Page 72 of Managing the Major

“Thank you for accompanying us so early,” he said as the maid bobbed a curtsy. “Would either of you care for a cup of tea before we leave?”

“We had a bit in my room earlier, but thank you. Have you breakfasted yet?”

“God, no.” Just the idea of food made his stomach pitch. The half-smile on her face told him she knew exactly what he’d been through this morning. “I believe they plan to set the table at ten thirty. Shall we go for our walk?”

Alastair opened the door, holding it open for the ladies to pass. Outside, clouds partially obscured the sun; it seemed the type of day where things could turn to rain, or it might easily clear. There were a few people on the street in front of the hotel, mostly tradesmen moving with purpose and a servant or two. Marie kept a discreet distance as he walked with Octavia across the courtyard.

“I’m surprised you decided to take your maid. That’s a lovely outfit, by the way. Being a bachelor, I’ve always wondered—do women have a different hat for each outfit?” Today she wore a charming straw bonnet trimmed with forget-me-nots and yellow ribbons.

“If that were the case, I’d need an entire room for them all.” She smiled. “I order a few new ones each season. Madame Duchon is wonderfully clever. I suppose I could have just brought one with me, but I wanted to look my best.”

“That is important for the horses, yes,” Alastair said gravely.

“If only I had my fan, I would poke you for that remark. You know very well who I’m dressing for.”

“Ah, yes, Richard.”

“You are incorrigible! For your information, I asked Marie to come because of the other gentlemen in attendance; I feared placing you or Richard in an awkward position.”

“I’m extremely pleased it’s just the three of us. Last night, we barely had a chance to talk. The odds today favor Richard’s horse. Does he think he has the winner?”

“I believe so. He was pleased with how Firefox breezed yesterday, but Richard isn’t one to be overconfident. It should be a tight match.”

“There’s a sign ahead for the town center; do you see it?” Octavia nodded, and they headed in that direction, walking in companionable silence until reaching Epsom proper. A few streets ahead, a grassy square featured a stone well in the center, with a garden bordering the enclosed area. He led Octavia to a wooden bench near the gate, while Marie generously chose one on the other side. She took a small leather book from her reticule and opened it to read.

“I think it’s her Bible,” Octavia whispered. “Marie is very devout.”

Alastair watched an orange and black butterfly floating above the bed of tulips, very conscious of her nearness and the bright skirts brushing his trouser leg. She wore the delicious scent he recognized at once, something herbal and lemony. It was all he could do not to lean in and kiss her.

Every moment of that day inside the barn at Merrick burned in his memory, to the point that he was restless and aroused more often than not. In the days following their illicit encounter, no amount of bashing the bishop gave him relief, and Alastair resigned himself to an indefinite term of discomfort.

Octavia sat silently beside him, and Alastair wondered what she was thinking. His hand rested on the bench between them, partially obscured by the swell of her skirts. She slid her fingers tentatively in that direction, and he closed his hand around hers. She had removed her gloves as they sat, and just the sensation of her bare skin stirred his blood.

“Tell me more when you say your life in London doesn’t have the same attraction as before, Octavia,” he asked. “What do you envision as the perfect life?”

“I’m not sure. Everything to do with the Season seems rather frivolous this year. It’s wonderful seeing my friends, but there are so many people I spend time with that mean nothing to me, talking about unimportant things.”

“Although it’s amusing at times, six months of rubbing shoulders with the ton is excessive for me,” he told her. “I’ll be grateful to see Abigail settled.”

“Do you hate being away from Fairfax?”

“No, there are many things I like about London, and the greatest is spending time with you. I go to concerts and museums, attend social events, and enjoy most of it. But I’ve always been a person who prefers time with a few select friends, rather than a bevy of companions.”

She turned her head towards Marie, who was still reading. “My favorite things are the dinner parties with family and friends, or listening to Fiona perform. Almack’s is exciting at first, but everyone is watching me so closely, and that becomes tiresome. It’s hard to explain, but I feel most like myself when I’m with the horses, when I don’t have to be a Merrick and do what everyone expects. But that’s ungrateful, isn’t it? I have more freedom than many women I know, and my life is far from unhappy.”

She turned to meet his eyes, and he wanted to lose himself in the sea-colored depth of emotion there. “I used to be perfectly content with my life. Now, you’ve upturned everything.”

He interlaced his fingers with hers. “You aren’t performing for anyone, or adhering to the standards our society demands when you’re with horses. It’s sometimes necessary to conform, but that shouldn’t be your life. And do you know why you’re unsatisfied with everything, Octavia?”

“Why?” The word was barely a whisper.

“You know there is more now. As do I.”

She dropped her eyes. “You’re very wise, Alastair. I suppose that comes from being so much older.”

He was a bit taken aback. “How old do you suppose I am?” She peeped up at him from under her lashes, and he laughed. “You are a minx, Octavia Merrick. What is it your brother calls you—Scamp?”

“Oh, please don’t!” she protested. “That nickname is ancient, and I can’t imagine why he still uses it.”