Page 39 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

If this was how their marriage was to continue, he didn’t like it. He would not be manipulated by a pair of magnificent eyebrows, or be made to feel weak or uncertain. He should never have agreed to take her carriage hunting. As if he needed her help.

He needed no one’s help, particularly when it came to horses and carriages. The one thing his father had taught him was horseflesh and to drive to an inch. It was perhaps the only thing he and his father had in common. His mother had never liked driving or riding, much to his father’s disgust, but Graydon had taken to it like a duck to water.

It did not take long to drive to Great Queen Street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Graydon helped Florence step down out of the carriage outside the tall, arched iron gates of the carriage works of Messrs. Birch and Son. Of middling height, with his greying hair held back in a queue, Mr Birch stood waiting to greet them.

He bowed. ‘Good day, my lord, my lady. Welcome to Birch and Sons. The warehouse is this way.’

To the deafening sounds of iron striking iron and machinery whirring, along with the pungent smell of varnish, they passed through a yard where men called over and under carriages in various stages of completion.

In one corner, a group of four men heaved a carriage up as another two fitted it with a wheel.

Graydon stopped and stared. ‘What is that?’

Birch halted and looked at him. ‘My lord?’

Graydon pointed. ‘That axle. I have never seen anything like it.’

‘Ah. I am not surprised. That is the latest design, a moving axel. Mr Ackerman has the patent. We are trying it out.’ He shook his head. ‘Always something new.’

‘I would be interested to look at it in more detail.’ He glanced at Florence who looked blankly at the tilted vehicle. ‘Another day, if I may.’

‘You may indeed, my lord. And I would draw your attention to Mr Ackerman’s article in the Repository, should you wish to avail yourself of more detail.’

‘I shall. Thank you.’

When the warehouse door closed, silence wrapped around them. ‘Over here, my lord.’ Birch’s voice echoed in the cavernous space in which five carriage of assorted sizes and styles stood with empty shafts propped on stands.

The coach maker led them to the far side of the warehouse. ‘This is the only phaeton I have that is not spoken for that is suitable for a lady.’

Light-bodied, with moderate perches and painted an unrelieved black, it looked perfect.

‘What an interesting colour,’ Florence said.

‘What…?’ Mr Birch said, turning. ‘Oh. That one.’

Graydon turned to see his wife’s gaze fixed on a bright-turquoise curricle with delicate grey accents and squabs, with a look of longing in her eyes. ‘I am sure it must be terribly expensive.’

‘It looks unstable to me. Not at all the sort of thing for a lady.’ The last thing he wanted was for her to come to harm.

‘One of our designs,’ Birch said, looking a little peeved. ‘Not unstable at all, if I may say so, though it does require a modicum of skill.’

‘I certainly would not describe myself as skilled.’

Resignation filled her expression as she turned back to the one he had picked out. The need to keep her safe warred with his desire to see her happy. ‘I suppose I could teach you,’ he said.

Damnation, where had that come from? It had been the last thing on his mind. And if she had no talent for it… But the interest now enlivening her expression gave him pause. Did she really want to learn? Now he had offered, it would be difficult to withdraw. Damn it all. He walked round the curricle, noticing scratches on the wheels and the lower part of the body.

‘It is not new.’

Birch grimaced. ‘No. The previous owner changed her mind after one week. Apparently she had an argument with a gate.’

The wry note in his tone made Graydon want to laugh. He knew better than to ask the name of the lady. He bent to look at the axle and then rocked the carriage on its springs. ‘How bad is the damage? I do not want anything unsafe for my wife.’

‘Superficial damage only, I assure you. I will give you a very good price on it and throw in the cost of the repairs.’

Mr Birch looked eager. No doubt, even with the repairs included, the carriage she had picked would be twice the price of the one he had come to see. He frowned at the one he had suggested, seeing it through her eyes, old-fashioned and dull.

He inspected the curricle further. Up to the minute, and elegant, dashing. If it were him choosing for himself… What the devil, he would do it.