Chapter Seven #2
‘What beautiful greys,’ Sophia said as they bowled along the street at a brisk pace. ‘Are they yours?’
‘They are. I won them from a friend.’
‘Is he still your friend? I am not sure I would like you if you had taken two such fine specimens off my hands.’
Christopher’s teeth flashed in response, but he kept his eyes facing forward, concentrating on driving, and she was grateful for that.
Her father loved to drive his carriages, but his enthusiasm often made the journey with him feel particularly unsafe.
He tended to wave his arms around explaining things to her while she rather thought both hands should be occupied in keeping them alive.
Christopher’s concentration was fully engaged on how his horses were traversing the streets.
‘John was annoyed with me when he realised I had no intention of backing out of the bet. But I had seen the way he was treating them, and I believe he was not giving them the care that they deserved. I think they are happier in my brother’s stables, and I attend to them whenever I can.’
‘You were being altruistic then?’
‘Always,’ he said with another smile.
‘Did you win this carriage too?’ It was a fine-looking equipage with seats that made the journey along the uneven streets smooth. It could have been his skill with the horses, but she didn’t think she had ever enjoyed a ride more.
‘No, this carriage was the first thing I bought with money I consider my own.’ She desperately wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but it seemed too impertinent.
Christopher carried on anyway. ‘The duke ensured that all of his brothers understood investments. Perhaps he did not want us all to be a burden on the dukedom or maybe he wanted to ensure we understood the value of money. Anyway, we have all learned how to grow our inheritances, and with my first earnings, as it were, I bought this. Do not get me wrong; I know I am a lucky man. I would have nothing to invest if it were not for Tobias’ generosity, but there is a pride in making something more from what you have been given. ’
She sensed he was waiting for her to judge him, and she realised that she had perhaps not given him any reason to suppose that she wouldn’t.
‘It is a beautiful carriage,’ was all she said.
They lapsed into silence as he negotiated a corner.
When they were moving forward again, she asked, ‘Do you race?’
‘I fear that if I admit to it, it will only solidify your opinion of me as a wastrel.’
‘Not at all.’ That was not entirely true. She was not a total bore; she understood that people liked to enjoy themselves, but she’d also heard about the accidents young men had when they raced their carriages from London to Brighton and she felt it a waste.
His dimple deepened. ‘Oh, come on now, to make this arrangement of ours work, we must have honesty between us. You do not approve of racing; I can tell by the way you are twisting your fingers together.’
‘Perhaps not,’ she admitted, loosening her hold on herself. She hadn’t even noticed she was doing so and had no idea how he had. ‘But that is only because I fear for your safety.’
‘I did not know that you cared.’
There was no obvious response to this. To say that she did would be strange. They hardly knew one another. ‘I would be sad to hear of any young man who lost his life due to a race.’
He only grunted in response to that. She shifted in her seat, gazing out at the passing roads, wishing she hadn’t brought the mood down by referring to death. Thank goodness he was not a proper suitor; she would have probably lost him by now if he were, by being awkward and boring yet again.
Gunter’s was as busy as always, but they were led to a table towards the back of the room after Christopher had given her maid some coins to spend for herself at a nearby market.
Many heads turned as they passed and her palms became slick with sweat.
Knowing that they were going to be seen out by fashionable members of the Ton and it actually happening were two very different things.
If she’d had any thought their swift engagement was not as scandalous as she had first believed, she was forcibly reminded that it was, in fact, still very much a talking point amongst the people of Society.
Whispers followed them, all the louder for the fact that people were trying not to be heard.
Even Christopher’s easy smile looked strained as they took their seats.
‘I should have asked for a table at the front of the room,’ he said after their waiter had left them to fetch some tea. His gaze darted back towards the other guests, some of whom were still blatantly staring. ‘I am sorry you had to go through that ordeal.’
‘It is not your fault. I did not expect that we would face such scrutiny.’ Her knees were shaking and she was glad they were hidden by the tablecloth so that no one would be able to see.
‘Neither did I.’ He tugged at his cravat, the gesture oddly endearing, as if he too was as nervous as she was. ‘You would think they would have more important things to discuss than us.’
‘They should, but I ought not to have been surprised. Another one of the Dashworth brothers off the marriage mart was always going to be something of a sensation. But I had forgotten all that in my own personal drama.’ She didn’t want to dwell on it any more.
Hopefully, the stares and whispers would die down soon enough.
‘Do you know what flavour you are going to choose?’
Christopher held up a hand. ‘Let us go back a moment. I can see why Tobias getting engaged to be married would be of interest, because many woman have attempted to become his duchess, but not me, as I’m the youngest. An awful lot of people would have to die for any wife of mine to reach such lofty heights. ’
How to answer him without inflating his self-belief even further. ‘You must remember that it is not just Tobias’ dukedom people are interested in.’
His brow furrowed. ‘Ah, yes, you said he is considered handsome.’ His twisted lips suggested he didn’t agree.
‘You all are.’
His mouth curved into a smile. ‘Why, thank you.’
‘I did not say that I thought you were, just that it was quite a commonly held belief.’ His grin deepened and her heart fluttered; there was no denying his smile was beautiful.
‘Although I suppose your dimple is rather pleasing.’ She had no idea what had made her say that.
Glancing around, she saw that the waiter was not going to come and rescue her anytime soon.
‘I do not have dimples.’ His long fingers traced over his cheeks, trying to find the mark in his skin; as that had stopped him smiling, his dimple was no longer evident.
‘I did not use the plural. You only have one. It is on this side.’ She pointed to his left cheek.
‘I am not symmetrical? Why has no one told me this before?’
‘There is no need to sound alarmed. Most people are not identical on both sides of their body.’
He held his arms in front of him, studying the length of them. ‘That is not true, surely.’
‘Can you write with both hands?’
‘No.’
‘Then, there you go.’
‘That is not the same thing.’
‘Fine. You have a small mole there, under your left eye, but you do not have one under your right. If anything, having one in exactly the same place on each side would look odd.’
His fingers were tracing all over his face now and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. ‘I do not understand why you are discomposed by this. I told you it was pleasing.’
He dropped his hands. ‘You have a way of making me feel wrong-footed.’
‘Oh dear. I do apologise.’
‘It is not a bad thing.’
‘It does not sound like a compliment.’
‘Ah, well.’ He dropped his hands from his face, his long fingers now resting on the tablecloth. ‘If you would like one of those, I should tell you that the dress you are wearing is most fetching.’
‘That is kind of you to say, but you do not need to tell an untruth. I am quite aware that it is too small for me. I was planning on changing before you arrived, but time ran away with me.’
‘I am not lying. You look very fine.’ His voice dropped, sounding deeper, more intimate, as if there was more to his words than the obvious.
Heat spread across her skin, spilling across her cheeks.
She ran her fingers over her neck, hoping to try and cool it or hide it or something.
She’d received more fanciful compliments but somehow this one felt real.
Or at least it was the first one that made her feel something in the pit of her stomach.
It wasn’t a sensation she wanted to experience with the man sitting opposite her.
For the next six weeks, she wanted them to be friendly but nothing more.
Never had she been so grateful for the arrival of a waiter, who practically bent himself in half, bowing so deeply to Christopher.
‘What are you having?’ Christopher asked her.
‘Cherry. It is my favourite. What are you going to pick?’
‘Vanilla,’ he said eventually.
‘Really?’ she asked, as the waiter went to fetch their order. ‘I would have had you for a more daring choice than that.’
‘What is wrong with it?’
‘Nothing at all. Only it is the least flavoursome of all the ices on offer. I thought you might try something more adventuresome, like bergamot.’
His nose wrinkled. ‘Is that not something added to soap to make it smell nice?’
‘When you put it like that, it does not sound appetising, but vanilla just sounds so… bland for a man such as yourself.’
‘Very well. I accept your challenge. After trying the vanilla, we shall both have another serving, but this time, you cannot choose cherry.’
‘I should like that very much.’ She had never allowed herself that indulgence before. Whenever they came, she had the same flavour because she knew that she loved it so much, but she would like to try something different, perhaps chocolate or elderflower.