Page 75 of The Gentlewoman Companion

“Oh, I see,” Louisa said, gripping firmly. “Your promise means nothing.”

“Not when that gleam in your eye tells me you are disposed to jump a fence.”

The carriage rolled round bends with all the ease Mr. Morden promised, which left Louisa with little to do in controlling the horses. She shifted continuously, adjusted the lines this way and that in an effort to soothe her prickling desires to move and act.

“Hold still. You are upsetting the animals.” Halverton put his hands over hers, a circumstance she was conscious would have sent a thrill up her arms if she had not felt so tied up inside.

To appease him, she stilled her bouncing knee and elbowed him to remove his hands. He slid them up the reins, now more in control than she.

“Louisa, you are tapping your feet.”

“I will not be at peace until I am driving.” She needed to control something. Miss Cron’s banishment was settling into her like a gale. With Charles threatening to visit, the secret that would banish Louisa seemed only a breath away. And the man beside her—she would lose him, even as her estimation of him increased. There. She’d admitted it. She held him as a dear friend, one of the only true friends she had ever known.

But even that was a lie.

Her affection for him was as profound as it was elevated, founded on an admiration for his goodness, his sincerity, his integrity. Here was a man she could trust. She could not endure the shame if he discovered what she’d done. The confession of her true feelings constricted her lungs and stung her eyes.

Oh, dear. Not at this moment, not when even a hint of tears would draw his attention. Not when her hands craved the leather, when her tumultuous insides required action. Her fingers and toes tingled, and her insides vibrated. She took the reins just below his hands. His arms fell to his lap, then hovered over hers again.

“Trust me.” She forced a laugh at her use of the word trust. She was not trustworthy, not the gentlewoman he supposed.

“What has you so on edge?”

“You.” Well, that much was true. “You must relinquish the horses according to our agreement. I’ve been well-instructed.”

He dropped his hands, the heat of his eyes on her as she guided the phaeton around two carriages at an acceptable speed for the park.

“See?” she asked. “I am quite calm now.”

“As calm as a beehive.”

She led the horses around a fountain and maneuvered the carriage beside the landau. Miss Trelawney seemed quite content beside Mr. Morden.

“Shall we race?” Louisa asked Mr. Morden, realizing as she spoke that such a proposition had been her intention all along.

Beside her, Lord Halverton sucked in a breath. “One does not race in Hyde Park.”

“A sour chap, isn’t he?” Mr. Morden said. Miss Trelawney giggled.

“I do not mean we scandalize anyone,” Louisa said. “It is a test of management. Which of us will maneuver to the opposite end of the park first.”

“And you with my sprite little phaeton? Not a fair contest.”

“Are you afraid of being beaten by a lady?” Lord Halverton asked.

His defense was unexpected but warming. What did he mean by it? Endorsing Louisa’s skill or his own in teaching her? Either way, it suited Louisa’s purpose.

“I’ve never seen anyone as natural with the leads as Miss Thorpe. I think she would beat you handily,” Halverton said, “but we cannot test it. I am enough acquainted with you both to know the impossibility that the two of you would not drive each other’s speed up and up.”

Pleased at his confidence in her, Louisa wanted to race even more. “Eyebrows,” she said.

Mr. Morden lifted his brow at her.

“Precisely. If anyone looks at us with a like expression, we will know to slow down.”

“Ladies do not participate in competition, Miss Thorpe.” Miss Trelawney brushed a fold from her skirt and threw her a sidelong look. “This bit of fun will not help your reputation.”

“Thank you for your concern.” Something sour mixed with the excitement that brewed in Louisa’s stomach. Miss Trelawney could be a yawn, even when she was correct. The hurt that had accompanied Miss Trelawney’s whispering about Louisa resurfaced. Kindness for injury was not forgiveness. She shoved the thought into the cluster that cultivated inside her. “What shall our rules be?”