The groom had brought a mounting block, and Anne made quick work of pulling on her leather gloves before climbing onto the side-saddle. She took a moment to ensure her riding habit splayed over the side of her horse before she accepted the riding crop from the groom.
“I do hope it’s not too cold for you,” George said as he mounted the bay. His greatcoat had swept over the back of his horse as he mounted, and with his short top hat, buff riding breeches, deep scarlet waistcoat, and pristine white cravat, he looked every inch the aristocrat.
“It’s rather invigorating,” Anne replied as she urged her mount into motion. George followed suit, and the two made their way up Park Lane to the next entrance into Hyde Park, Stanhope Gate.
Remembering more of his sister’s recommendations, George said, “I couldn’t help but notice the flowers in your hall. Very beautiful, and a surprise given the time of year. Hydrangeas, are they not?”
Anne realized his comments were to determine her favorite flower. “My father has a hothouse deliver them for my mother whenever we return to Mayfair,” she said with a grin. “She adores them.”
“And you?”
Anne gave him a brilliant smile. “I like whatever is blooming in the gardens,” she said with a shrug.
“And when they are not? Like now?”
“Roses are my favorites,” she finally acknowledged. “They are not bound by color restrictions and always give off the most pleasant scent.”
She was about to ask him what his favorite flower was, but realized, as a man, he probably didn’t have one. She remembered the invitation to the dinner party, though. “I received the most welcome correspondence earlier today.”
“Oh?” George’s response sounded strained, as if he wouldn’t find it as welcome as she had.
“The invitation to your dinner party.”
His manner changed instantly, and his response was quick. “Will you attend?”
Anne dimpled. “I would not miss it,” she replied. “May I ask what special occasion has prompted such an entertainment?”
“Occasion?” he repeated.
She shrugged as the horses made their way along a crushed granite path that led to Rotten Row. Given the entrance they had taken into the park, they would be coming to the King’s Private Road from the east and north. “A special event? A birthday, perhaps?”
“Ah, nothing but an opportunity to gather those of us who are spending Christmastide in town.” But then he drew in a breath and said, “May I tell you something in confidence?”
Anne’s eyes widened. “Of course, my lord.”
George dipped his head before he said, “It’s an opportunity to introduce my sister to the man she may very well marry.”
Inhaling sharply, Anne regarded him with a look of shock. “She hasn’t met the man she’s going to marry?”
He shook his head. “Well, not this particular man. He is new to town, and my father is of the opinion he will make a suitable husband,” he explained.
“Does she know this?”
He allowed a chuckle, although the humor left his face as quickly as it appeared. “She does now. I told her on the train yesterday.”
Anne lifted her face to the sky and noted how gray clouds were once again filling in the blue, just as they had done the day before. “How did she take it?”
Sighing, George gave a self-deprecating grin and said, “If I hadn’t made such a cake of explaining it to her, I think it would have gone far better,” he replied.
“But she’s willing to meet him?” she half-questioned.
He nodded. “She is. She sent invitations out this morning for the dinner party, and I expect we’ll begin receiving responses on the morrow. I only hope the gentleman will agree to attend.”
“Have you met your potential brother?”
George directed their horses to take the path heading south that would soon intersect with Rotten Row. A few trees and hedgerows and the east end of the Serpentine were the only hints that the King’s Private Road lay just ahead. “I have not,” he admitted.
“But you know his name?” she asked, just before she slowed and then halted her horse.
“Of course. He’s Wadsworth’s brother, Benjamin.”
Anne pulled her attention from her horse’s withers, her eyes wide with delight. “Sir Benjamin?”
“You know him?”
Anne dimpled again. “I only met him the one time, a few years ago,” she replied. One of her blonde brows furrowed. “He wasn’t a knight back then, but I remember he was quite a bit a older than us,” she remarked, “but a fine gentleman.”
“Where was this?” George asked, his gaze going to her horse. For some reason, she had pulled him to a halt.
“He was giving a lecture in Wolverhampton, and Father insisted we attend with him,” she explained, looking as if she was going to dismount. “He thought it would be diverting, and it was. I could have listened to Sir Benjamin speak for far longer than the hour he was scheduled.”
“What is wrong?” George asked, turning his mount around to face hers.
Anne slid the end of her crop down her mount’s front leg until the walker lifted his hoof and then lowered it, gingerly, to the ground. “I think he’s picked up a rock is all,” she replied. She turned on the saddle, intending to get the groom’s attention, but then realized that Grimsby wasn’t behind them. A quick glance to her other side proved he wasn’t riding to the side of them, either.
Had he even joined them on the ride at all?
George was down from his mount in an instant, hurrying over to examine the hoof. “Indeed he has,” he agreed, once she repeated her means of making the horse lift his hoof. George made quick work of removing the stone with the edge of his thumb, but he hissed at seeing the indentation left behind. “That should do it, but he still might limp a bit.”
“Oh, I can walk. I don’t mind,” she said.
“We’ll just have your groom...” He glanced back the way they had come and then in the direction of Stanhope Gate. “Did... did he go a different way?”
Anne dimpled when she realized no one had instructed the groom to join her on the ride. “Back to the stables, no doubt,” she said with a chuckle, just then remembering there hadn’t been a third horse in front of the house.
George glanced up at her, concern etched on his face. “Do you wish to go back?”
She shook her head. “No. We can walk for a spell, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” he said, as he made his way around her horse so he could lift her down. “You’re quite sure you don’t mind being seen with me? Without a chaperone?”
She turned her gaze on him and gave a brilliant smile. “Of course I don’t mind. Besides, who would see us?”
A quick glance proved there were very few people about in the park.
His hands went to her waist while hers went to his shoulders, and for a moment, Anne felt as if she were floating on air. Although she could see her breath—translucent white clouds billowing in front of her—her attention was entirely on George. On his bright blue eyes and the bit of blond hair that appeared beneath the brim of his top hat. On his perfectly straight nose and the angular cheekbones that identified him as an aristocrat.
And on his lips. Lips that had opened slightly. Lips that touched hers at the same moment her feet touched the ground.
Although Anne had never been kissed before, she was fairly sure she knew what to do. She had seen her parents do it hundreds of times.
She moved a hand to behind his neck, just as she had seen her mother do, and then she angled her head slightly, reveling in how his lips seemed to lock into place over hers.
The scent of his cologne surrounded her in the warmth of citrus and bergamot. The taste of him hinted of mint. The air around her crackled with excitement. Her heart beat a tattoo she was sure he could hear, if not feel, through their coats as their bodies pressed against one another for support.
And they might have continued t
he kiss for another moment or two but for George’s impatient horse.
The stallion nudged her arm, and when Anne ignored him, Hermes nudged her again. Harder.
Anne giggled as she was forced to pull away from George. “Who needs a groom when a horse will act as a chaperone?” she asked in a light voice, her brilliant grin directed at his mount.
George had never felt such jealousy of an animal in his entire life.
Nor annoyance.
“My apologies. I...,” George started to say, but Anne placed a gloved finger to his lips.
“Please don’t. It was my first kiss, and I shouldn’t wish to remember it as anything other than the most delectable treat it was,” she murmured.
She didn’t care if her blush covered her entire body. As chilly as it was, she rather doubted her embarrassment could be discerned from the rosiness already staining her cheeks.
“You thought it a delectable treat?”
Anne’s eyes widened as she wondered if he might be teasing. “I did.”
George’s lips were on hers once more, his arms wrapping around her redingote to pull her closer. He kissed her thoroughly, his mouth open enough that he could slip his tongue past her lips to slide over her pearly teeth.
After a moment, hers did the same, although more tentatively. She might have attempted to do more, but once again, Hermes nudged her shoulder and then George’s, far harder, nearly knocking both of them over.
Forced to separate, the two regarded one another, Anne displaying a grin of embarrassment while George turned his look of annoyance on the horse. “I’ve a mind to sell you at Tattersall’s,” he murmured.
A nicker was the bay stallion’s only response.
Anne giggled again, the musical sound causing the horse to step closer to her. “Perhaps we should walk,” she suggested, as she retrieved the reins of her mount and lifted them over his head.
“Indeed,” George agreed, his gaze surveying the area around them. He had a sudden thought that they might have been seen. Hedgerows hid them from anyone to the north and somewhat to the south, and a few trees provided some privacy from the east. Given the cold, there was no one standing along the edge of the Serpentine.
Perhaps no one had spotted them while they embraced.
Relieved, he offered his arm and they continued on the path to the King’s Private Road.
For a time, neither said anything until George asked, “Pray tell, was that really your first kiss?”
Anne dared a glance in his direction, surprised to find his eyes directed straight ahead. “Was it that obvious?” she asked, her voice sounding with disappointment. “It’s not as if one can practice.”
His head quickly turned and he regarded her with a look of surprise. “Your effort was not the least bit lacking,” he assured her. “Which is why I asked.”
Anne furrowed her blonde brows. “You’ve obviously had experience,” she accused, although her words were light.
“If you can count a serving wench’s attempt to kiss me in a public tavern in Oxford experience,” he countered, and then he rolled his eyes. “I did not initiate it, of course,” he hastened to add.
“But you did not stop it,” she said, a brilliant smile appearing when he looked suitably chagrined.
“As you said, it’s not as if we can practice,” he murmured, his manner rather sober.
“Will you enjoy kissing your wife once you are wed?” Anne asked, remembering some of the topics of conversation she had discussed with her mother.
“I suppose it depends on who I am kissing,” he replied, a grin finally replacing his somber expression.
“And your children? Will there be just a few? Or a brood?”
He dipped his head. “I suppose there will be as many as my wife will allow. I surely would like more than just two.”
“And will you hire a...?” Anne clamped her mouth shut, stunned by her sudden boldness. Hexham was so easy to converse with, she hadn’t thought to censor her questions.
“Hire a...?” he prompted. When Anne didn’t offer a reply, he stopped on the path and turned to face her. “What?”
Anne’s eyes darted to the side. “Forgive me. It’s really none of my business. I don’t know why I thought to bring it up—”
“A mistress?” he offered. “Is that what you were about to say?” His expression displayed as much disbelief as it did disappointment.
She closed her eyes and nodded.
“I hadn’t thought to,” George whispered.
Anne’s eyes opened, and she swallowed, sure he was angry with her. “My father used to employ them. Before he married my mother,” she whispered. “Three of them, apparently.”
“As did my father, and probably far more than three,” he admitted in a quiet voice. “But not after he married my mother.” He used a glove hand to lift her chin. “When I marry, it shall be for more than just duty. I have no intention of dishonoring my wife in such a manner,” he murmured.
Anne eyes’ widened, and she allowed a wan smile. “Then she will be a very happy wife, indeed.”
George nodded. “I am glad to hear it,” he said, a bemused expression replacing the harsh one he had displayed only the moment before. He once again surveyed the area around them.
“What is it?” Anne asked, her gaze taking in their surroundings.
“I... I have some questions.”
Anne blinked. “For me?”
He nodded. “What’s your favorite holiday?”
“Christmas.”
“Do you like horse races?”
Anne inhaled. “I’ve never been to one, but they sound ever so exciting.”
“Oh, they are,” he assured her.
“Do you own a race horse?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I do not. But I might one day.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Do you like the theatre?”
Anne seemed to consider the query for a time before she replied. “Usually. Sometimes the plays are tedious, but I like the operas and the naval reenactments, and I enjoy the experience of going to the theatre. And you?”
“The same, although I usually enjoy the dramas more than operas. I fear my understanding of Italian is a bit lacking,” he admitted. “What’s your favorite dance?”
Anne angled her head and seemed to struggle for a moment. “I’ve only ever danced with a dance master or... or one of my brothers,” she replied, a reminder that she hadn’t yet attended a formal ton ball. “But I think I like the waltz the best. Is that still scandalous to say?”
He shook his head and bestowed her with another kiss. A quick one. A kiss that surprised her as much as it did his horse, for Hermes reared his head and let out a whinny of protest before he had a chance to nudge either one of them.
“Do you have a favorite book?” she asked in a whisper, a bit concerned when she realized they had already discussed all the other questions she could remember to ask.
He furrowed a brow. “I so rarely read for pleasure,” he murmured. “But there’s one on breeding race horses that’s especially interesting. Makes it very clear why it can take so many generations to create a contender for the Derby.”
“I suppose it involves choosing the perfect dam and sire to create a fast colt,” she mused.
“Or one with endurance,” he countered.
“Or both,” she suggested.
George regarded her a moment, his eyes glazed over as if he were lost in thought. “Have you thought of what your children will look like?”
Anne dimpled. “They will look just like yours.”
“You’re referring to the blond hair and blue eyes?”
Her grin broadened to a smile. “And the curls. They’ll look just like little cherubs. And probably be just as mischievous.”
“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Anne stared at George, her lips still red from their kiss. “I will,” she replied with a nod. Then she giggled. “I will.”
George wrapped his arms aro
und her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. And he would have continued to hold onto her but for the nose of a horse that was determined to separate them.
“That’s it. He’s going up for sale,” George announced.
Anne giggled again before her expression sobered. “Perhaps it would be best if we didn’t tell anyone of our betrothal just yet,” she murmured.
His eyes widening with understanding, George nodded. “Agreed. With such a sudden announcement, people might think we’ve been carrying on a clandestine affaire.”
“Kissing behind hedgerows.”
“Going for rides without a chaperone.”
“Meeting in the park in broad daylight,” she whispered.
“Like that day we met,” George murmured.
“I was sure I felt something in the air.”
“It positively crackled with energy,” George agreed.
“Angels were singing.”
“Thunder roared.”
“And the rain poured down.”
Anne blinked as a snowflake caught on the edge of an eyelash, and she looked up. Despite the bit of blue directly above them, the rest of the sky was gray, and the air smelled of snow.
“I thought of nothing but you that entire night,” George whispered.
“And I, you,” Anne said on a sigh. She angled her head up and kissed him once more as his arms surrounded her, and he held her close.
This time, it was Anne’s mount that whinnied loudly.
George laughed as the snow fell in large flakes, dancing about their heads with every breath. “I should get you home,” he said on sigh. “I shouldn’t want you catching a cold on the day of my proposal,” he added as he grabbed his mount’s reins. “Or ever for that matter.”
The four made their way back to Stanhope Gate the way they had come, and then, because Anne’s walker no longer limped, George lifted his betrothed onto the side-saddle. They made their way back to Curzon Street and to Trenton House.
“I’ll see you at the dinner party,” Anne said, after George had escorted her to the front door.
“I do not believe I can wait that long to see you,” he replied, kissing the back of her gloved hand.
The Angel of an Astronomer Page 15