionable Friends
again so we are here for a few days.’
    Frederick managed to link the Drury Lane reference to the theatre therein but the
Fashionable Friends
one quite escaped him. ‘Ah, indeed. Excellent.’ He bowed again.
    ‘How is your dear Mama?’ Miss Berry enquired. ‘It is quite a time since we had the pleasure of her company.’
    ‘Er . . . um, really, ma’am, is it? I had no idea.’ With the Duchess’s comments he had just recalled still fresh in his mind, Frederick shifted on his saddle.
    Miss Berry took pity upon him. ‘I am teasing. I think your Mama found Mr Chiltington’s enthusiasm difficult to follow.’
    Frederick ploughed through his memory but could not find a Mr Chiltington among his acquaintances. ‘I’m sure not, ma’am,’ he lied. ‘I’m sure Her Grace enjoyed her