Free The Gallant Guardian by Evelyn Richardson Page B

and legs should you have to rein in your horses. A driver should always remain straight in his seat.”
    “I thought that was the way it was supposed to be.” William nodded with a good deal of satisfaction. “Cousin Cecil always leans way forward. He told me that is the way an alert person handles his horses, but I think he does not like to drive. He usually has his coachman drive; he says that being driven commands the proper respect from tenants, but I think he is afraid of horses.” William lapsed into silence as they emerged from the drive onto the road and picked up speed, but after some minutes of what appeared to be deep thought he turned to the marquess. “Do you like Cousin Cecil, sir?”
    Here was a question indeed, and Lord Lydon, for all his usual address, found himself at a standstill. The blue eyes fixed so trustingly on him begged him for some sort of an answer, but he knew not what. “I only just met him so I hardly know the man well enough to form an opinion.” He hedged. For one who constantly scoffed at the polite lies that members of the ton traded with one another, Maximilian was finding it remarkably difficult to admit the truth, which was that he found Sir Cecil Wadleigh to be a rather nasty piece of work, and he chided himself for his lack of courage.
    “I think he does not like me. I try to be nice to him and I told Charlotte that he could ride Duke if he likes, but she says that perhaps he is not used to boys my age and I should let him get to know me better. What do you think?”
    Privately, Maximilian thought that he was in thorough agreement with the sentiment once expressed to him by Charlotte; he infinitely preferred William’s company to Cecil’s. At this particular moment he wanted to do nothing so much as tear William’s slimy cousin from limb to limb for causing the look of hurt bewilderment in the boy’s eyes. “I expect that your sister is in the right of it. Your cousin Cecil seems to be a bit starched up. He must have had some unfortunate experience with rag-mannered young people and therefore expects you to act the same way.”
    “Oh.” William did not look convinced. “But he looks at me with mean eyes. I wish he were more like you, sir. You are a great gun, aren’t you?”
    Maximilian chuckled as he neatly feathered a corner. “There are not many who would agree with you. In general, I am looked upon as a shocking loose screw.”
    “You, sir? But you are top-of-the-trees. Anyone can see that.”
    “Why thank you, William. But in most company, it takes more than an eye for well-bred horseflesh and light hands to be accepted.”
    “But you would not want to be liked by people who did not admire those things, would you, sir?”
    The marquess’s lean, tanned face twisted into a sardonic smile as he recalled the disapproving stares of the town tabbies, marriage-mad young misses, and mothers of eligible daughters. “No, William,” he replied slowly, “I would not. You are quite in the right of it.”
    Max gave the horses their heads as he mulled the entire conversation over in his mind. There was something strangely gratifying about the boy’s unhesitating and unquestioning admiration. It had been a long time since someone had simply appreciated Maximilian for the person he was. Too often he was subjected to the disdainful looks of people who, without bothering to know him, accepted the general hearsay that he was a sad rake. Or he had endured the calculating smiles of women who cared nothing for the man, but only for the envy they would inspire in the breasts of others by attaching someone who was known to be unattachable.
    With William the marquess felt the way he did with Felbridge and Griggs and with the horses and dogs he had loved over the years; that he could just be himself, Max, and that that was sufficient for them to enjoy his company. Responding to this comfortable feeling, he surprised himself by turning to the boy. “Would you like to hold the