Regency Buck Read Free Page B

it away,” he said.
    Wrath, reproach, even oaths Miss Taverner could have pardoned. The provocation was great; she herself longed to box Peregrine’s ears. But this calm indifference was beyond everything. Her anger veered irrationally towards the stranger. His manner, his whole bearing, filled her with repugnance. From the first moment of setting eyes on him she knew that she disliked him. Now she had leisure to observe him more closely, and found that she disliked him no less.
    He was the epitome of a man of fashion. His beaver hat was set over black locks carefully brushed into a semblance of disorder; his cravat of starched muslin supported his chin in a series of beautiful folds; his driving-coat of drab cloth bore no less than fifteen capes, and a double row of silver buttons. Miss Taverner had to own him a very handsome creature, but found no difficulty in detesting the whole cast of his countenance. He had a look of self-consequence; his eyes, ironically surveying her from under weary lids, were the hardest she had ever seen, and betrayed no emotion but boredom. His nose was too straight for her taste. His mouth was very well-formed, firm but thin-lipped. She thought it sneered.
    Worse than all was his languor. He was uninterested, both in having dexterously averted an accident, and in the gig’s plight. His driving had been magnificent; there must be unsuspected strength in those elegantly gloved hands holding the reins in such seeming carelessness, but in the name of God why must he put on an air of dandified affectation?
    As the tiger jumped nimbly down on to the road Miss Taverner’s annoyance found expression in abrupt speech:
    “We don’t need your assistance! Be pleased to drive on, sir!”
    The cold eyes swept over her. Their expression made her aware of the shabbiness of the gig, of her own country-made dress, of the appearance she and Peregrine must present. “I should be very pleased to drive on, my good girl,” said the gentleman in the curricle, “but that apparently unmanageable steed of yours is—you may have noticed—making my progress impossible.”
    Miss Taverner was not used to such a form of address, and it did not improve her temper. The farmer’s horse, in its frightened attempts to drag the gig out of the ditch, was certainly plunging rather wildly across the narrow road, but if only Peregrine would go to its head instead of jobbing at it, all would be well. The tiger, a sharp-faced scrap of uncertain age, dressed in a smart blue and yellow livery, was preparing to take the guidance of matters into his own hands. Miss Taverner, unable to bear the indignity of it, said fiercely: “Sir, I have already informed you that we don’t need your help! Get down, Perry! Give the reins to me!”
    “I have not the slightest intention of offering you my help,” said the exquisite gentleman, rather haughtily raising his brows. “You will find that Henry is quite able to clear the road for me.”
    And, indeed, by this time the tiger had grasped the horse’s rein above the bit, and was engaged in soothing the poor creature. This was very soon done, and in another minute the gig was clear of the ditch, and drawn up at the very edge of the road.
    “You see, it was quite easy,” said that maddening voice.
    Peregrine, who had till now been too much occupied in trying to control his horse to take part in the discussion, said angrily: “I’m aware the fault was mine, sir! Well aware of it!”
    “We are all well aware of it,” replied the stranger amicably. “Only a fool would have attempted to turn his carriage at this precise point. Do you mean to keep me waiting very much longer, Henry?”
    “I’ve said I admit the fault,” said Peregrine, colouring hotly, “and I’m sorry for it! But I shall take leave to tell you, sir, that you were driving at a shocking pace!”
    He was interrupted somewhat unexpectedly by the tiger, who lifted a face grown suddenly fierce, and said in shrill Cockney