Kitty Bennet's Diary (Pride and Prejudice Chronicles) by Anna Elliott Page B

fast, I suppose, but the streets were almost entirely empty of traffic—when I happened to glance sideways at Mr. Dalton.  And found him watching me, with the strangest expression on his face.  Part smile, part something I could not identify—and had as it turned out, no chance to do so.  At that moment, the very instant when my attention was momentarily turned, a stray dog came bounding out of the mouth of an alley we were passing by, yapping and snarling about the horses’ heels.
    The horses reared back, whinnying—and then bolted, bucking and lunging forward so violently that I lost hold of the reins—and was nearly thrown out of the curricle altogether.  I ought to have been terrified, but in the moment, there simply was not time.  I clutched at the side of the seat, fully expecting that in another heartbeat the panicked horses would succeed in overturning the carriage entirely, and Mr. Dalton and I would both be killed.
    And then I saw Mr. Dalton struggle to his feet against the curricle’s pitch and sway, brace his hands on the dashboard—and vault forwards onto the nearest horse’s back.
    At first the animal continued to buck and plunge, trying to throw him off.  But he clung on, holding to the bay’s bridle, and at length the horse quieted, slowed, and finally stopped, sides heaving.   I suppose the horses’ initial panic must have worn off, because the other bay allowed itself to be dragged to a halt, as well.
    Mr. Dalton slid down from the horse’s back and stood, talking to the bay in a low, soothing voice as he held tight to its bridle, forcing it into stillness.
    But the second bay—the one Mr. Dalton had not ridden—was still stepping nervously and tossing its head.  At any moment it might bolt again, and make the other horse panic, as well.
    I slid down from the driver’s seat and cautiously moved towards it.  The animal’s muscles were still trembling and its ears were flat back.  It flinched when I touched its muzzle, whinnying again.
    “Good boy.”  I spoke softly—as I would have to baby Susanna.  “Did the big nasty dog frighten you, my love?  It’s all right.  It’s gone now.”
    The horse exhaled a gusty breath—and then it lowered its head, nuzzling my fingers.  “Good boy,” I said again.  I slid my hand up to rub the bay’s neck in slow circles.   And then looked up to see Mr. Dalton staring at me across the other bay’s head.
    We were passing through a street of mostly warehouses and factories, and the only light came from the carriage lamps.  They cast only a small, flickering glow.  But it was light enough for me to see that Mr. Dalton’s lips had compressed into a thin line and that a muscle was ticking at the side of his jaw.
    “Are you out of your mind?”  He did at least manage to keep his voice low, for the benefit of the still-frightened horses.  But I could see that it took considerable effort.  “Did it occur to you that getting down from the carriage to approach a panicked horse might be an excellent way to get yourself killed?”
    As I say, I had had no time to feel frightened during the actual danger.  But by then reaction had set in, leaving me feeling clammy-skinned and slightly queasy.  “It occurred to me,” I hissed back, managing likewise to keep my voice to a near-whisper, “that you could only try to calm one horse at a time, and that if this one bolted again while you were settling his fellow, you would be trampled to death.  Besides all of which,” I added, glaring at him, “I scarcely think that anyone who attempts a stunt as insane as your leap from the carriage just now is qualified to speak to anyone else about being out of her mind!”
    Mr. Dalton only stared at me with another of those unreadable expressions.  Though in this case, I assumed he was probably asking himself why he had bothered to halt the horses and so stop me from being thrown out of the carriage and killed.
    I forced myself to draw another