“What are the names of your other horses?” Christopher cut in as if he hadn’t heard her speak, and he might not have. Neal remembered a time when he was that enthusiastic about life.
“It would take a while for me to tell you all of them,” Neal said. “However, I have two waiting outside that you lads should meet. Would you like to see them?”
“Yes.” The word practically burst out of Jonny. Christopher nodded his head vigorously. He started toward the door, holding his wood horse in front of him.
“Wait,” Neal cautioned. “We need permission from your mother. We could even have a ride in my coach, if your mother would let us go to the Clarendon for our dinner.”
Two pleading sets of eyes turned as one towardThea, not, she knew, because of the treat of patronizing one of the finest public dining rooms in the city but because of the opportunity of a coach ride.
“Please, Mother,” Jonny whispered.
“Iwant to go,” Christopher said with his delightful candor.
Thea stood in indecision. Neal had circumvented her wishes by catering to her horse-mad sons, and he was unrepentant.
“I don’t know,” she hedged. “I don’t know that it is proper for a lady to go to the Clarendon with a man who isn’t her husband.”
Neal made an impatient sound. “Women dine at the Clarendon. You shouldn’t feel uncomfortable. Yes, they are accompanied by friends or their husbands, but you have two of the most upstanding chaperones of all. Your sons.” Her boys stood up a bit straighter at his words.
Thea’s gaze met his, and he saw that she really did want to go. He wondered how long it had been since Thea had participated in society for the pleasure of it and not as a means to help her small family survive.
She breathed deep to register her annoyance, then released it before saying, “Very well. This one time. Go don your hats and coats.”
She didn’t have to repeat the order. Her sons charged off with cheers of excitement.
Thea retied the bonnet ribbon beneath her chin. “Unfair,” she said to Neal.
“But necessary,” he assured her, quite proud of himself. She needed this outing. He knew it. “We will talk, Thea.” He paused and then added quietly, “You were important to me.”
She looked away.
The boys joined them. They had matching coats and wide brimmed hats that were exactly the sort any child of the gentry would wear. Christopher was so excited that he was having trouble putting his coat on. Neal helped and then opened the door. The boys fairly ran down the stairs.
“Wait,” their mother warned them. “You know the rules.”
Her sons came to a halt and stood like two racehorses anxious to take off out of the gate.
“You must be gentlemen at all times,” Thea chided and, after locking the door, went down the stairs to take their hands.
Neal followed, rather enjoying the boys’ excitement.
On the street, Thea kept a firm hold on her sons. There was much activity, mostly neighbors sitting on the stoops and in the doorways of surroundingbuildings. Christopher tried to gallop, and Jonny had to try it a step or two.
Harry and Neal used to play that game of horses when they were the ages of Thea’s boys. Margaret had played too when the nanny would let her. They had spent hours at Morrisey Meadows, the family’s country estate, setting up jumps and then trotting or galloping over them.
Funny, but it had been years since he’d thought of the good parts of his childhood.
“Which way shall we go, my lord?” Thea asked.
“My coach is at the end of the street. This one was too narrow for it to travel down,” Neal said, pointing to the right. He saw his coachman waiting for him. “Let them go,” he said to Thea. “Bonner is there waiting for them.” Bonner was the name of his coachman, and he already had a small audience of children around him.
She ignored him, but her sons did not. They were both pulling on her now, anxious to have a look at his coach. She still held fast, until their excitement overcame them. They were pulling too hard, and when they were fifty feet from Bonner, she took Neal’s advice and let them go.
They ran to the coach. Their first stop was Neal’s matched grays.
The coach itself was Neal’s pride and joy. Hisfather had designed it out of burled wood. The seats were covered with tufted red velvet. The overall vehicle was smaller than most coaches and very comfortable for town riding. It was so distinctive that his father had never bothered placing a coat of arms on the door. It was unnecessary. Everyone recognized the Lyon when he traveled.
“They are horse mad,” Thea admitted to Neal, who fell into step beside her, “and I don’t know why, because they haven’t been around many. They’ve always been that way.”