“Probably. That’s what’s traditional.”

“Struth,” he said. “You don’t even get a decent beer before exercise. What a country.”

The master of fox hounds, resplendent in his red jacket, came up to greet us. “Your Grace, such an honor,” he said, tipping his velvet cap to the dowager duchess.

“My guest Lady Georgiana, and my grandson, Viscount Farningham,” she said with a certain amount of pride in her voice.

“Delighted to have you join us,” he said. “Welcome aboard. Should be a good day for it. Drink up, everyone. Time to be off.”

The horn sounded, and we set off up the hill and out of the village. Soon we were crossing fields of stubble, passing sheep and cows. Jack trotted beside me with the easy grace of one used to a life in the saddle. I relaxed and started to enjoy myself. My mount moved smoothly and easily, reacting to my commands as if we’d been together all our lives. We had just crossed a little brook when there came the shout, “View halloo!” as a streak of bright copper fur broke from cover. The hounds were suddenly in full cry, and off we went. It was glorious—the countryside flashing past in a blur, the jingle of harness, thud of the hooves, a hedge coming up at us and the impression of flying as we soared over it. Jack was beside me, matching my horse stride for stride.

“There it goes,” someone shouted. “Crafty little devil. It’s crossing the stream. The hounds will lose the scent if we’re not careful.”

At that, Jack took off. One second he was beside me, the next his horse was in a flat-out gallop. It cut through the pack of hounds and splashed through the stream, sending up a sheet of water on either side, and vanished into the woodland beyond.

“What the devil does he think he’s doing?” the master bellowed.

I had no idea. It didn’t look as if his horse had bolted with him. We could only follow his trail across the stream and into the woods, where the hounds started baying again. We caught up with him in a clearing, his horse surrounded by excited hounds.

As we approached he held up something for us to see, making the hounds go wild with excitement. It was the fox, quite dead.

“Killed the little bugger for you with me bare hands,” he said. “Now we can all go home.”

Chapter 13

AFTER THE HUNT

We rode back in silence. Jack could sense he was in disgrace but couldn’t quite see why.

“We went to kill a fox. I killed the fox and saved you a lot of trouble,” he said. “I don’t see what the fuss was about.”

“It’s supposed to be done the traditional way, Jack. And they nearly always let it go in the end.”

“Let it go? Then what’s the purpose?”

“A day’s fun,” I said. “It all started to keep knights in training for battle during peacetime. It’s an English tradition, and it’s really tradition that keeps us going.”