Page 10 of The Cornish Bride

Ysella’s luck was in, though. She and Martha hadn’t walked far along the main thoroughfare of the park, past other ladies promenading with either their snooty maids or on a gentleman’s arm, when Oliver approached from a side path.

“Is that him?” Martha asked, nodding in his direction.

Ysella, who’d been searching in quite the opposite direction, swung her head around in time to see him nod to a gentleman he knew and take a sort of hop and skip over the edge of the path. Her heart did a leap that was becoming all too familiar at the sight of his handsome face. Today, he was no longer sporting his regimentals, but an immaculately cut tailcoat and breeches over shiny top boots. With the points of his collar almost up to his cheeks, and his artfully dressed hair, he looked quite the man about town. Like a picture out of one of Ysella’s fashion papers. Like a hero out of one her novels.

“Ysella!” He kept his voice down low, but Martha couldn’t have avoided hearing the familiarity with which he spoke.

“Oliver! I didn’t know how we were to find each other in such a crowd of people taking the air.” Ysella slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and sent a quick frown at Martha, intended to banish her to a good ten steps back. Martha took up sentry duty only three steps back, her face set like a pugnacious guard dog.

Unable to reprimand her maid without appearing too obvious, Ysella turned back to Oliver and gazed up into his face, drinking it in. She’d just have to ignore Martha and deal with her later. In private.

He smiled down at her. “I scarcely dared hope you would come.”

“I nearly didn’t. I thought Mama would insist on accompanying me, but then she had a letter from my brother.” No need to tell him the details, but he would need to know she was going to have to leave London. A nugget of resentment surfaced in Ysella’s heart that Morvoren should need Mama right now. She loved Morvoren deeply, and was worried about her health of course, but why couldn’t she have waited a few more weeks before producing the son and heir they’d all been waiting for?

Oliver patted her captive hand. “I have to say, I’m glad your mother isn’t with us.”

Ysella shot a brief frown back at Martha. “I’m afraid we do have Martha, though.”

Oliver chuckled. “My intentions are nothing but honorable, Ysella, so you need not regret having to be chaperoned by your maid.”

The idea of his intentions being dishonorable was not as disturbing as it ought to have been. Ysella’s smile widened. However, there was nowhere in the park where dishonorable intentions could have been carried out. At least, nowhere she knew of. It was a place to see and be seen, and to be remarked upon by others less fortunate than oneself. And Ysella was feeling very fortunate indeed to be on the arm of the most handsome man in London.

“I was wondering,” Oliver said as they strolled towards the lake in the center, “if you would care to accompany me to the Exeter ’Change tomorrow? As you showed some interest in seeing an elephant for yourself. Perhaps your mother might allow me to escort you there?” He, too, shot a glance at Martha. “We could take your maid for propriety’s sake. Of course.”

Ysella sighed. She would very much like to see a real elephant, although the attraction of this outing would be the company of her handsome captain. However, she had to impart her unhappy news to him some time, and now seemed like the opportune moment. “I’m afraid I shan’t be able to.”

The grip his arm had on her hand tightened a little and a frown creased his brow. “You won’t?”

Ysella shook her head. “Through no fault of my own. We had news today from Ormonde.” She paused, uncertain how to broach the subject of her sister-in-law’s condition to a gentleman. It was not a subject she was conversant with herself.

Oliver nodded. “You did?”

“Um, yes.” Ysella caught her bottom lip with her teeth searching desperately for a polite way of saying this. Inspiration dawned. “My brother’s wife, who is my dearest friend as well, has been taken ill. Mama is needed to care for her, and I must accompany her.”

Oliver’s small frown deepened. “Do you want to go?”

Ysella bit her bottom lip again, torn. Of course she wanted to help Morvoren if she could. Of course she wanted to see the new heir who was bound to be the sweetest baby ever. And of course she knew, just as Mama did, that danger could threaten in the days after a lying-in, for mother and baby alike. But a huge part of her ached at the thought of being parted from Oliver, even though she’d only known him a few short days.

“It’s not a question of do I want to go,” she said, at last. “I have to go, because Mama can’t leave me here unchaperoned. I must go with her.” She frowned, the guilt returning because the larger part of her wanted to stay here and keep going to balls and meeting up with Oliver. “But I do love Morvoren very much, so I’m worried about her.”

Oliver halted and half turned towards her, taking both her hands in his.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ysella spotted the mutinous expression on Martha’s face. Any minute now she was going to interpose herself between them.

“What am I to do without you?” Oliver asked, his gaze holding hers. “I won’t be able to sleep or eat if I can’t see you.”

Good heavens. This was more than ever like one of the romantic novels she liked to read. Wonderful. He was one of the manly heroes and she the damsel-in-distress heroine, waiting for him to sweep her off her feet. The idea of being swept off her feet was very appealing.

Ysella swallowed. That a man, a real man and not just a storybook man, might declare himself like this to her was beyond her wildest dreams. “And I shall be the same,” she managed to stutter.

Martha coughed loudly.

Oliver shot Martha a dark glance and repositioned Ysella’s hand tucked into his arm so they could continue walking. Probably he was annoyed that Martha considered herself such an arbiter of good behavior. But then, they were out in public and already a few heads had turned in their direction. Not wishing to be the subject of gossip and speculation, Ysella resolutely kept her gaze forwards, ignoring Martha’s presence.

Ahead of them, two officers in regimentals approached down the long walk, chattering together in an animated fashion. As they drew nearer, Ysella recognized Cousin Fitz and young Lieutenant Chatham from the Denby House ball.

Fitz hailed Oliver in a cheery fashion. “What, ho, Featherstone! Fancy meeting you here.” His penetrating gaze ran over Ysella and flicked for a moment to Martha and her heavy scowl. “Out with my coz, are you? Without her brother here I feel myself a little responsible for her. I hope your intentions are of the best?” He said this with such a mocking tone, Ysella couldn’t quite be sure if he meant it or not. One never could be quite sure of anything Fitz said.