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  And guided by a Power that was not of this world.

  To Gauntlet sitting beside her she said,

  “We are not going straight home, but to Rock Park.”

  Gauntlet did not seem very surprised.

  He only replied,

  “There be two grooms at the inn who’d been at the Races. They’d made a bet on ’is Lordship’s ’orse.”

  Athina thought that they must have been in the employment of the young man in the dining room.

  They also had doubtless backed the winner.

  As she drove on, Gauntlet said as if he was speaking to himself,

  “’Is Lordship’ll be the next Master of the Horse now that Lord Edward Rock be dead.”

  Athina had read of Lord Edward’s death in The Times and she had not been particularly interested although her father had known him.

  Now she said,

  “You see that small boy just ahead. He is coming with us to Rock Park.”

  She thought that Gauntlet would ask her all sorts of questions. But he merely nodded and replied,

  “Very good, my Lady, and Rock Park be on our way ’ome.”

  “I know,” Athina answered him.

  She pulled the horses to a standstill beside Peter and he climbed into the chaise.

  “We have – done it! We have done – it!” he cried excitedly.

  Without saying anything more, Gauntlet moved into a seat behind and Peter sat beside Athina.

  He moved close to her and put his cheek on her arm.

  “I was – so frightened,” he said, “in case – you did not – come or Step-Papa had been able to – stop you.”

  “Did you see anybody you recognised as you walked through the courtyard?” Athina asked.

  Peter shook his head.

  “I hurried, as you told me, and there was nobody about except the man who was with these horses.”

  “That is Gauntlet and he is my groom,” Athina explained. “It was clever of you to get away without being seen.”

  “Step-Papa will be very – very – angry when he – finds me gone,” Peter murmured.

  “I know,” Athina nodded.

  “He – will – beat me again.”

  “He will have to find you first,” Athina replied, “and I will tell you where we are going. We are going to Rock Park to see your uncle who, as I expect you know, is the Marquis of Rockingdale.”

  “Will he – stop Step-Papa from – beating me?” Peter asked.

  “I know he will,” Athina answered.

  As she spoke, she thought that whatever the Marquis was like, he could not allow the child to be so appallingly treated.

  ‘Lord Burnham is a beast!’ she told herself. ‘If the Marquis has any guts, as my father would say, he will tell him so.’

  Peter made himself comfortable.

  At the same time he was still sitting very close to her.

  It was as if he felt that she protected him and there was no chance of his being snatched away unexpectedly.

  Because Athina could feel his fear vibrating from him, she drove faster than she would have done otherwise.

  Once again they had to turn off into the narrow lane where they had clashed with the farm wagon the previous night.

  She was careful, but she was now in a greater hurry than she had been the night before.

  Every minute that passed brought them nearer to the time when Peter’s absence at the inn would be discovered.

  Lord Burnham would either send his valet or would go himself to the boy’s bedroom and find it empty.

  He had locked the door into the corridor and so he would quickly realise that Peter must have left through the communicating door.

  To make things even more difficult, Athina had locked that door on her side.

  She then put the key in one of the drawers of the dressing table.

  At least there would have to be a further delay until the key was found.

  She also guessed that Lord Burnham, however determined he was to search for his stepson, would not leave the inn without first having breakfast.

  Athina was sure that Lord Burnham was a very astute man.

  Therefore, when he was convinced that Peter was not in the inn or the stables, he would know that someone had helped him to escape.

  He would soon learn from the servants that she and Gauntlet had left the inn very early in the morning and he would be told as well that she had occupied the adjacent room.

  There was therefore every probable likelihood that Peter had gone away with her.

  It would certainly seem more likely than that Peter had gone with the racegoers, the commercial travellers or indeed anyone else staying in the inn last night.

  It took Athina nearly two hours before she could turn in at the high and impressive wrought-iron gold-tipped gates of Rock Park.

  As she went up the drive lined with ancient oak trees, she found herself praying that the Marquis would be in residence.

  Also that he would understand the situation and hopefully thank her for taking Peter away from the dreadful man who was treating him so abominably.

  ‘How can he be anything but grateful?’ she asked herself several times.

  Equally, remembering some of the stories that she had heard of the Marquis’s reputation, she was not so sure.

  She next looked ahead of her up the gravel drive.

  Rock Park was a truly magnificent building.

  The sun then came out and it seemed suddenly to illuminate the Marquis’s standard on the flagpole above the roof and it waved slowly in the light morning breeze.

  The fact that the standard was flying meant that the Marquis was indeed in residence.

  Athina’s heart gave a leap.

  She was sure that it was a good omen.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Marquis of Rockingdale drove his dog cart down Piccadilly.

  He was not surprised that people stared at him in admiration.

  He had just received his new dog cart from his coachbuilders and it was partly of his own design.

  The dog cart had become fashionable lately and was modelled on the phaeton, which had been in constant use amongst the bucks and beaux of the Regency.

  The wheels were reduced in size and the body itself was not so high.

  The new look had delighted many of the Country Squires and this was because their dogs could run underneath it, which protected them from being endangered by other traffic.

  The Marquis had trained two highly bred Dalmatians to run under a dog cart that he had already acquired. And with the new one there would be more room for the dogs.

  Painted black with yellow wheels and upholstery it was striking in itself.

  It was indeed even more striking, however, when it was drawn by Sampson. This was a jet-black stallion that had already won a number of prizes.

  What the Marquis did not appreciate was that he himself was even more striking than his conveyance.

  He wore a shining black top hat on one side of his dark head and a yellow waistcoat that matched the vehicle.

  He undoubtedly attracted the attention of every woman he passed and at the same time every man looked enviously at his horse.

  It was a warm and sunny day and the ladies on their way to Rotten Row were riding in open Victorias. And they were holding tiny lace-trimmed sunshades over their elaborate hats.

  One after another they waved at the Marquis and he had hardly replaced his hat before he had to raise it again.

  He noticed the Countess of Gaythorne, who he had had an ardent affaire de coeur with the year before. He retained a certain affection for her although he had left her.

  This was because she had been far too demonstrative in public and the one thing that the Marquis disliked was parading his feelings to all and sundry.

  It gave the gossips even more to talk about than they had already.

  It was not surprising that they talked about him. He was not only extremely handsome, but ne was the owner of an a
ncient title that was part of English history.

  He was also immensely rich.

  Apart from this he had an intelligent mind and could on occasions be exceedingly witty.

  Men liked him even though they were very jealous not only of his many possessions but also of his achievements.

  He was an outstanding rider, a first class polo player and excelled at every sport that he cared to be interested in.

  Travelling a little further along the road the Marquis then passed the Countess of Stretton.

  She had been acclaimed universally as one of the great beauties of the century. She nodded her head to him, but there was a coolness in the look that she gave him.

  This was because he had not yet succumbed to her attractions.

  Almost every other gentleman in the Social world was ready to be at her beck and call, but so far, however, the Marquis had eluded her very obvious charms.

  There was something fastidious in his make-up, which told him that he did not wish to be one of a queue.

  If other gentlemen pursued any particular woman, it was typical of the Marquis to turn in the opposite direction.

  The truth was, he told himself, that he wanted something unique in his life.

  Then he laughed because it was a very difficult thing to find in the Social Set that he moved in.

  In fact, if a woman was beautiful, it was inevitable that the Prince of Wales would be there first and after that there would be a scramble amongst the smart young gentlemen.

  They, just like the Marquis, were always looking for someone to amuse them.

  The Marquis was at this very moment, however, not thinking of women, but of the interview that he was about to have with the Lord Chamberlain.

  He had waited he had thought for quite a considerable time.

  And now what he most desired was distinctly within his grasp.

  It was traditional for the Head of the Rockingdale Family to be the Monarch’s Master of the Horse.

  The Earls of Rockingdale had held this unique position under both King George III and King George IV.

  It was at the end of George IV’s reign that the Earldom was made into a Marquisate.

  And the first Marquis of Rockingdale was therefore Master of the Horse to King William IV and the n the young Queen Victoria.

  Unfortunately he died in a hunting accident when he was not yet fifty and the present Marquis’s father refused the position outright.

  He claimed that he had no wish to spend his time at Court with so much bowing and scraping, but he hoped, however, that his son would have different ideas.

  But his son was at the time only a small boy and the position was instead given to his uncle, Lord Edward Rock, who did perform his duties reasonably well.

  Equally he did not have very many horses himself and was not an outstanding owner as his predecessors had been.

  Now that the young Marquis had succeeded his father and Lord Edward Pock having died, he looked forward with pleasure to taking his place as the Master of the Horse.

  He had already thought of the many improvements that he would make to the Royal Stables.

  He was making a formal call on the Earl of Latham, who was the Lord Chamberlain whose office was in St. James’s Palace where he dealt with all the details connected with Court Ceremonial.

  The Marquis drove in considerable style down St. James’s Street.

  He was aware that the members of White’s Club who were going in and out of the Club were gazing at him. Some, he knew, must be curious as to where he might be going.

  He reached St. James’s Palace and drew up his horse outside the main door.

  When he stepped down from his dog cart, his place was taken by his groom, who had been sitting behind him with his arms folded in the correct manner. He was wearing the splendid Rockingdale livery and a cockaded top hat.

  The Marquis then walked into St. James’s Palace and there was no need for anybody to guide him to the Lord Chamberlain’s office.

  He had been there frequently and the Earl of Latham was a man he both respected and liked.

  As he appeared, the Earl rose from the chair where he was sitting and held out his hand.

  He was a tall and handsome man, whose hair and beard were just beginning to turn a little white and he cut a most distinguished figure at Queen Victoria’s drawing rooms and on every State occasion.

  “Good morning, Denzil,” he greeted him as the Marquis appeared. “I was expecting you.”

  “I thought you would be, my Lord,” the Marquis replied.

  “I hear you had a winner two days ago,” the Earl said, “but that is nothing unusual.”

  The Marquis smiled and sat down in a chair in front of the Lord Chamberlain’s desk.

  “You know, of course, why I have called to see you,” the Marquis said. “I need not tell you that I am impatient to take up the position of the Master of the Horse.”

  He paused for a moment to clear his throat before he continued,

  “I wish to implement the improvements and alterations that I have discussed with you on various occasions.”

  The Lord Chamberlain did not immediately reply and the Marquis looked at him enquiringly before finally he said slowly,

  “I am afraid, Denzil, that I have something to tell you.”

  The Marquis raised his eyebrows.

  “To tell me?” he questioned sharply.

  “I know that you are expecting to be appointed the Master of the Horse as your forebears were,” the Earl continued.

  “That is just why I am here,” the Marquis answered. “But are you telling me that Her Majesty wishes to appoint someone else?”

  There was a note in his voice as if he assumed that the Earl would immediately ‘poo-poo’ such a suggestion.

  Instead he said in a somewhat embarrassed manner,

  “It is not quite as bad as that.”

  “Then what can it be?” the Marquis asked. “Surely Her Majesty is aware that, while it was wrong of my father to refuse the office when it was offered to him, I think it is something he later much regretted.”

  He sighed before he carried on,

  “He was, as you will know, not well at the time, having injured his back in a fall out hunting. He felt the responsibility would be too much for him. So it passed to his brother who was not what you would call an outstanding horseman.”

  “I am aware of that,” the Lord Chamberlain replied, “and Her Majesty appreciates that you have every right to feel that the position should be yours. She will in fact confirm the appointment to you. But on one condition.”

  “Condition?” the Marquis exclaimed. “So what can you possibly mean by that?”

  Again the Lord Chamberlain paused.

  He was very fond of the Marquis, whom he had known since he was a small boy and, because he was a kindly man, he was finding this a particularly unpleasant interview.

  There was again a silence before the Lord Chamberlain said,

  “Her Majesty is willing to appoint you as Master of the Horse, but she considers it most important that you should first be married or at least engaged.”

  As he finished, the Marquis stared at the Lord Chamberlain as if he felt that what he had heard could not be in any way true.

  “Married?” he queried at last. “Why the devil should I be married just to please the Queen?”

  Even as he spoke, however, he knew the answer only too well.

  What had happened nearly two years ago at Windsor Castle he had hoped by now had been forgotten.

  He had been invited to stay for a formal ball that was being given for an important visiting Royalty.

  He had not been particularly excited by the invitation, knowing that the protocol at Windsor could be extremely tiresome. He would much rather be with his many friends in London or at his house in the country.

  However, it was an invitation that he could not possibly refuse.

  He had accordingly arrived with his valet, his groom and a team dr
awing his carriage.

  He knew with certanty that his horses would be superior to any that would be quartered in the Royal stables.

  The Queen, who liked handsome men around her, had received him more genially than she had a number of her other guests.

  There was the usual audience at which nobody was allowed to sit.

  It was followed by a long-drawn-out dinner where everyone spoke in lowered voices.

  After that came the ball, which was a comparatively small one and the guests danced to what the Marquis considered was an inferior orchestra.

  He was bored, exceedingly bored.

  Then he discovered that one of the Queen’s Ladies-in-Waiting, who was new, was rather attractive.

  Lady Mentmore was the second wife of one of the Gentlemen-at-Arms and he had married her because he needed an heir.

  In consequence he had chosen someone young, healthy and very pretty.

  The Marquis danced with her twice more than the Queen would have considered conventional.

  He had then suggested that he should say ‘goodnight’ to her later.

  Lady Mentmore shook her head.

  “It is too dangerous,” she murmured.

  “‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained’ is my motto,” the Marquis replied.

  She laughed at him provocatively and he thought again that she was very pretty and very desirable.

  “Tell me where you are sleeping,” he persisted.

  “You could never find it,” she answered. “We are tucked away and, as the place is like a rabbit warren, you would get lost and, if you are not careful, might end up in Her Majesty’s bedroom!”

  They both chuckled at the very idea.

  Finally the Marquis persuaded Lady Mentmore to meet him on a landing that was situated somewhere between their two rooms.

  He would then take her to his.

  “You are quite right,” he said to her, “the place is a rabbit warren and so we must take no chances of getting lost.”

  She was listening to him wide-eyed and he went on,

  “I have been told the story a hundred times about the Ambassador who found it impossible to find his own room and slept on a sofa only to be accused by a nosey chambermaid the next day of having been too drunk to find his way to bed!”

  Lady Mentmore had indeed heard the story before but she giggled attractively and the Marquis had felt that he would definitely enjoy kissing her rosebud lips.