Free Strange Capers by Joan Smith Page A

leader, I mean—hadn’t decided at that precise moment to stand up on its hind legs and neigh.
    The grays had city manners and weren’t accustomed to such incivility. They bolted faster, breaking their gait and causing the curricle to jerk dangerously. The reins pulled painfully at my fingers till I was quite sure I had broken one or two of them. I let out a howl of pain sharper than the tranter’s neighing nags and dropped the ribbons. This gave the grays the notion that they were to step up their pace even faster. It was very fortunate that Aiglon had the wits to lunge for the dropped reins before they became entangled in the grays’ legs or we might have ended up in the nearest field. As it was, we got no farther than the ditch. Nothing was irreparably damaged, not even my pride.
    “Why did you pull them off to the right?” I attacked before he could beat me to an accusation.
    “It’s a little hard to pull straight when you’re not in the driver’s seat!” he pointed out. “Why did you drop the ribbons? The first lesson you have to learn, Constance, is never to drop the ribbons when your nags are in full gallop.”
    “No, the first lesson is never to take hold of the ribbons when you don’t know how to drive!”
    “How are you ever going to become a first-class fiddler if you don’t take the ribbons?” he countered.
    “I’m not likely to become a first-class fiddler in the space of the day or two you’ll be at Thornbury,” I reminded him.
    “Day or two? I plan to remain till Thornbury is sold. I’ll be here for a month at least, possibly through the summer,” he said. “Now, take the reins again and get us out of this ditch,” he ordered calmly.
    “I wouldn’t touch them if my life depended on it,” I answered, and folded my arms over my chest.
    “Driving is like riding. You have to get back in the driver’s seat immediately after a little mishap or you’ll never regain your nerve. Here, take ‘em.” He tossed the reins at me and they landed in my lap, where I left them.
    Meanwhile, the team was becoming a little restive. They were finding their own way out of the ditch without much trouble. I thought Aiglon would be gentleman enough to take up the reins, but he did nothing of the sort. He just let the nags climb up by themselves and meander down the road. The mishap and their ascent from the ditch appeared to have tired them somewhat, for their pace slackened to about ten miles an hour. This was still faster than I usually drive the gig, but seemed safe compared to the speed of our former dash. When one of the team began eyeing the grass by the roadside, I took up the reins and pulled it into line. We got home without further mishap, but I was as angry as a hornet and determined that I wouldn’t subject myself to another ride in Aiglon’s fearsome curricle.
    “We’ll drive east toward Dover tomorrow,” he informed me when we reached the stable.
    “I’ve had enough driving for the present,” I declared, and hopped down from the perch.
    “Would you prefer to ride?” he asked, not displeased with this notion. I saw him looking at his mounts, a pair of vicious-looking brutes pawing the earth in their boxes.
    “No, Aiglon, I would prefer to walk. Or, better yet, to stay safely at home!”
    He flung the reins to his groom, then took my arm to walk to the house. “That’s the wrong attitude. You should always take full advantage of any interesting possibility that comes you way, Constance,” he said earnestly. “Now confess the truth: Wasn’t the riding lesson more fun than sitting on your rocks?”
    “It may seem so someday in retrospect. At the moment, I am tired and hot. My fingers are broken, and my hair is falling into my eyes,” I told him.
    He stopped and brushed my hair back. “But it’s done wonders for your complexion, Constance, my flower. We’ll have a glass of wine and a rest, which will take care of the fatigue and the heat.”
    There was a playful, flirtatious