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“Indeed, I do,” Sir John agreed, having just returned from his own carriage journey. He gladly swung himself astride his own mount. “But I cannot imagine that a drive with you would ever be unpleasant,” he said. “I did however, suspect that such a pastime would be far too passive an activity for someone of your exuberant nature. “Shall we?” He asked gesturing to the path.
Lady Charlotte nodded; her lovely face partially hidden by the brim of the jockey bonnet that protected her fair skin from the spring sunshine. The two guided their horses down the bridle path, which was dappled with sunlight, followed at a respectable distance by a groom
“That is very perceptive of you, and a kind way of stating the matter as well. My mother is often driven near to despair over my ‘exuberant nature’ as you put it. I know it is expected of ladies to be serene, but really, there are far too many wondrous things in life for me to be sedate and demureallof the time.” She transferred the reins to one hand and tapped her horse lightly with the crop to indicate that she wanted him to walk on.
“It would be an utterly unreasonable expectation,” Sir John laughed as they reached the end of the lane and proceeded onto the main road. He was surprised to find himself so charmed by Charlotte’s candor and enthusiasm.
They began their walk down the London street to Hyde Park. It was a beautiful day and others were out, but Sir John had eyes for no one but Lady Charlotte.
As they rode, Charlotte stole occasional glances at Sir John’s handsome, chiseled profile. She was glad that her mother had insisted she leave her old riding habit at their country estate and have a new one made up for their stay in London. She supposed the dowager knew her too well to think that she could go an entire London Season without a proper ride.
Charlotte was excited to have time to converse privately with Sir John, but she did not know precisely how to begin. Even so, she found herself wanting to be nearer to him than horseback allowed. “You must tell me all about yourself, Sir John,” she demanded with a smile. “It would hardly do to waste such an excellent opportunity for uninterrupted conversation.”
“I cannot disagree,” John hedged, feeling his customary anxiety rise to the forefront at being asked about himself. He instead turned the conversation back to Lady Charlotte. “I confess that I have been nearly wild to speak with you at a greater length than the interval between dances, and in greater depth than would be possible in a well-populated sitting room. So much of what I feel for you seems to be intuitive, but I am almost desperate to discover more about you.”
“That is exactly how I feel!” exclaimed Charlotte delightedly. “Of course, I have beentoldthat I could talk to anyone at all, about nearly any subject, for hours unending. Perhaps that is so, but I must say that I feel altogether different regarding this situation. There is so very little that we truly know about one another. So, you must tell me about yourself at once. I wish to know everything,” she declared.
Sir John laughed somewhat uncertainly. He was sure that Lady Charlotte did not want to know everything about him. Surely, she did not want to know about his dire financial situation, nor that he had placed a bet on their very relationship. He felt another spike of nervous unease. He shook his head, chasing away the feeling.
“I fear that there is so little to tell that I am tempted to make up some marvelous stories so I might not lose your attention. I can think of nothing that sets myself apart from any other gentleman of my situation.” That was at least partially true. Many gentlemen of theTonmarried for money. Nonetheless, John wondered if Lady Charlotte could hear the partial lie in his tone. The words did not come out as smoothly and naturally as he hoped, but she merely shook her head and chuckled.
“Oh, no, that will not do at all. I do not want made up stories any more than I believe that you are interchangeable from the other young gentlemen I might meet. You would not think that I am the same as any other lady of theTonsurely,” she said.
He did not, and yet that was exactly what he had told his friends. It was the basis of the bet, in fact. He again felt a stab of guilt.
Lady Charlotte tossed her glorious golden hair. “Tell me… Oh, tell me anything. Tell me your favorite pastime as a child.”
“That is easy enough,” John said, relieved at the question. “I loved to follow my father about, as much as he would let me; whenever he went hunting and shooting. I was very young. It always seemed such a grand adventure, and I thought him quite heroic.” His face became pensive and Charlotte listened to the silence for a long moment. “I suppose he was heroic… in the end,” Sir John said softly, remembering.
“You must be a man,” his father had told him seriously. “You take care of your mother.”
And John had. He had considered it a sacred duty. The command having taken on a special meaning in that it was the last words his father had spoken to him. He shook of the melancholy thoughts and forced a smile.
“He died a long time ago,” he said softly. “In the war.”
“Long ago, doesn’t change the pain of losing a loved one,” Charlotte said softly. “I lost my father too. I was also young. We didn’t have much time to spend with one another. I don’t remember much about him truly; only through Ruddy’s stories. It was Randolph who I followed around much to my mother’s dismay.” Charlotte laughed lightly, brightening the mood.
“I understand,” Sir John said. “It drove my mother mad with worry for me when I went off with my father. As you know, most parents have nurses and tutors care for their children. My mama would have preferred that, I think. Much more civilized.”
“That was never so in our house,” Charlotte said candidly. “I remember my father reading us stories while Mother held Alice. When she was but a babe.” He acted them out with great fervor, and I remember his singing. He had a great deep voice. I remember falling asleep to the sound of it.”
John laughed. “My father was not the singing sort,” he said. “But I suppose that as an only child, I was rather indulged by him. He was so proud to have a son. Besides, I was a persistent little lad and my father was generally pleased with my interest in sport and encouraged me in the endeavor. He purchased me a pony when I was only three. We rode the …lands,” he finished. He had nearly said vineyards, and he feared that would have elicited awkward questions about where in England his vineyards might be, but the conversation went on undaunted.
“I had my first pony at three too!” Charlotte cried. “Ruddy taught me to ride astride,” she confided, and then blushed with the words. She probably should not have admitted that she knew how to ride astride. It was not very ladylike. “Well. Until Mother found out,” Charlotte said, bringing a gloved hand to her lips as if to stop the words which were already spoken. “She was most scandalized,” Charlotte admitted.
John laughed and Charlotte relaxed. She was relieved that herfaux pahad not offended the gentleman. She had not meant to speak so freely, but she felt relaxed with Sir John as if she could tell him anything.
“I imagine she would be,” he said. “My mother was also more careful about convention than my father. I think it is a female concern,” he added.
“Do you?” Lady Charlotte asked reining her horse in slightly to look at him directly.
Sir John paused too, azure eyes surveying her. “Perhaps not,” he agreed and something in his playful gaze made Charlotte think that perhaps he would not be so judgmental of her riding astride, even now. Her face heated with the thought, and she tapped her horse with the crop eager to move again.
“I still love shooting,” John said. “I suppose when I engage in the sport, I feel close to my father. He bought me my first Brown Bess… I couldn’t hit a blasted thing with it.”
Charlotte laughed remembering the first time she shot a flintlock with Ruddy. She missed the target entirely.
“That may not have been your fault,” Charlotte added spontaneously. “They are notoriously … Well, Ruddy says…” She stopped. She had stepped in it again. She had to remember to think before she spoke. She could not tell Sir John she loved shooting too, but when she looked at him, she wondered if he had not already guessed. “They aren’t always as accurate as he would like,” she finished lamely.
