“There is little I enjoy less than riding with my mama,” Charlotte confessed as they followed the two ladies into the bustling inn. The innkeeper, who very quickly sized up his guests, obtained a private parlor and immediately followed it with tea and scones.
“I think it best if Lady Lowood and I ride together,” Octavia said with unusual firmness as they all sat. “You have done excellently, Lady Charlotte, but I am more than happy to take over.”
Lady Lowood waved a languid hand. “Pray, take your place with the Duke,” she said faintly. “Lady Brighton shall do an excellent job of caring for me.”
Charlotte glanced at him from under her eyelashes, but he couldn’t read the expression in her eyes. “If you’re both certain,” she began.
“Absolutely,” Octavia said. “In fact, I insist.”
He half expected Charlotte to demur or make some form of protest at the fact they would be alone together, but she merely nodded. “Very well,” she said.
Once they finished their tea, they made their way back to their respective carriages, and he handed Charlotte into his carriage.
“Thank heavens,” she said, relaxing against the seat. “You would not believe how much my mother can complain in a short space of time.”
“I’m glad to hear that I am preferable in comparison.”
“I would rather ride with a pig,” she confided, sending him a wicked smile. “But considering I might have been tempted to rip out my hair if I’d been forced to enter the carriage with my mother again, you are indeed preferable.”
“I confess it’s so infrequent I’m presented with a lady that has no desire to spend time with me, I hardly know how to respond.”
Her smile widened. “That’s because you’re insufferably arrogant, Your Grace, but I hope to rectify that soon.”
If she had been anyone else, he might have been tempted to be offended, but there was something about her expression that defied offence. “Consider my ego sufficiently dented.”
“Then my work is complete.” His aunt Octavia had been correct: Charlotte had turned his mind almost entirely from Constance. He hardly knew how she did it, but sitting opposite each other as they were and with no one else to see them, he was unduly tempted to do something he ought not.
As though she saw from his expression he was contemplating reaching across and kissing her, she averted her gaze to the window. “Do you visit your estate often?” she asked.
“Frequently. It’s a beautiful part of the country, and the hunting is excellent.”
“Of course,” she murmured, “for the country can have no pleasures save that of hunting.”
“And, of course, you disapprove,” he returned.
“Oh no, Your Grace, I could hardly disapprove of anything you should choose to do.” There was a certain bitterness to her words he couldn’t identify, but she softened it with a repentant smile. “There is nothing to be ashamed of in having admirable hunting land,” she amended, “and as it helps you stay fashionable, why should you not take full advantage?”
“Would it make a difference to you if I told you I cared little for the sport?”
Those large, questioning eyes turned back to him once again. “It would depend on whether it was true.”
“I have never lied to you, Charlotte, and especially not about something as insignificant as hunting.”
“Then I suppose I can concede it makes a slight difference,” she said, but there was a certain hesitation in her words, as though she didn’t quite wish to accept there was anything about him she couldn’t despise.
“There are other things you can do on the estate,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows braced against his legs. “There are excellent walking trails if you are so inclined, and if you prefer riding, my stable is fully stocked.”
“I love riding,” she said impulsively before buttoning her lip. “That is to say—I used to love riding.”
“What happened?”
“Papa sold the horses.” Her voice was as flat as the look in her eyes, and she glanced up at him, daring him to mock her.
There were many things Aaron found to mock in life. The world was full of amusing and ridiculous things. The Earl of Lowood, for example, was a prime target; he embodied everything that was ludicrous about his station. The girl opposite him, however, composed and cool but with eyes brimming with defiance and bitterness and sorrow, could not be an object of mockery.
“You may have your pick of the horses in my stable,” he said, “and for the duration of your stay, that horse shall be yours to ride whenever you wish.”
Her gaze darted up to his in surprise. She tugged at the tips of her gloves, half pulling them off before sliding them back on again. “You are very kind, Your Grace,” she said after a moment.
