Free Araminta (Regency Belles Series Book 2) by Caroline Ashton

swivelled round to face him. ‘Very well. Turn the animal’s head to the rear and bring it up beside us.’
    She watched impassively as Mellor dismounted to follow her instructions. Satisfied that any chance display of an immodest ankle would be hidden from observers by the carriage, she nodded. ‘Very well. Help Miss Neave to mount.’
    Reins of both horses safely looped round his arm, Mellor bent forward and linked his hands into a stirrup. With a smile that glowed and warmed his disgruntled soul, Araminta put her left foot onto his palms and lifted herself lightly into the saddle.
    As Wilhelmina expected, the gold velvet skirt proved disastrously inadequate. It quite failed to preserve a respectable modesty. A shocking length of calf was exposed to Mellor’s amazed eyes. He hurriedly averted them.
    Not until Araminta managed to arrange the velvet so it decently covered most of her lower boot did Wilhelmina nod her approval. She permitted herself a brief congratulatory moment, well aware that the effect of a golden girl on a white horse was quite stunning. She was not disappointed to see the heads of the people strolling past the gates turn. Two young men even paused to stare. An imperfectly repressed smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Her scheme was working.
    Nonetheless, she forced a frown. ‘Very well, Araminta. Walk on but stay close to the carriage and on no account gallop. You,’ she indicated Mellor. ‘Stay close behind. This is an untried mount.’
    The groom drew his eyebrows together. Untried by the young lady it might be but he had already seen it unseat one showy fellow who had thought to master it when it had first arrived at Tattersalls. He edged alongside the animal prepared to catch the young miss if the worst happened. If it did dump her on the ground his lucrative new post would come to an untimely and unhappy end.
    Araminta nudged a heel into Pegasus’s flank. The hindquarters quivered before he stepped proudly forward.
    Being very late in the afternoon few people were to be seen. Those who were present soon spotted the mounted vision. More heads turned. Among them was the Honourable Everett Blythburgh coming up behind the barouche on a borrowed hack. He pulled his friend Frederick Danver to a halt.
    ‘I say, Freddie,’ he gasped. ‘Just look at that. Ain’t she stunning?’
    Lord Frederick obligingly looked in the direction indicated. ‘It’s a stallion, you simpleton. The one I saw bought just today. It’s a beautiful stepper,’ he added sadly. ‘I wish my pockets had been deep enough for it.’
    ‘I wasn’t talking about the horse. Just look at the vision on its back.’
    Lord Frederick dragged his eyes upwards. The delightful view of the back of Araminta’s head crowned by the tasselled bonnet
á la Ecosse
greeted him. ‘If you say so, old chap.’
    ‘You’re a philistine,’ Mr Blythburgh vouchedsafe. ‘Regard the hair . . . it’s positively Titian. A goddess. A veritable goddess.’
    ‘Steady on. It’s only a girl on a horse. The horse is the thing.’
    Araminta trotted on, unaware she was the topic of the conversation. Miss Orksville was, however, more than aware. Her head swam round and she favoured the two young men with one of her stares.
    Unabashed, Lord Frederick executed a small bow in the saddle. ‘If the girl’s a goddess,’ he whispered to his friend. ‘Then the chaperone’s a gorgon.’
    The remark escaped the gorgon but the interest her charge had excited in Everett Blythburgh did not. Mr Blythburgh was generally held to be the foremost assayer of feminine beauty for the past five Seasons. Where he approved, the rest of the
ton
followed. If he said Araminta was a goddess, then the very people whose endorsement Mr Neave most wanted to engage would certainly agree. Miss Wilhelmina Orksville graciously inclined her head to the gentlemen as they rode past.
    Oblivious to the admiring Everett Blythburgh and his companion, Araminta trotted along beside the