By eleven on Monday morning, Rupert had established beyond any doubt that Quinn wasn't destined for the show ring in any class he could think of. The horse could certainly jump, clearing every fence with plenty of daylight beneath him, but he couldn't turn quickly or sharply enough to beat the times that others were bound to set. That obviously ruled out any chances of competing in the mounted games too. Disappointed, though not entirely surprised, Rupert took Quinn for a short hack along the river bank before setting himself up for the afternoon with an early lunch at the Old Rectory.
He ate quickly; Papa had left for his garages at the Lodge at the same time Rupert had left for the stables that morning, and there was no point delaying by himself when he could be tracking down more of his family history. He'd be by himself at the Lodge, of course; Grandmama had said she'd be at Bakewell Market all afternoon and Papa was unlikely to have finished servicing the cars he wanted to take to the shows until at least dinnertime.
Papa had indicated that Rupert could help him by polishing the cars before each show, if he wanted, and that there was bound to be something suitable for him to wear in the attics, if he also wanted to ride in the cars at the shows themselves. That at least gave Rupert another excuse to explore the more obscure corners of the Lodge, even if he wasn't entirely sold on the idea of dressing up in the old clothes of his ancestors.
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