Chapter Eight
The vehicle awaiting them in the street outside Aunt Josephine’s house was everything Verity could have hoped for.
One of her aunt’s footmen and a small Tiger in his uniform stripes who surely couldn’t have been more than ten years old were holding a pair of matched bays of immaculate appearance and evident good breeding.
They looked as though a flat-out gallop might well be their preferred pace.
The curricle itself was spotless, shiny, and very sporting with a high perch seat for the driver and one passenger and a step behind for the Tiger to balance on.
It was the sort of vehicle she’d looked at with envy more than once or twice when she and Papa had taken a stroll in Hyde Park.
Although the drivers of these vehicles, young bucks all of them, had not been sedately promenading along the Row and raising their hats to passing matrons.
Oh no. They’d been belting hell for leather along the Uxbridge Road, driven by young men whose sole aim in life must be to be dubbed a Corinthian by their friends.
What a good thing Aunt Josephine had not bestirred herself from her parlor.
If she’d laid her eyes on this curricle and the horses hitched to it, she would have doubted whether Lord Dunster intended to take her niece for a respectably sedate ride in the park.
It did not look like the sort of vehicle, nor the horses the sort of horses, for a quiet drive anywhere, let alone in a park.
Her aunt might well have vetoed the whole outing, and Verity did not want that to happen.
She was a girl who had frequently lived dangerously, and besides, she’d always wanted to ride in one of these dashing vehicles, with their capability for great speed. On top of that, she was quite capable of looking after herself where his lordship was concerned. This was going to be fun.
She fastened the ties on her bonnet a little more firmly and accepted the help of the footman up onto the high seat beside Lord Dunster, who had already gathered up the reins in his strong and capable hands.
The little Tiger, who’d still been holding the horses, ran around to the back and jumped onto his small perch, and the horses sprang forward in their eagerness to be off.
Their shod hooves clattered on the road, and Verity just managed to stop herself from seizing hold of the armrest for security.
She didn’t want Lord Dunster thinking he’d affianced himself to a woman of feeble heart, as she was anything but.
And, as he looked as though he was far more familiar with the ribbons than any of those would-be Corinthians, she had no need to be frightened.
Not that she ever was where horses were concerned.
But she’d always been sensible, and she would not have relished a ride in such a vehicle had the driver been of lesser skill.
She had to admit, a little unwillingly, that he’d just gone up a notch in her estimation.
He turned the horses, who were champing at the bit in their eagerness to be given their heads, north into Fitzroy Street then west onto the New Road towards Paddington.
This road, still in remarkably good condition and for the most part free of wheel ruts, ran along the northern edge of the city, butting up against the tall trees of Marylebone Park.
Once on it, the horses set off at a spanking trot, covering the ground with ease, the rush of wind caused by their speed making Verity glad she’d tied her bonnet so securely.
Most invigorating, but they could surely go faster than this.
The wicked thought arose that she would like to see what Lord Dunster could really get them to do.
And that she would like a chance with the reins herself.
What fun to drive a pair such as these two fiery beasts. She would bide her time before asking.
At Baker Street, which was crowded with other vehicles to the point where crossing the street would have been hazardous, they headed south with the horses held on a tight rein, and Lord Dunster stayed silent, concentrating on controlling his vehicle and horses.
When they reached the Oxford road, they turned right, heading towards the northern boundary of busy Hyde Park.
Perhaps they were indeed going to take the decorous ride Aunt Josephine had envisaged…
although that seemed most unlikely. Lord Dunster didn’t seem the sort to do anything decorous.
Flushed with enjoyment, Verity decided not to object.
She’d had so little in the way of fun and excitement since she and Papa had arrived back in London, this opportunity needed to be seized with both hands and appreciated.
The horses tossed their heads in impatience and snatched at their bits, clearly keen to go faster, but Lord Dunster held them under close control. She had to admire his skill as a whip, even if it was out of the corner of her eye so he wouldn’t know she was doing so.
Heads turned as they passed, both of pedestrians and of those in other equipages.
Men must have been admiring Lord Dunster’s team, and women were looking at his passenger with curiosity.
Verity sat up straighter and tried not to think of how people must be talking about her and what they might be saying.
Although if Walter had been true to his word, most must already know she was to marry the man by her side.
Which probably meant they were all wondering exactly who she was and how she’d come from nowhere to marry an earl. Let them wonder.
All too soon, the open spaces of Hyde Park passed them on their left, with Lord Dunster making no attempt to pass through its gates.
Verity caught a glimpse of water between the trees that must have been the Serpentine, on whose banks she’d walked only last week with Papa.
How long ago that felt and how much her life had changed in so short a time.
Traffic was still heavy, so she made no attempt to engage His Lordship in conversation, knowing how he had to give all his attention to his horses.
She was quite glad they weren’t about to sedately drive up and down on Rotten Row, which would have been both boring and exposed to public view, but where were they going?
Was there another park a little further along this road?
She had no idea. However, she had the feeling no parks were to be involved this afternoon.
Perhaps she should ask him, now they were leaving the heaviest of traffic behind them.
The horses broke into a canter and the curricle began to sway a little alarmingly.
“Better hold on,” Dunster said, speaking at last but keeping his tone terse.
This was sound advice. She held on to the edge of her seat as the wind whipped tendrils of her hair loose and tugged at her bonnet with determination.
But as the horses were evidently still under his control and she was safe, curiosity soon got the better of her. “Might I enquire where we are going, my lord?”
“To give my horses a much-needed run.” He hadn’t even looked at her and seemed preoccupied in preventing his pair from breaking into a gallop, which surely would be detrimental to health and safety, even on this smooth road.
Although tempting. “They haven’t been out for several days, so a few laps around the park would not have been sufficient for them. ”
“They’re fine animals.” The wind snatched her words away.
He threw her an appraising glance and nodded. “The best. I will only tolerate the best in my stables.”
Why was she not surprised?
They were going very fast now. The world flashed past them at increasing speed, but she wasn’t afraid.
Instead, she felt the stirring of her blood just as she did when riding at a gallop, a pleasure she’d not often been afforded.
Was this what he did every day? She had to admit she’d been right and it was fun.
The blood zinged in her veins and she couldn’t hide the smile growing on her face.
Was this what life with Lord Dunster would be like?
If that were the case, she might almost bring herself to like it.
Life at the gallop. Not unlike the life she’d led in Europe.
One hand now holding onto her bonnet and the other gripping the seat, Verity gazed at the English countryside rushing up on them, for she’d seen so very little of it since her arrival back in Kent aboard a ship from Boulogne.
Only the road up from Dover, by night, and the crowded streets of London, in fact.
Now she saw the true rurality of England that lay so close to London: the thatched cottages, the countless small market gardens with high and thick hedges, small clumps of woodland, farms, church spires, men driving farm carts who hurriedly got out of the curricle’s way, geese, cows, sheep grazing, and even pigs rooting away in pens.
Scrawny chickens scattered before the curricle’s wheels, squawking their indignation.
Once or twice she caught a glimpse of water in the distance, which must surely be the lazy River Thames itself, so very different from the Seine in Paris.
The horses seemed not to tire, their breath coming in angry snorts and their long strides eating up the road. Which thankfully was in good condition, no doubt due to its proximity to London, much as the roads in Paris improved the nearer one drew to the capital.
Dunster was still giving them all his attention, as was necessary, without even a sideways glance for her, his long-fingered hands firm on the reins, his eyes on the road ahead. A glance over her shoulder showed her the little Tiger hanging on with both hands, a grin on his impish face.