Chapter 6 #2
“Did you attend a grand tour?” she asked, when she’d concluded her retelling of her younger brother’s escapades the day before.
Apparently, the child had thought it a good idea to scale the nursery wall, thankfully from the garden up rather than the nursery down.
He’d gotten himself stuck approximately five feet above the ground and hollered so loud the gardener thought they were being attacked and ran to the stables for a pitchfork.
His chuckling subsided. “I did not, actually. My father wished me to remain home to help with the estate.” He was no longer bitter about that, but there was a time when he’d felt entirely stifled by his father’s ineptitude and reliance on his only son.
Benedict would not place all the blame at Father’s feet, but he did believe the responsibility settled upon his shoulders at such a young age had led him to rebel.
Now he’d found ways to balance it all. Ways to make his life exciting, but without the excess he’d engaged in before.
“Oh, but you seem exactly the sort who would relish a grand tour.”
He looked sidelong at her, but she was watching the passing countryside out the other way. “What do you mean by that?”
“Only that you appear to enjoy being busy. Having things to do.”
“And you can tell that after only two instances together?”
Her head swung back, a smile on her lips.
“Three, including today. If you are not in movement, your mind is. Walking yesterday, dancing the day before, planning how I might have my memory returned to me, or else anticipating what next we could do. Even when you stood awaiting your silhouette, I thought I could not possibly capture it, as you were constantly shifting about.” She paused, biting her lips together.
“I may be entirely wrong, and I do not wish to cause offense. I don’t mean to pretend to know you well. ”
“No, I am more surprised how right you are,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I never thought myself so readable.”
“It is possible I am simply adept at understanding personalities, but alas, I cannot tell you if that is true, as I do not remember.”
He chuckled. “I think for my own mental well-being, I will assume you are a first-class judger of persons.”
She laughed a little. “You are welcome to. What else do you assume of me?”
He looked over at her, brows raised. “You want my assessment of your personality?”
She nodded, the wind whipping between them and nearly taking her bonnet with it. She retied the ribbons, eyes interested and intent on him. “Perhaps a stranger’s viewpoint will uncover something I am currently unaware of. You will most likely not be wrong, as I know very little about myself.”
He shook his head, turning back to the road. “No, I cannot. I hardly know you and can attest that I am not a first-rate judger of persons.”
She was quiet a moment before he saw the movement of her nodding, agreeing with his decision.
And for some reason he felt poorly for having made it, but he could not very well tell her that his first judgment of her was that she was rather dull, could he?
Besides, his judgments were becoming all sorts of befuddled.
At first appearance, and again after reading her list of favorite activities, he was certain he’d been right.
She was kind, deferring, and did not enjoy much beyond the most enervated of activities.
But then he spoke with her and watched all the little ways her face lit up and her eyes sparked and her mouth quirked.
He heard how she told stories, shared opinions, and asked questions… and he was certainly not bored.
But even the latter were hastily made judgments he would not dare share with a woman he’d only been truly acquainted with for a handful of days. What was he to say, anyhow? “I find your mouth fascinating and your eyes intriguing”?
Gads, that would be disastrous.
“Are you having any recollections?” he asked, instead of stating his thoughts. “We ought to have asked where you usually rode to. Or taken one of your family’s carriages. I apologize for the oversight.”
She shook her head. “The air is nice. And the landscape is beautiful… but no. I have not recalled anything.” She blew out a frustrated breath.
“It was a grand idea, but I am wondering if the things I enjoyed doing are simply not fantastic enough to spark memory. Perhaps if I took part in something daring or fun, that would be the spark I need, but as it is…”
She trailed off, eyes on the side of the road. Benedict easily saw what had caught her attention.
A dozen or more cows, fairly barreling up from a pasture on their left, directly for the road, their cowherd rushing madly behind them, hat waving.
Benedict had the breadth of a second in which to make a decision: spur the horses on and move past the animals’ flight, or else pull back hard. Should the cows follow their phaeton, they would have an easier time avoiding them while in motion.
He whipped the reins, and the horses plunged forward, throwing both himself and Miss Whitmore back in their seats. He hadn’t time to watch her and could only hope she was not the type to swoon—her falling from the carriage would be a terrible inconvenience just then.
And her head—a second injury hardly a month after the first would be horrific.
Gads, if only he could pull his eyes from the road and make certain she had her seat.
But neither hands nor eyes could be spared as he kept the pair of horses in hand.
His bays were more than capable of such speed, but so abrupt a change could spook them when combined with the cows and the enormous racket their cumulative hooves made.
Thankfully, the horses maintained their course, taking powerful strides down the road.
The wind whipped at Benedict’s face, and he knew he was past the herd, so long as they did not follow.
But he kept the pace for half a minute, until he found a proper bend in the road that allowed him to pull safely off.
He settled the horses, then jerked in his seat, certain he would find Miss Whitmore moments from losing her head, or else a wilting flower near to falling.
But she was laughing. Eyes bright, bonnet vanished, and laughter spilling out as the dust settled around them.
She had spun on the bench and lifted herself a little from the cushioned seat to see the cows.
They had, thankfully, simply barreled across the road and through the stream on the other side before calming to their more natural, benign state.
The cowherd, panting, waved his hat blearily at them in apology.
“Cows,” Miss Whitmore said, between peals of laughter. “If only I had a fondness for them, certainly this would have spurred my memory.”