An hour later, Caro found herself seated in Lord Thetford’s phaeton.
It was rather remarkable, the series of calamities that had transpired to get her to this point. She could take a detached enough perspective to appreciate that. Things had actually gotten off to a promising start. Lord Thetford had attempted to speak with her, irritating man that he was. But Fanny, bless her, had declared that Caro “shouldn’t be standing full in the sun,” and had opened her parasol directly into the viscount’s face. She had then proceeded to stand in front of her mistress like the three-headed dog that guarded the gates of hell.
This had spared her from having to converse with him, but, as much as it pained her to admit that he was right, more than a half hour passed without a single hackney carriage p
