The Duke of Revington sits majestically on his black horse. He's a beauty, no doubt about it, and is almost as intimidating as his owner. They look like a perfect couple.
He observes me with a hint of concern mixed with substantial disapproval as I try to climb onto the horse they have very kindly assigned to me: it's a pretty little mare called Moon, and I'm hoping she's going to be a bit more hospitable to humans than the satellite whose name she shares. She does have a very sweet-looking face, but who knows.
Getting on is more complicated than expected: the last time I rode a horse I was about ten years old. Hopefully it'll be like riding a bicycle: once you have learned, you never forget. Provided that I can actually claim to have learned.
“Come on, Miss Percy, we are all waiting for you,” the Duke tells me threateningly, just to make me feel even more conspicuous. Everyone is indeed looking at me, I notice, with a hint of anger, and I curse Ian for the thousandth time. If he hasn't already died of alcohol poisoning in the meantime, I'll kill him myself when I get back from this absurd expedition.
On the fifth attempt I manage to get into the saddle and glare back at the Duke, who is clearly displeased that I've succeeded in the undertaking.
“I see that you are a seasoned horsewoman,” he teases, provoking general laughter.
Hold your horses, yourself – we'll see who's laughing at the end of all this.
“Yes, it's not one of my favourite hobbies,” I confirm, taking a firm hold on the reins. Moon seems to understand that she's dealing with a beginner and behaves herself. Thank god for solidarity between women
“Stay close to me,” says Ian's grandfather. “Since that idler isn't here to do it, I'll take care of you myself.”
“And there I was thinking I was responsible for myself,” I say seriously. “Thinking we were in the twenty-first century, only to find out that we're still in the eighteenth.”
My phrase is accompanied by such a sincere smile that anyone would buy it. Anyone except Ian's grandfather. I doubt anybody has ever dared be sarcastic in his presence. Too bad.
“I continue to be amazed at my grandson’s choice,” he admits, as we move off. The two of us are at the head of the party, the others following at distance. “You're not Ian's type.”
“Which is?” I ask, wanting to get to the bottom of his statement.
“My grandson usually surrounds himself with people who worship and never question him.”
How right he is, I think to myself—
“While you seem incapable of veneration,” adds the Duke, watching me to see the effect of his words.
“In my family, we only worship Gandhi,” I answer, not at all put out.
The Duke laughs loudly. “You don't seem the non-violent type,” he says.
“Yes, well, that's my personal shortcoming. My family have really done their best, but I'm pretty red-blooded. And, as you can imagine, for a family of vegetarians… that is something of a problem.”
I've opted for being cordial – let's hope it's a winning strategy.
“You are a vegetarian? Really?” he asks me, as though I came from Mars.
“Absolutely,” I confirm, without losing my composure.
“And you're taking part in a hunt?” he asks next.
“I hope you appreciate the gesture. What people wouldn't do for your company.”
“Ah, a vegetarian with the gift of irony! And I foolishly thought that a diet consisting only of broccoli made that an impossibility,” he says with amusement.
“In any case, I'm a vegetarian, not a vegan – I didn't give up everything,” I explain.
“Interesting as your eating habits may be, I would like to move on to a much more interesting topic, if you have no objection.” His tone becomes serious, and I start to feel slightly worried.
“Please do.”
“Why Ian?” he asks, looking at me intently. “I mean, he's a handsome man, a blue blood and everything, but I suspect that those are not really things which matter much to you.”
Who would have thought it, the man is capable of insight. His sentence almost puts me at ease. Finally, someone has got it.
“I don't think Ian has grasped that himself,” I say, shaking my head.
“Too focused upon himself,” reveals the Duke.
“Does it run in the family?” I venture saying.
The old man bursts out laughing again. “I'll end up changing my mind about you before the end of the day. Who would have thought it. Few people surprise me, Miss Percy.”
“Please, don't. I have a reputation to uphold,” I plead.
“Anyway, you don't want to marry him?” he asks, suddenly in earnest.
I don't really know how we got to such a question.
“Ian, married? Are we talking about the same person?” I ask him with wide eyes.
“Ian is unpredictable, believe me,” he warns me. “Such folly would be in his style.”
“I have absolutely no intention of marrying him,” I confirm. I don't know why he wants to be re-assured on this topic so much, but it makes no sense to lie to him.
“Please don't misunderstand me, you are a charming, vibrant young woman, but Ian remains a future duke and one day he will need a wife who is accustomed to a certain kind of life. I don't know if I make myself understood—”
It was clear that sooner or later we would get to the nub of the problem.
“Perfectly,” I confirm. He'd probably be amazed to know that I share his opinion.
“So you're not offended?” he asks in relief.
“Not at all,” I re-assure him.
“Well, then, you should think of a way to split up with my grandson,” he suggests.
“Why?” I ask him in amazement. Ian's grandfather frowns at me suddenly. It's obvious that he is accustomed to an obedience which brooks no discussion.
“Because he likes you a lot and it would be wise not to take things too far”.
Ian likes me? He must be crazy. I'm about to tell him so myself when I'm reminded of the photographs and the pretend romance – our agreement.
“Ian always grows tired of the women he goes out with,” I say, “and I am absolutely sure that very soon it will be my turn.”
The Duke gives me a worried look as we ride. “I would have thought you were a better observer, Miss Percy. But I imagine it is hard to be objective when it comes to oneself. Take my word for it, it would be better to nip it in the bud.” His tone is serious and imperious, and invites no reply.
“I'll think about it,” is all I answer. To be honest, I'm starting to get a bit fed up with this conversation.
My words seem to be enough for the time being, because he nods, and then begins to scan the horizon. Suddenly, he notices something.
“A pheasant,” he whispers enthusiastically, pointing at something ahead of us. His tone of voice is low in order not to scare away the prey. Oh no!
“Come on, Henry, hand me my rifle,” he snaps at a boy who appears behind us and carries out his order instantly.
Stealthily, we all approach the prey, and the Duke dismounts to take aim. I see his finger tense to pull the trigger and in a second have decided what I have to do. Before Ian's grandfather manages to fire, I force myself to sneeze with all my strength. The frightened pheasant flaps away without being hit and Moon, surprised by the unexpectedly loud noise, takes fright and rears up on her hind legs, hurling me from her back and throwing me ungracefully to the ground.
Everyone freezes in terror, not knowing whether to help me up or leave me where I am, given the gravity of what I've done. Before anyone moves, though, I decide to get up on my own.
The Duke looks at me askance once more. And after all the effort I've made to make him like me. All down the drain with one loud sneeze.
“Sorry,” I say in a pained voice, “this hay fever is killing me.”
And I smile, like the most innocent creature in the world.