by Brenda Hiatt
"Lady Pearl will be happy to lend you her parasol to shield your face. Will you not, my lady?" Without even waiting for her answer, Bellowsworth reached for the named item.
Pearl relinquished it readily enough, though now she was forced to squint into the sun as the carriage turned north upon entering the Park. Riding backwards was beginning to make her stomach lurch, as well.
Lady Bellowsworth continued to complain about one thing after another, keeping her son occupied with trying to alleviate each symptom and freeing Pearl to gaze around her at the fashionable crowds strolling, riding and driving along the paths. This drive could not last forever, she consoled herself, trying not to think of the years stretching ahead. Perhaps Lady Minerva would be here, or someone else she knew . . .
"Good afternoon, my lady," came a familiar voice from behind her. Turning, she saw Luke, atop a tall black gelding, looking particularly fine in a dark blue riding coat and buff breeches.
Her heart increased its pace as the events of last night— those she remembered, anyway —came rushing back. She could also feel the color rising to her cheeks. "Good afternoon, my lord," she responded formally.
Across from her, Lady Bellowsworth said something to her son, who shook his head. She then poked at him with Pearl's parasol, and he turned with a pinched frown. "Hardwyck, allow me to present my mother, Lady Bellowsworth. Mother, the new Earl of Hardwyck."
"Charmed, my lady," said Luke, bowing from the saddle.
Lady Bellowsworth squinted up at him. "I cannot see you properly without twisting my neck, Lord Hardwyck. Pray get down."
"I'm certain he has only stopped for a moment, Mother," Lord Bellowsworth protested, but Luke was already swinging down from his horse.
"My apologies for discommoding you, my lady," he said with a charming smile that Pearl was just as glad was not directed at her. "Is this better?"
"Much better. Thank you, dear boy. So you are the new Hardwyck, eh? I met your father once, you know. You're remarkably like him." Lady Bellowsworth was simpering just like every other lady who got within speaking distance of Luke, Pearl noted with amusement.
Luke lightly held his reins in one hand and leaned against the carriage, to Lord Bellowsworth's obvious irritation. "Several people have told me so, my lady. I regret I was never able to know him myself, though a painting at Hardwyck Hall bears out the resemblance."
"A good man, by all accounts," she said, then abruptly recalled her own numerous concerns. "There, Burford, look. My feet are starting to swell, just as they always do. I knew I should not attempt a drive today."
Bellowsworth at once busied himself with trying to alleviate his mother's distress, offering to loosen her shoes or to take her back home at once.
"No, I must elevate my feet, as I do at home. If Lady Pearl could be induced to vacate her seat, I could prop them there."
Lord Bellowsworth was clearly torn between concern for his mother and his duty to Pearl, so she made the choice for him. "Of course, my lady. I would be happy of a chance to walk a bit." Without waiting for any response from Bellowsworth, she stepped from the carriage, Luke moving forward quickly to assist her.
"Now, Burford."
Though it was clear he would have preferred to step down with Pearl, Bellowsworth had no choice but to assist his mother in propping up her feet—a surprisingly involved process.
"So we meet again," Luke murmured to Pearl while the others were thus engaged.
Another carriage was bearing down on them from the opposite direction, so she quickly stepped to the verge of the path, several feet away. Luke accompanied her, his horse in tow.
"He seems a well-mannered beast," she commented, preferring to stick to a safe topic, acutely aware of Luke's nearness and Lord Bellowsworth's darkling gaze.
"He is indeed, which is why I bought him. As you can imagine, I've had little chance during my chequered life to become a proficient rider. Still, he looks dashing enough, does he not?"
Examining the tall black gelding with the white star on his forehead gave Pearl an excuse to avert her flushed face. "He certainly does. Has he a name?"
"Star, I was told, but it seems supremely unimaginative. Perhaps you would care to give him a new one?"
Pearl looked up at him in surprise, then quickly lowered her eyes, disturbed by what she saw in his. "That would be . . . inappropriate, I think, under the circumstances." Just that brief glance had her senses humming.
"I considered calling upon you this morning —which I'm sure would also have been inappropriate." He kept his voice low, so there was no possibility of it being overheard by Bellowsworth.
She nodded. "Yes, I fear it—"
"That's not why I didn't come," he interrupted her. "I suspected you might not be feeling your best, so preferred to wait to see you again when you would be in full possession of your faculties."
Startled into looking at him again, Pearl exclaimed, "How could you know that?"
He grinned down at her. "Think you I don't know the symptoms —and aftereffects —of too much wine? Permit me to say, however, that you make a most charming drunk."
She felt herself blushing scarlet and glanced nervously over her shoulder at the carriage. Bellowsworth was still fussing with his mother, folding the carriage rug to place it just so beneath her feet.
"Then you know that I was not . . . not entirely responsible for . . ."
"Of course," he said gently. "Nor should I have taken advantage of your impaired state as I did. If I caused you to do anything you now regret, I apologize."
His eyes captured hers, and she read his sincerity there, along with a question —one she dared not answer. Still, she felt compelled to honesty. "I don't so much regret what I did as what I said. I never meant to burden you with . . . with—"
"With the truth?" He raised one eyebrow quizzically. "And why should you bear that burden alone, when the responsibility is as much mine as yours?"
Again she glanced back at the carriage, this time to find Bellowsworth glowering in their direction. She spoke quickly, unsure how much more time they might have for private speech. "No, the fault was mine —you only did what I asked. Therefore you have no responsibility in the matter."
"Do you really think I had no choice?" he asked sharply. "That because you are Lady Pearl, you had merely to command and I to obey, lowly street thief that I was?"
She blinked. "No! I merely—"
"Was I more than a tool to you, Pearl?" His voice was low and urgent now. "I must know. If you wish to have nothing further to do with me, if you really wish to spend the rest of your life competing with Bellowsworth's mother for his attention, let me know now."
She swallowed, knowing what her answer must be, but unable to utter the words. He would know them for the lie they were, however necessary that lie might be. He knew her, she realized, better than she knew herself.
"I . . ." she began, but her voice stuck in her throat. She tried again. "You were never a tool, Luke. You must know that. But you are now free to live your life as you choose. My future is not your responsibility."
"Unless I choose to make it my responsibility," he said with a slow smile that made her tingle right down to her toes.
For an instant, she felt herself swaying toward him, then abruptly caught herself, remembering where they were and who was watching. But the twinkle in Luke's eyes told her he had seen her moment of weakness.
He took her gloved hand in his own and raised it, unresisting, to his lips. "I have just begun a regimen of early morning riding in the south end of the Park," he told her. "It is excellent exercise, and a chance to improve my horsemanship. The morning air, I have found, promotes clarity of thought. You should try it."
Bellowsworth joined them then, and Luke released her hand, though not her eyes.
"Come, my lady, it grows late," Bellowsworth said, his voice rigid with disapproval. "Mother believes we can both now fit onto the seat while her feet are yet elevated. In any event, she wishes to return home. We
must go at once."
Pearl obediently placed her hand on his arm so that he could escort her back to the carriage. Before disengaging her gaze from Luke's, however, she said, in answer to the suggestion he had left hanging in the air, "Thank you, my lord. I believe I will."
Bellowsworth glanced down at her curiously, clearly thinking she had spoken to him, but Luke sent her a small, secret smile, showing he understood. Doffing his hat to her, he remounted his horse and trotted off without a backward glance as she allowed Bellowsworth to help her back into the carriage.
Despite Lady Bellowsworth's plaintive commentary upon her feet, her neck, her eyes, and sundry other body parts all the way back to Oakshire House, Pearl's spirits were sufficiently revived that she was able to smile and nod without the least effort. Lord Bellowsworth watched her approvingly now, but she cared no more for his approval than his mother's complaints. Her thoughts were focused on one thing alone.
Tomorrow morning, early, she would see Luke again.
CHAPTER 18
Luke arrived at the gates of Hyde Park before six o'clock the next morning, along with the milkmaids who grazed their tiny herds of cows there. Pearl was not likely to appear for hours, if at all, but he would take not the slightest risk of missing her if she was able to get away. He was certain he had not misinterpreted her response, but it was entirely possible she might have reconsidered. No matter. He was here.
Determined to put his time waiting to good use, he set Star into a canter along a deserted bridle path, then returned at a trot. The horse responded well, though he knew his own seat could be better. He wondered idly how good a rider Bellowsworth was— not that he believed for a moment that Pearl actually cared for the weak-chested fellow.
Turning again, he kicked the horse back into a canter, just as a covey of quail burst from cover in a small copse, right before the gelding's nose. He shied violently, and Luke was nearly unseated. Tightening his knees, he kept a firm hold on the reins and pulled the startled horse to a halt, then patted his neck as they both regained their equanimity.
"Well done!" came Pearl's voice from off to the side. Turning, he saw her trotting toward him from the north on a dainty bay mare. "Either you are making excellent progress, or you are not so inexperienced as you claim," she said, pulling level with him.
She looked divine this morning in a wine-colored riding habit with gold epaulets, her honey-colored hair in intricate loops beneath the matching tall hat. A groom on another bay paced a respectful distance behind her.
Following Luke's gaze, she shrugged slightly. "Hettie wouldn't let me come alone, but John is completely trustworthy —and discreet."
Luke hoped to put that discretion to the test— though perhaps not this first morning. "I'm delighted you could come at all," he said. "I rather feared you would think better of it."
"I did." Her expression was frank— but charming. "I nearly talked myself out of coming, but . . . I needed the exercise," she concluded with a toss of her head, clearly backing away from whatever else she'd been about to say.
Thoroughly bewitched, Luke drank in the sight of her. "Then let's get that exercise," he suggested. "Shall we canter?"
In answer, she flicked her reins and at once her mare sprang forward into an easy lope. He hung back for a moment, admiring her from the rear, before kicking his own mount into motion. At the first turning she brought her mare about, just as he caught up with her.
"Where to now?" she asked.
Glancing back, he saw that the groom had not followed, though he was still within sight at the head of the path. "A trot down and back, perhaps?" he suggested. "You may give me pointers on my form, if you would care to."
One side of her mouth quirked up, but she only nodded. "Very well. You begin and I will follow."
Luke set his horse into a trot, acutely aware of her eyes upon him. He'd never felt less skillful, cringing at every slight mistake he made. When he'd nearly reached the groom, he turned and trotted back, Pearl dutifully following. Back at the turning, he halted. "Well?"
"Your, ah, seat is well enough, though a bit stiff," she said, pinkening slightly. "And you need to lighten up on the reins. Otherwise, it's merely a matter of practice, I should say." She swallowed visibly, not quite meeting his eye.
"I thank you for your advice," he said lightly, then, in a deeper voice, "Pearl."
She faced him questioningly, almost fearfully.
"Tell me you do not mean to go through with this absurd marriage to Bellowsworth."
For an instant she closed her eyes, as though his words pained her, then opened them with a frown. "It is not as simple as that, I'm afraid. The marriage settlements have been drawn up, the expectations of Society aroused. If I were to cry off now, it would create a scandal, and my stepmother—"
"Hang your stepmother. I thought scandal was what you wanted —so that you could thwart her plans for your future."
For a long moment she hesitated, then dropped her gaze to her hands, encased in their kidskin riding gloves. "I—I thought I did. But the idea of Society talking behind my back, looking down their noses at me, not to mention losing my father's good opinion . . . At the moment, I'm not certain what I want."
"As your presence here this morning attests." He kept his voice light, teasing, but watched closely for her reaction. His own course of action —nay, his very future— hinged upon it.
"Yes," she said softly, still not meeting his eye. "I begin to realize that perhaps no price would be too great to avoid a lifetime with Bellowsworth . . . and his mother." She smiled then, dispelling her sudden seriousness. "I'd thought if nothing else, he would be an easy man to direct, but wresting his reins from her grasp may be more than I can accomplish."
"And scarcely worth the effort," Luke assured her with an answering smile. His way was clear now. "Cheer up, my sweet. You will make no such sacrifice. His mother should be delighted, as she seems a woman unwilling to share."
"But—"
"Meet me here again tomorrow and I will explain," he said with a wink. "One more canter?" Without waiting for her reply, he urged his mount forward. She hesitated only an instant, then side by side they rode the length of the path to her waiting groom.
"Tomorrow, then," she said. Luke thought she looked happier than he had seen her in some time, reassuring him that he was doing the right thing.
"Oh, I'll see you before then, my lady, never fear."
Her eyes flew wide in surprise, but instead of explaining, he merely touched his hat and cantered back up the lane, then rounded the curve, continuing on until he was certain she was gone. Another ten minutes or so, and he would return home. He had a campaign to plan.
* * *
Pearl returned to Oakshire house in excellent spirits, which for the moment she preferred not to analyze.
"Your ride appears to have done you good, my lady," Hettie commented when she reached her apartments.
"Yes, I believe it has," she replied cheerfully. "I have missed regular exercise. Has the Duchess asked for me?"
Hettie shook her head. "She won't have left her chambers yet, nor his grace, either. Come, let me brush out your hair."
Pearl allowed her maid to help her out of her habit, then seated herself at the dressing table, clad in her shift. As Hettie plied the silver brush in long, smooth strokes, she allowed her mind to wander back over the past, pleasant hour.
Luke had all but promised to save her from the bleak future that had stretched before her only yesterday. Soon, she knew, her natural curiosity —and desire to control her own destiny— would reassert themselves, but for now she was content to simply trust him and be happy.
"I do hope you plan to ride often, my lady," Hettie commented, laying down the brush and catching up the gown she'd laid out for Pearl's morning wear. "It's put the sparkle back in your eyes."
Pearl smiled at her reflection in the glass. "Yes, I plan to make it a daily habit, weather allowing." She wouldn't miss tomorrow's ride— or Luke's promised expla
nation —for the world.
Her cheerfulness carried her through breakfast, even though her stepmother spoke of nothing but wedding plans. The Duke excused himself rather quickly, pleading urgent Parliament business, leaving Pearl to smile and nod noncommitally at Obelia's various pronouncements about trousseaux and guest lists.
As had become his habit over the past few days, Lord Bellowsworth appeared almost the moment they repaired to the parlor, the first of their morning callers. "Mother's feet are much better today," he told Pearl by way of greeting. "I knew you would wish to know."
"Of course," she replied, still trying to cling to the remnants of her earlier good mood. "I trust the drive was not too much for her, apart from that?"
He shook his head dolefully. "It's too soon to tell, she says. Though she didn't specifically tell me so, I . . . believe she enjoyed meeting you, however."
"And I her, of course," responded Pearl automatically, her thoughts already straying again to the Park this morning —and tomorrow morning.
"How nice that you two get along so well," Obelia exclaimed. "Don't you think so, my lord?"
"Yes, I do— particularly as I have promised Mother that she may reside with us after our marriage. She was prepared to move into the Dower House, but its main prospect is east, and I know the morning sun often gives her the headache, so I would not hear of it. I knew Lady Pearl would not mind, so well known as she is for compassion toward those less fortunate."
This news brought Pearl back to earth with a thud. Share her future home with Lady Bellowsworth? Being talked about as though she were not there every day of her life? Surely, no scandal could be too great to avoid such a fate. She hoped Luke's plan, whatever it was, would be successful —and swift.
Meanwhile, she felt obliged to make some small effort to assert herself, against that plan's failure. "Certainly I would not expect her to vacate the home she has been used to at once, my lord," she said. "But I have often heard that two women attempting to run one household is less than an ideal situation."