The Shocking Miss Anstey Read Online Free Page A

the box, and, since a woman would hardly sit with a coachman, he had supposed that here was some wealthy buck with the current taste for driving four-in-hand. But now it was closer, the high-stepping blacks coming at a spanking trot, and it was plainly Miss Anstey on the box. She was in ivory-white now, with a little gypsy hat of primrose straw, tied under her chin with lavender ribbon, but even her way of sitting seemed to say who she was. Nor could there be much doubt about her escort. It was Hildersham, broad-shouldered and erect, looking as confident as ever, and Grant stepped to the side of the road, far from pleased at the sight, to let the barouche go past.
    But it did not. He, too, had been recognized, and a hand lifted suddenly in a wave of greeting. She seemed friendly, and she was near enough now for him to see the quick smile that had come to her, and the lift of the eyebrows that gave a look of mock surprise. He saw her speak quickly to Hildersham, who at once pulled back the reins. The barouche stopped, and Grant was standing stiffly as he raised his hat.
    ‘Well met!’ Miss Anstey was the first to speak, and no one could have called her shy. ‘I’ve been wondering if you’d forgotten me.’
    ‘By no means, ma’am.’
    ‘A bit stiff, aren’t you?’ The eyebrows lifted for a moment. ‘Nobody calls me that. It isn’t friendly.’
    ‘I’m sorry if----’
    ‘I’m just Anice Anstey. Or, rather, I’m just Anice to most of them.’ The blue eyes seemed to twinkle with delight. ‘And I don’t know your name at all. You never told us.’
    ‘Did I not?’ Almost against his will he could feel the stiffness oozing out of him. ‘I’m Richard Grant.’
    ‘Richard it is. And don’t call me anything but Anice again. I won’t have it.’ There was a quick pout of her lips to drive that home, and then another thought seemed to strike her. ‘By the way--you do know Hildersham?’
    She was utterly informal about it, and Hildersham showed no displeasure. He was the first to respond, and he was looking both pleased and possessive.
    ‘Glad to meet you again, sir.’
    ‘Er--thank you.’
    Something of the stiffness had returned, and he knew that a touch of jealousy was in it. He looked again at the shining barouche, resplendent in dark iron-grey with milk-white wheels, at the empty seats in dark-grey leather, the impassive grooms behind, the team of matching blacks, already pawing with impatience, and he wondered how many hundred guineas it had cost. It was the finest product of a London coachbuilder, in every detail a nobleman’s equipage. Then the man himself, erect on the box with the reins looped through his fingers, strong and handsome and sure of himself; he had been at Waterloo, and now he was ‘protecting’ Anice. The two thoughts came together, one to be liked and one not, and they jostled for mastery. Grant found himself looking hard at the man, looking for something to dislike, and he could hardly find it; except, perhaps, that he wore trousers. He was in the latest mode; a black tall hat, tapering to the crown, a blue single-breasted frock, and then the thin tight trousers of white cotton jean, and it was to these that Grant took exception. He did not like trousers for gentlemen. They belonged to seamen, he thought, and a gentleman should wear breeches, or his own tight-fitting pantaloons. But that was a detail, and he knew he must stop cavilling at trifles. Hildersham had been friendly and courteous, with no hint of condescension, and he must at least be given courtesy in return.
    ‘Thank you.’ He said it again, and then tried to do better. ‘I’m glad, also, to meet again. I was a shade confused the other day.’
    ‘After the dance she led us? I don’t wonder.’ Hildersham laughed suddenly. ‘You’re a navy man, aren’t you? Now I’m the one who should have thought of cutting across country. So should Murphy and Curry, and you beat the lot of us.