An Uncommon Courtship

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  “I must have read it somewhere,” she mumbled.

  His eyebrows rose as he settled back in the curricle seat, angling himself into the corner and holding the reins in one hand. “So I would assume. My only question is why?”

  Adelaide sighed and let her eyelids fall closed over her burning cheeks. “My father despaired of the number of novels I was reading. He admonished me to choose something from the library that would feed my intellect instead of rotting it away.” She swallowed before continuing. What if he thought less of her for trying to outwit her own father? “It took me two days of looking through every title in the library before I found something that would suit my purposes. I read Observations on Digestion and proceeded to share everything I learned with him. He looked at his food strangely for a month. I’m still not sure why he owned a copy.”

  Laughter escaped Trent’s chest again, though this time it was more like a low chuckle. “I assume you’ve been able to read whatever you wish since?”

  “Yes. Though I found myself picking up many of the other educational books I’d come across during my search. Some of the information out there is fascinating.”

  “What else did you learn?”

  She watched him for a moment, searching his words and face for any sense of condescension or derision. There was none. He looked at ease, comfortable, even interested in what she had to say. She liked him this way. It made her want to join him, to be as comfortable as he was with this courtship idea. Her shoulder brushed against his as she made herself stop clinging to the edge of the curricle. “The French are measuring things in meters now.”

  “We’ll have to get you some more current books to study.” Trent guided the curricle around a horse and rider that had stopped against the fence. “They stopped doing that two years ago.”

  Adelaide couldn’t stop her own lips from curving into an answering smile. The moment was intimate. They were a we, sharing and planning for the future as if they were forging ahead together. Yet when this ride was over he’d be leaving her behind, alone in the house with the servants. Who knew what they thought of this entire situation?

  Well, she probably would know by the time she went to bed tonight. Mrs. Harris wasn’t exactly known for keeping her opinions to herself.

  A couple drove by on the other side of Rotten Row, not even hiding their curiosity as they stared into Trent’s curricle. She hadn’t thought much about the implications of Trent’s claim that he’d never courted a woman before. Had he never even taken one for a drive? The curiosity aimed in their direction indicated that this was a very unexpected sighting. A sudden thought stole the glimmer of pleasure that had been blooming inside her middle during their brief conversation. What if there had been another young lady—one he’d taken riding on a regular basis—and that was why people were staring. Despite his claims otherwise, had she stolen him away from the love of his life? It would certainly explain his distance over the past week.

  “Have you been into our library yet? I don’t think we’ve any books detailing the functions of the human body, but there is a volume somewhere with a chapter on the molting patterns of tropical birds.”

  She didn’t miss his use of our. That flicker of hope ignited once more, that awkward sense of unity that didn’t sit well with their current situation. While part of her still worried about who she might have taken him from, she liked the idea of them being a unit. Being able to use our.

  “I did peruse the library a few days ago. You—we—have several books I hadn’t heard of before. I took both volumes of Don Quixote up to my room. It’s an incredibly long book.”

  A look of pain flashed across Trent’s face. It was so sudden she looked to see if he’d pinched his hand in the reins or somehow bumped his leg against the edge of the wheel, though he’d have had to dangle his leg over the side to accomplish that. “You’ve probably finished it by now,” he said in a low voice. “Did you like it? I’ve never managed to get through it myself. It was one of Father’s favorites so I borrowed the volumes from the Hawthorne House library and forgot to return them.”

  How nice it must be to be so comfortable with not caring for something a parent was fond of. The fact that he was at odds with his father’s opinion gave her more courage to share her own. “I’m not sure what to think of it. Some parts of it are entertaining, but at times it seems to belittle the man. I would not want to be written about in such a way.”

  He tilted his head, as if she’d made a point he had not thought of before but that merited consideration. “Our library isn’t that large, but the one at Hawthorne House is quite extensive. You can borrow anything you’d like from there. Griffith keeps his particular favorites on a set of shelves in his study, so you don’t have to worry about borrowing something he’ll need or want later. Of course, if there’s something in his private collection that you wish to read, I can make arrangements for that as well.”

  Adelaide blinked and stared straight ahead at the horses’ heads swaying slightly back and forth. She was going to be able to casually borrow books from the Duke of Riverton whenever she wished, had access to his house, even. Her mother was going to be incredibly jealous. “I would like that.”

  They fell into silence once more, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was actually pleasant to ride alongside him and watch the scenery go by. She looked around and realized this was her first time in Hyde Park and she’d spent every moment thus far looking at the curricle or the backside of a horse. She was missing all of the beauty around her. “This is lovely.”

  A masculine arm crossed in front of her vision, distracting her from the scenery. “Over there is the Serpentine. We’ll have to come here on foot one day so you can get a better look at it. It isn’t a bad walk from the house if the weather is nice.”

  “Do people swim in it?” The only body of water she’d seen like that was the lake in Hertfordshire, where her father had taught her brother to swim. After much cajoling from her, he’d taught Adelaide as well, though only after she’d sworn to never tell her mother he’d let her out of the house in her brother’s clothes.

  Trent smiled again. She could easily get addicted to those smiles. “Not intentionally. More than one person has taken an accidental swim or been dropped in by their friends after a night of overzealous drinking.”

  They continued down the path with Trent pointing out different features of Hyde Park or occasionally another member of the ton making their way down the fashionable riding path. Adelaide couldn’t remember a more pleasant outing. Not once did she find herself wishing she could reach for the book she’d tucked into her reticule. The weight of it rested in her lap, all but ignored as she found herself responding more and more freely to Trent’s comments.

  As they approached the exit to the park, she couldn’t help but hope that the rosy glow of the curricle ride would follow them home. For surely he meant to return home now that they were speaking pleasantly again. It didn’t fit with the plan he’d outlined this morning, but if they were getting along, was there any reason to stay at Hawthorne House? Unless he meant to quietly make the move permanent. What if this ride was only for show? To make everyone think they had a happy marriage when he still wanted nothing to do with her? The Hawthorne family marriages were rather notorious for being happy ones. Was he afraid to break the pattern?

  The traffic on the path thickened, and the horses had to slow to a plodding walk. Trent reached one hand across the bench to wrap his gloved fingers around her own. The touch was brief, and then he squeezed her hand and returned his grip to the reins.

  No one could have seen that. It wasn’t meant for anyone but her. She straightened her shoulders and didn’t bother to hide the smile on her face. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise her if she was still smiling when she went to bed that evening. The attentions of a man such as Trent were heady indeed.

  Her smile suffered a blow much sooner than she anticipated however, for another carriage passed them as they crept toward the exit. Insi
de it was her mother.

  Chapter 13

  And this was the fly in the ointment of his potentially, hopefully, one-day-to-be-happy marriage. That he would have to spend the rest of his life knowing that the most socially aggressive and annoying woman he knew could show up in his life at any time.

  He was too much of a gentleman to allow his aggravation to show as he smiled politely and nodded his head in Lady Crampton’s direction.

  She wasn’t satisfied with a simple acknowledgment, though. “What unexpected fortune to see my daughter and new son! Such a shame we’re traveling in opposite ways. We must catch up at the Ferrington ball tonight. I am quite looking forward to it!”

  Her voice carried across the park until there wasn’t a soul in sight that didn’t know of the countess’s plans.

  It was enough to make Trent want to schedule a very prominent appearance somewhere else. Anywhere else. Even if it meant making a scene at Vauxhall Gardens to make sure everyone knew they’d gone somewhere other than where Lady Crampton expected them to.

  Unfortunately it wasn’t up to him. The mere sight of her mother seemed to crumble all of the confidence and camaraderie he’d been building with Adelaide for the past hour. Her shoulders fell into a slight slump as she nodded her head slowly. “Of course, Mother. I’m looking forward to the ball as well.”

  Adelaide’s voice didn’t carry nearly as far, but it wouldn’t matter if no one else had heard her but him. They were now committed to the ball. Trent didn’t even know if they’d received an invitation, though it was highly likely that they had. There weren’t many events that Trent didn’t receive an invitation to, and the one time he’d gone somewhere without one he hadn’t been turned away. Of course, he wasn’t an eligible bachelor anymore.

  The ride back to the house was even more painful than the ride to the park had been. He had half a mind to turn around and go through the park again to try to reclaim the feeling of fragile connection. Neither of them needed or wanted the speculation a thing like that would cause, though. Trent was all too aware of the unconventionality of his plan and that it was probably in his best interest to let everyone else think the marriage was progressing normally.

  Assuming anyone else had a clue what normal entailed. If they did, he’d like to know about it.

  Still, they were probably better off if no one knew he was currently living in Hawthorne House. He bit back a groan as the wheels clacked over the cobblestone street. This was getting much more complicated than he had anticipated.

  The house came into view, inspiring relief and dread. The ride was certainly uncomfortable and he’d be glad to get back to familiar ground, but he hated that their first outing was ending on such a note. He wove desperately through his memory as he helped Adelaide from the carriage, trying to think of some interesting fact he could share since minutiae seemed to be the most common ground they could meet on. As Adelaide steadied her footing on the pavement, he noticed the sleeve of her spencer jacket was tucked into her short glove. How had she managed such a thing while sitting in the curricle?

  He found it adorable. With a gentle touch he slid one finger between the glove and the sleeve, moving it in a circle around her wrist to dislodge the garment. He didn’t let go of her hand, even when the sleeve hung free once more. It was like a game he got to play every time he saw her, looking for the hidden flaw in her appearance. It was never the same thing twice. It filled him with a sudden urge to pull her close and kiss her.

  The urge stunned him even as it shot an arrow of heat down his spine.

  He wanted to kiss his wife.

  It wasn’t a bizarre concept, of course. Men did it every day. But he hadn’t done it every day. Hadn’t done it all. He hadn’t even wanted to, which was part of the problem in the first place. But he wanted to kiss the woman who had ridden through Hyde Park with him, not the shy creature asking his boots if he planned on attending the ball with her that evening.

  As if he would leave his wife to attend her first social gathering in London alone. It would be like feeding a lamb to the wolves. “Of course I shall escort you.” They should probably dine together. But the thought of sitting in their dining room, just the two of them, while Mrs. Harris frowned in the doorway wasn’t the least bit appealing. “Would you like to go to dinner beforehand? There are some lovely restaurants in London.”

  “Of course.” She swallowed visibly and blinked up at him. “Wherever you wish to go. I’ve seen so little of London that I’ll not be particular.”

  And just that quickly Trent felt like a brute once more. How long had his wife been in London and she’d seen little more than the Great North Road and Rotten Row.

  There was a lot to love about social gatherings, but Trent had never quite caught on to the appeal of balls. No one really got to know anyone there, and the constant dancing was rather exhausting. Of course he wasn’t a bachelor anymore. He didn’t have to feel duty bound to take to the dance floor every time he saw a young lady look longingly at the swirling couples. He would, however, get to swirl his wife onto the dance floor. Anticipating that moment as he’d helped her down from the curricle when they returned from their afternoon ride, he couldn’t help but pray that she knew how to waltz.

  He would really like to waltz with his wife.

  For the first time in years he also wouldn’t have an unmarried female to look after. He’d married off both sisters last year, leaving him free to enjoy Society without any chaperone duties.

  If it weren’t for the promise of Lady Crampton’s presence he might actually get excited about the coming evening, despite the crushing crowd and pandering that always accompanied the bad punch and subtle maneuvering for partners.

  Griffith was attending the same ball, so Trent rode with his brother over to the town home to pick up Adelaide.

  It was a bit strange to stand in the front hall beside his brother like visitors. Fortunately, Griffith was taking it all in stride, acting like any other gentleman arriving to pick up a lady for an event, though where he’d gotten the practice Trent couldn’t begin to guess. While Trent had been careful to never connect himself too closely to any one female, Griffith had perfected the art of keeping all of Society at a distance.

  The town house was too narrow for a grand stairway, and instead had a straight staircase cutting down through an opening in the ceiling. Trent watched the break in the ceiling above him, waiting for his wife, praying that this night would go well. Everything that could go wrong went through his head. His mother and sisters weren’t in town yet, so he had no guarantee that any of the other women in attendance tonight would welcome Adelaide. He wouldn’t put it past her own mother to give her the cut direct if the woman thought it would boost her popularity.

  All the worries and concerns fled his mind at the first appearance of deep blue velvet. Slowly the rest of the dress appeared, a silky white gown with a blue velvet overdress that fit Adelaide perfectly. One more slow, steady step and she was fully revealed. Her dark hair pulled into an intricate arrangement of curls with the short strands still falling over her forehead to skim the top of her eyebrows. Her spectacles didn’t detract from the image at all, instead seeming to magnify the blue of her eyes, highlighted even more by the blue velvet hugging her shoulders.

  Perhaps Trent should have waited in the drawing room instead. At least then he’d have somewhere to sit if his legs followed through on their threat to give way underneath him.

  She hadn’t had time to mess up her outfit yet, so she looked flawless. The belt of the vest-style velvet ensured that the gown would be flattering from every angle. Trent had a feeling he’d be seeing each of those angles, because there was no way he was taking his eyes off of her for the entirety of the evening. One gloved hand reached up to sweep the short hairs to the side, though a lock or two immediately fell back into place. Trent liked it, liked the softness it brought that the most perfectly formed curls could not. Perhaps he could pay Rebecca to burn them again after they grew out a bit mor
e.

  Gold embroidery danced along the open edges of the blue velvet, and a large gold medallion kept the exposed white bodice from being plain against the decorative vest. A scalloped lace trimmed the neckline of the bodice, keeping the low cut from being immodest.

  “I do believe worse things have happened to you than having that woman as your wife,” Griffith whispered.

  Trent couldn’t answer. His mouth had gone dry. For the first time since his forced betrothal, Trent thought he just might have gotten very lucky in this arrangement. If they could manage to make every moment half as magical as this one, they’d have a marriage to be envious of. Griffith’s large hand planted against Trent’s back and gave him a light push, knocking Trent out of his trance so that he could cross the floor and offer Adelaide his arm.

  “You are beautiful.” His gaze became snared in hers as he offered the compliment in an almost reverent fashion. Her eyes seemed to widen until they were all he could see, glistening pools of fear and excitement surrounded by the black frames of her spectacles. How had he forgotten that this wasn’t just her first ball of the Season? It was her first ball ever.

  Horrid mother or no, he was going to make sure this night was the best she’d ever had.

  Trent didn’t realize that they’d been standing in the hall simply staring at each other until Griffith cleared his throat. “I can send the carriage back for you if you aren’t ready to depart yet.”

  “We’re ready.” He reached up to brush a stray hair from her cheek, grinning at the light blush that stained her cheeks in response. “Aren’t we?”

  She nodded and reached for the wrap and reticule waiting by the front door. The reticule was enormous. He knew Georgina always carried a slightly larger than average reticule in order to have spare slippers and a small sewing repair kit with her at all times, but even hers wasn’t as large as Adelaide’s. Nor was it as heavy, if the way it pulled down Adelaide’s wrist was any indication.