The Tenacious Miss Tamerlane
turn. “Why, in the name
of all that’s holy, would anyone—even a blacksmith—name a horse
Horace?”
    “Oh, not the blacksmith. I think that worthy
dubbed our noble steed Dobbin,” Tansy corrected as they inched
their way back from whence they had come. “I renamed him Horace
after a childhood pet of mine that also refused to heed my
commands.”
    “A singularly intelligent creature, I would
say. What was it? One of those repulsive little lap dogs with a
pushed in phiz?”
    “You insult me, sir. I would rather forego a
pet than have one of those horrid little beasts about, forever
yapping and becoming nervous all over the drawing room rugs.
Perhaps owing to my own size, I prefer large dogs. Large, romping,
tongue-lolling, tail-wagging brutes who are invariably affectionate
to a turn. Besides, Horace was not a dog. He was a goldfish.” This
last was delivered with a solemn face that could not conceal the
twinkling of two russet-brown eyes.
    His grace was not daunted. “And he did not
heel? Poor specimen, I dare say.”
    Tansy agreed gravely. “Indeed, sir, you are
so right. In the end, I was forced to be content with the ordinary
tricks: fetching a stick, catching a ball between his jaws. You
know the sort, I’m sure.”
    This was too much, even for his grace. “Were
you spanked often as a child. Miss Tamerlane?”
    Speechless for a moment, Tansy merely shook
her head.
    “A pity. If you were mine I would have
applied corporal punishment quite often, I believe.”
    “But then I believe I should have run off at
a very young age if you were my parent,” she returned
triumphantly.
    “And I would have had the housekeeper pack
your portmanteau, and myself supplied a map to the Orient—not to
mention enough of the ready to set you firmly on your way.”
    Tansy opened her mouth to retort and found
she had for once been solidly trumped. “Touché,” she said gaily and
made a mock bow, sadly ungainly when done while sitting in a
gig.
    Lady Emily interposed at this time, reminding
the foolishly giggling pair of idiots that she was chilled to the
bone. Tansy urged the horse into a bone-crunching trot, leaving
behind, and quite out of mind, the dining room of Squire Lindley’s
snug country house, where the Squire’s lady, still content in the
delusion that her four squalling brats were to be taken off her
hands by a penny-cheap governess, was at that moment gleefully
biting into a fluffy, cream pastry.

Chapter Four
    T he journey to
Grosvenor Square was accomplished in four rather than three hours,
due to Tansy’s refusal to budge one inch from the posting inn until
her gnawing hunger was put at ease. But as the crier was just
calling out the hour of ten (“All’s well and it’s comin’ on ta
rain”) the weary party ascended the imposing flight of steps to
Avanoll’s mansion.
    Tansy could do little more than catch a
glimpse of the imposing stucco exterior and delicate grille work
lining the upper storeys before being almost shoved indoors, where
her eyes were completely dazzled by the brilliant light emanating
from the hundred candles that burned welcomingly in an immense
crystal chandelier that seemed almost small in the huge foyer.
    She roughly disengaged her elbow from the
Duke’s vice-like grip. “Unhand me, sir. If you are in such a pelter
about being discovered with so poor a specimen as I entering your
abode, I could have as easily trotted round to the tradesman’s
entrance. I have not been so roughly handled since the oldest son
of my last employer sought to play slap-and-tickle in the herb
garden.”
    “I’m surprised he had the nerve,” his grace
hissed. “And be still,” he added, painfully aware of Dunstan the
butler, three assorted footmen, and a housemaid—who had no business
using the front stairs—looking (and listening) with great interest
to every word that was being said. “It is not you but Emily I
wished out of the light of that veritable beacon in front of the
house. You would
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