“There was no decision to be made. As I said, only my heart is French.” There were instances when Mr. Chance Bateman seemed open, easy going, and all that was charming. And then there were others when he shuttered himself away. This moment was one of them.
Aubrey had barely entered her teens at the onset of the war, but she remembered families who had lost a son, a husband, a father…
Too many, all and all, despite eventual victory.
“I’m sure your family was grateful for your safe return.”
Another nod.
She picked up her fork and pretended sudden interest in her own meal before asking, oh, so casually, “Will you be meeting your wife in Margate? For this birthday party of yours?”
And then she did her best not to seem overly curious to hear his response.
When he didn’t answer right away, she peeked up from beneath her lashes and, why she had not expected such a response, she did not know. But he was silently laughing. And then not so silently.
When he’d finally sobered, he met her eyes boldly. “I am not married, Princesse. If that is what you were getting at.” He folded his arms across his broad chest, dragging Aubrey’s attention to his hands. She’d noticed them before, when he’d been brushing…
“What is your horse’s name?” She didn’t believe he’d ever said.
“Guinevere.” And then wincing added. “The name was my sister’s choice. I would have named her something far more original.”
He had a sister. It made him more… human, somehow.
“And your sister, is she older? Younger?”
“Younger. And she’s a troublesome little piece of baggage.” Even so, he spoke the words affectionately. “I’m sure the two of you would get along swimmingly.”
Of which, for a moment, sounded rather lovely. Aubrey’s marriage had kept her from making any close female friends.
“If dear old Harry made a real marriage with you, why is it that you blush so easily? One would imagine you’d reached your ripe old age without ever being kissed.”
“Oh, but I haven’t,” she answered. “Been kissed, that is.” Which was a little embarrassing, she supposed, and so she focused her attention on cutting a piece of cooked carrot in half.
But Mr. Bateman made a choking sound. “You’re joking.”
Why would she joke about something like that? The entire matter was highly inappropriate to be discussing with him but along the way they’d seemed to have passed the point of doing that which was appropriate for their level of acquaintance.
“I don’t really joke, Mr. Bateman.”
Ah, that laughter again. Someday, she’d like to strangle him for it.
“You only smash fruit pies into the faces of those who get the best of you?”
“That was not a joke, that was a punishment.”
His laughter floated softly in the room. “Touché.”
Aubrey lifted her fork to her mouth and examined the small piece of meat pierced by the tongs. “I wonder if this is beef or something else.”
“Six and twenty, widowed and never been kissed! I will definitely have to rectify such a sad state of affairs then.”
“No, Mr. Bateman.” Although it was tempting.
Too tempting.
“No?” Laughter still danced in his eyes. “Come now, Mrs. Bloomington, admit that you’ve wanted me to kiss you since you watched me from your window.”
Oh, but this was all too embarrassing for words.
“No! I mean well, perhaps. But you mustn’t say such things. You mustn’t even joke about it.”
“You would deny us both?” His voice cajoled.
“If you kissed me, then, I could not allow you to escort me the remainder of the way to London. It would not be proper… I mean, I know that already, our dealings are likely frowned upon, despite the fact that I am a widow and all, … but… I would judge myself…”
And for once he did not laugh at her. “And you are not unhappy at the prospect of traveling with me?”
“Oh, no.” She bit her lip. “I’m quite happy to make certain you arrive at your destination in time for your party. And I appreciate the added safety of your presence.” Although she had been worried about him before. “And… for all that, I rather like your company.”
She hated that she blushed so easily.
“I rather like your company, too, Mrs. Bloomington.” His concession was more satisfying to her than it ought to be. “So You’re safe from my kiss, but only for tonight.” He mumbled into his napkin.
“Pardon?”
“You’d best get your rest, we’ll depart at first light.”
He really was a lovely man. Aubrey smiled, happy to have addressed some of his more disturbing suggestions.
Yes. Mr. Bateman was a gentleman she needn’t worry about. And she’d assured herself of his protection on the road as well. Aubrey smiled sweetly and rose from the table. She need not even ask, as he too rose, and escorted her to the door of her chamber. She retrieved the key from her reticule and turned back to thank him.
“Goodnight Mrs. Bateman.” His accent danced along her body like silk.
“Bloomington.” She said.
“Yes, that’s what I said. Goodnight Mrs. Bloomington.”
His gaze settled on her lips, making the air feel heavy, laden with heat. Her racing heart skipped a beat, despite his promise not to kiss her. Aubrey chafed that her own conscience would keep her from ever experiencing…
“Yes. Of course. Goodnight, Mr. Bateman.” She slipped into the room, closed the door, and pressed her back against the wood.
Her entire body flushed with heat at the sound of Mr. Bateman’s chuckle as he sauntered away.
Chapter 4
Aubrey
“Just the tea and toast please.” Aubrey smiled primly at the maid serving their breakfast—the same maid who was doing her best to capture Mr. Bateman’s attention by bending forward, her bubbies almost spilling out of her bodice.
“And you, sir?”
“Eggs, kidneys, porridge, some toast, jam and current cakes and pastries if you have them. Bring me the works.” Mr. Bateman grinned. Of course, he must be used to this as a single, attractive gentleman.
Whose hair had been brushed and tied back neatly this morning, making the blue of his eyes stand out even more than they had yesterday. And who managed to exude a distinctly masculine scent, cleaner today, but still spicy and woodsy and still… toe curling.
Aubrey bristled a little at the thought of him kissing some other woman. Which was ridiculous, especially in light of the request she’d made of him the night before.
Still…
“Anything at all, sir,” the maid winked and then sashayed out of the private dining room he’d acquired for them once again.
“You must be very hungry.” She asked, her question drawing his gaze away from the maid’s swaying bottom.
“Oh, I won’t be eating all of it. I intend to share it with you.”
“No. I’m only going to have the toast.” Aubrey was already shaking her head, her mother’s voice, and Harrison’s, and Winifred’s reprimands well established into her habits. “Gluttony is a sin.”
And of course, he laughed at that.
“That is why you are hungry all of the time.”
“I’m not hungry all of the time.” And then the minute the words left her lips, she wondered if he wasn’t right.
“You ask for food. You look at it. You touch it, you even raise it to your lips, and yet you rarely actually eat it. If you would simply take a bite and then swallow, you would not feel so inordinately deprived.”
“For such a short acquaintance as ours, you certainly are confident.”
He shrugged.
“Do you know where we are?” She thought she’d change the subject.
“Difficult to know without a map,” He frowned. “But we must be nearing Bristol. By my estimation we’re still three, perhaps four days from London.” And then he tilted his
head. “Have you even been to London, Miss Bloomington?”
“I have not. But Mr. Moyers, my late husband’s solicitor has assured me that living in Mayfair, I ought to have no difficulty entering Society. I do hope he is correct. I’d like to one day become a patroness of the arts.” The idea hadn’t sounded nearly so outlandish in her head, but saying it aloud now, she felt rather naïve. “Do you think I’ll have trouble?”
He studied her thoughtfully, frowning. His answer both surprised and pleased her. “No, Mrs. Bloomington. I think you’ll do just fine.”
“I’m also going to plant a flower garden. Harrison, Mr. Bloomington that is, said flowers would be a waste and only allowed me to plant vegetables. But once I settle in, I’m going to plant all sorts of flowers if I have a large enough garden.”
He stared at her as she spoke, not commenting, but watching her as though her opinion, her words and intentions, had some sort of value.
“And what kind of flowers will you plant, Princesse?”
Aubrey pursed her lips. “My first task will be to get some perennials into the ground, and some bulbs, so that they can establish themselves. Then I shall enhance my garden with all kinds of annuals. Perhaps in the future, I will even have a hot house built and try my hand at something more exotic.”
The maid chose that moment to return carrying a tray laden with heaping dishes that she set in front of Mr. Bateman, seemingly completely unaware of Aubrey’s existence.
Mr. Bateman grinned as the woman displayed more cleavage than was proper for any reputable establishment, as though he rather enjoyed the attention.
“And my toast?” Aubrey asked when the woman had assured that Mister Bateman had all of the utensils and condiments and sauces he could possibly need.
“Right here.” She dropped a small plate in front of Aubrey before reluctantly dragging herself away from Mr. Bateman’s side.
“Might I have some honey—“ But the door had already closed behind the woman. “This is not amoosing…” She imitated his accent, knowing he would be unable to ignore the fact that her toast was burned.
He lifted a full fork from his own plate and held it across the table. When Aubrey didn’t immediately open her mouth, he touched it to her lips.
Buttery, savory, rich flavor exploded in her mouth. She couldn’t help but close her eyes as she chewed the large bite.
She had been hungry, more hungry than she’d imagined. After she’d chewed and swallowed the entire mouthful, she opened her eyes and caught him watching her.
“Mon dieu, you make it difficult for a man to keep his promises…” He spoke softly.
“Promises?” She asked before she realized his gaze was focused upon her lips. “It is delicious.” She conceded, flustered at the intensity in his eyes.
“I suppose that along with never having been properly kissed, you’ve never eaten a proper English breakfast before either. Did your husband keep you in a tower?”
She’d ignore such nonsense. “I’ve never had this. What is it?”
He held his fork out to her so that she could take another bite.
“Kidneys on fried toast. My grandmother on my mother’s side introduced me. Thought I’d died and gone to heaven the first time it was served. And we didn’t just eat it at breakfast time. Grandmother had Cook serve it for the evening meal, along with sausages, pork, a handful of vegetables, but always fried bread, and always eggs and kidneys.”
It ought to be disgusting, really, and yet it tasted so decadent and buttery…
He scooped a mouthful for himself, eating off the same utensil he’d fed her with. Eating from the same utensil as this handsome stranger struck Aubrey, once again, as unimaginably intimate.
Without thinking, she pushed her toast aside and stabbed her fork into a piece of kidney and egg from Mr. Bateman’s plate. She expected some sort of mocking comment but he apparently was exercising self-restraint this morning.
Even if she was not.
“Out with it.” She demanded.
“Out with what?”
“I know you want to say something how you told me so… Just go ahead. I know you want to. You enjoy laughing at me enough. Likely, you’re regretting traveling with such an uptight widow as myself. You mustn’t pretend to like me, you know.” Perhaps it was the food, or perhaps it was knowing he was watching her, or perhaps it had been that he’d rather seemed to be enjoying the maid’s flirtatious overtures… But she was feeling contrary this morning.
“I enjoy you. You make me laugh.” He stared at her curiously.
“Ha!” Aubrey stabbed another hearty sized piece of egg and sausage.
“Ah, Mrs. Bloomington,” he demanded her attention by speaking softly. “Trust me when I say that although I would rather not have lost Guinevere, I’m rather pleased at the turn of events that’s allowed me to make your acquaintance. Not only are you beautiful, but you’re sweet and you’re innocent, and you’re filled with an unusual combination of optimism for having been married to a man such as Old Harry.”
“God rest his soul.” Aubrey murmured out of habit.
“God rest his soul.” He repeated after her, albeit with more than a little amusement in his voice. “I rather like you, Mrs. Bloomington.”
Aubrey placed her fork on the table, feeling rather foolish but also… something else.
“You like me?”
“I rather do. But if you insist upon making such faces while eating off of my plate, I’m not going to be able to uphold my promise to you.”
The promise that he wouldn’t kiss her.
Aubrey smiled to herself and deliberately took another bite from his plate. When she bit into it, she closed her eyes and let out a tiny sigh. When she opened her eyes there was no laughter in those blue eyes of his. And then he growled.
This time, it was Aubrey who laughed.
* * *
Mr. Daniels appeared quite refreshed and alert, having gone so far as to draw the carriage around to the front of the inn so that Aubrey wouldn’t have to traipse through the yard which consisted of more mud and other questionable substances than dirt.
When Mr. Bateman climbed in behind her, she hadn’t considered that his proximity would feel any different than it had while sitting beside him outside. Seated on the backward facing bench, his booted feet resting on the upholstery beside her, his presence filled the small interior. So much so that she very nearly didn’t notice the dog––she assumed it to be a dog–– lying on the floor behind her valise.
“Is he dead?” But no, the animal was snoring softly.
Both eyes were open, however, and his tongue was hanging out the side of his mouth. Aubrey had never seen anything quite like the pathetic looking creature.
“Not dead.” Mr. Bateman kneeled onto the floor between them. “It’s asleep.”
“It’s a he.” Aubrey reminded him. There was no mistaking this particular animal’s gender. He lay on his back, short legs relaxed and wide revealing… everything, front legs pointing up, chin back.
He was most definitely alive.
“What’s the matter with him?” Leaning forward, Aubrey ignored all the warm tingly feelings evoked by Mr. Bateman’s nearness.
The dog stretched just then, and his eyes took on enough life to eye both of them suspiciously. “We need to return him to the inn, his owner will be worried.”
“I don’t know about that, Princesse.”
The short haired dog was covered in a fair amount of mud and appeared not to have been fed properly. “Do you think someone is missing him?”
Mr. Bateman opened the window to the driver’s seat. “Daniels? Do you know anything about this dog in here?”
“Blasted mongrel!” Mr. Daniel pulled the carriage to a halt. “Just put him down here. He’s a stray, been hanging around the stables all night begging for food.”
“Oh, no! We cannot just put him down all alone! He obviously isn’t capable of finding his own food. The poor thing.” Aubrey reached down and a w
et nose nuzzled her hand.
“Damnedest looking stray I’ve ever seen.” Mr. Bateman lifted the animal onto his lap to inspect him. Long body, short legs, long snout and floppy ears.
“He’s adorable. I’ve heard that some ladies in London keep little dogs for company. It’s very fashionable, you know. Perhaps I can clean up this poor creature, and fatten him up a bit, and he can be my fashionable pet.” Yes, a bath would be in order. Aubrey scrunched up her nose. A very thorough one.
“I don’t know…” Mr. Bateman seemed hesitant, although the dog was now balancing himself on his hindquarters performing something of a trick.
“Oh, look at him! He’s perfect. I always wanted a pet— But he’ll need a name.” Milton and Winifred would have conniptions if they knew a dog had ridden inside the carriage. “I’ve never named anyone before.”
Mr. Bateman met her gaze, his lovely eyes dancing with amusement. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something respectable enough. I suppose with rather large quantities of soap and some training, he could possibly make a good impression on the ton. He does have rather impressive balance.” Even Mr. Bateman couldn’t be cynical about the dog with him licking the bottom of his chin.
“He likes you.” Aubrey smiled.
“He smells.” Mr. Bateman lowered the dog back to the floor.
“What do you want to do with him?” Mr. Daniels face appeared upside down in the small opening.
“Mrs. Bloomington is going to keep him.” Mr. Bateman answered, his gaze laughing as it settled on hers. “For now, anyway.”
Aubrey had half expected that he would insist upon putting the dog outside. She wasn’t accustomed to the people around her being so agreeable. This too, might be something she was going to have to get used to. Unfamiliar pleasure settled in her.
Even upside down, however, she could tell that Mr. Daniels was scowling. “If you say so. Let me know if he starts sniffing around on the floor. Mr. Bloomington will be none too happy if I return the carriage smelling like piss—“
“We’ll be certain to let you know.” Mr. Bateman slid the door closed effectively silencing the driver.
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