Page 84 of Waiting for Love

She sighed. “They ask, I go.”

He nodded. He looked miserable.

Jasper stepped from the receiving room. “Ah, Olivia. Ebersom is here.” He stopped and looked from Olivia to Benjamin and then back again. “Did I interrupt something?”

Benjamin said “no” at the same time Olivia said, “Yes. I was about to ask Mr. Carroll when he would return to Chaumbers. I left my flowered fan there and I thought he could have it sent here by post.”

Jasper flicked his hand. “Buy a new one, Livvy. It is a fan.”

“But it is my favorite.”

He gave her an odd look. Then shook his head. “Benjamin, locate the fan.” He walked away.

Benjamin looked down at his feet. Then he nodded to Olivia. “Enjoy your ride.”

*

She almost did enjoy the ride. Ebersom drove a phaeton with a magnificent, matched pair of grays. To her surprise, he was a true whip, handling the ribbons with confidence and ease as he whizzed her through the park. The wind on her face brought out her smile. But not his.

He was not a bad-looking sort, but he might be better looking if he ever crinkled his eyes and showed his teeth. His nose was too small for his face, but she allowed that the imperfection gave it character. His shoulders were narrow, but he had good, strong hands.

His only true flaw was that he lacked conversation. Of course, she hadn’t given him much of a chance. He’d only paid one morning call and Lord Galway had been there, too, monopolizing her attention. Yet they had danced a few times, and he’d sat beside her at the Edgeworths’ dinner party. It was enough to notice that he never initiated talk beyond comments on the weather or bland compliments on her dress. His replies to her attempts were adequate, but it was exhausting thinking up things for him to reply to. Worse, he didn’t laugh at her jokes and when she’d teased him once, he looked confused.

But flying around the park with the wheels rattling, horses clopping, and wind whistling past her ears, conversation was out of the question anyway. She was disappointed when they returned to the main path. With all the other carriages and the people out strolling, Ebersom was obliged to slow down. He cleared his throat. Coughed. Reddened a little. And said nothing.

Olivia took a breath and dove in. “That was wonderful! Horses are my passion, and yours are splendid. What are their names?”

“Fred and Joe.”

Good Lord. She had no trouble smiling; the difficulty was refraining from bursting out with a laugh. No conversation and no imagination.

“It must be grand driving a pair. I’ve never—well, a wagon about Chaumbers, pulled by Pudge, but not—oh, wait, that isn’t true.”

His eyes squinted with puzzlement which somehow focused her eyes on his unfortunate nose. “Wh—What isn’t true?”

“I have driven more than a wagon. I must have been eight years old, and Viscount Haslet let me take the ribbons of his curricle.” Now she did laugh. “I crashed it, of course. I fear the front wheels were irreparably damaged.”

Ebersom looked aghast. “You might have been killed! What was he thinking!”

“I don’t imagine we were going very fast. He wasn’t upset that I ruined his carriage, but I tipped him out into the mud.” She giggled, remembering. Not Hazard’s words, but his demeanor. But that was too hard to convey, and Ebersom did not appear amused by her story, so she changed tack.

“Have you and my brother been friends long?”

“No. Well, s-since Oxford. But we were in d-different colleges. Different…circles.”

“I suppose you are in the same circle now.”

He lifted his brows, then frowned, as if the thought didn’t exactly please him.

She said, “I mean Tories. House of Lords. All that.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

The following quiet stretched between them while she scrambled for another topic that might have more legs. To her astonishment, he broke the silence.

“Along those l-lines…” He paused.

“Yes?” she said, hopefully.