Chapter 8
GRACE’S SMILE WHEN Benedict entered her drawing room the next day was fast becoming one of his favorite sights, and he had to push aside a sudden stab of guilt that he’d yet to tell her the truth. And she had yet to recall it for herself.
It was increasingly a point of mental contention.
He’d told his mother he would spend time with Grace and foolishly promised not to tell her of their past, but he’d not expected to enjoy it.
And he’d never anticipated it would go so long without her recalling him.
But nor did he want to ruin the friendship that had sprouted between them.
He would tell her. He just could not do it yet.
“Are you ready?” he asked, stopping before her.
Her chin tipped up, her dark eyes meeting his. “I do not know,” she said with a smile. “What is it we are doing? Your note said to wear my riding habit.”
He nodded; he’d sent that over earlier that morning after finalizing their plans. “That is all you need to know.”
Her eyes danced. “You do not intend to tell me what your plans are?”
“No.” He held out his arm. “Do you trust me?”
“Strangely enough,” she said as she took his arm, “I do.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “You are impossible.”
“Proudly.”
He brought her out the front doors to their waiting horses. “Do you feel comfortable riding?” he asked.
She nodded, though she bit her lip.
“We do not need to,” he assured. He could return home for the phaeton and be back within the hour.
“No, I asked for fun, and fun I shall have. But you must promise not to tease me if I turn out to have a terrible seat.”
“On my life.” He laid a hand over his heart.
Her mouth curled upward. “That will do, I suppose.”
He gestured the groom aside and laced his fingers for her to mount. Her ascent was not entirely graceful, and her knee hit the pommel before she situated herself with a wince. But once she was safely settled, she pressed her shoulders back and shot him a smile.
“See? A natural.” She fluffed her skirts out, then grabbed at the reins when the horse danced beneath her.
He bit his lips together and calmed the horse before approaching his own mount.
“I can tell you are laughing at me,” she called after him.
“But I am not teasing you, and that is the only promise I made.” He swung into the saddle, looking back at her. “Ready?”
She tightened her hands on the reins. “I suppose.”
“Come, we will begin slowly.” He urged his hunter into a walk, and her mare naturally followed. He shot several glances her way to ensure she remained seated, and within a minute or two, the look of abject terror on her face had settled into one of mild wariness.
“Does riding feel familiar at all?” he asked.
“Not in the least,” she responded, eyes glued to the road in front of her.
“Relax a little,” he said, steering his horse to the side so that her mare could come up beside him. “Allow yourself to sway with the movement, rather than trying to remain perfectly upright while the horse’s gait rocks you.”
“But what if I sway right off?”
“I will catch you.”
She risked a quick, dry look at him. “You could not possibly.”
“But does it not make you feel better to know I’ve offered?”
“Not really, no.”
He barked a laugh, and a smile twitched at her lips. But then she seemed to forcibly relax her shoulders and let her body move with the mare’s. She swayed from side to side, dipping and rising with the mare’s movement as he’d instructed.
And suddenly, he realized his gaze was upon her hips. He jerked it upright.
“Am I allowed to know where we are going now?” she asked.
“Yes. We are going on a treasure hunt,” he declared, pointedly looking at her profile and no lower.
“Treasure hunting?” That caught her attention enough that she looked over at him for more than a second.
“Yes. If you can find ten things on my list, I will take you to the treasure.”
“And what is on your list?”
He pulled it from his coat pocket and read it aloud.
Red leaves
Abbey ruins
A cow
A neighboring estate
A sunset
A bird
A hill
A dashing gentleman
An oddly shaped rock
Two horses
She sputtered a laugh. “What is this?”
“A treasure hunt.” He tucked the list back into his coat. “That is meant to reintroduce you to the neighborhood. I added a few easy ones, just for you.” He winked.
“Do you mean the two horses?”
“And…?” he prodded.
“And a cow?”
“I am offended.”
“No,” she said, pointing behind him. “A cow.”
He twisted in the saddle, looking to the field at their right. “Okay, I suppose I gave you three easy ones.”
She pursed her lips, tapping her chin with a single gloved finger. “No, I cannot recall anything else.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Nothing at all? Shall I reread the list?”
“No, I remember it quite well. I actually have rather a good memory for these things, you know. Why, when I stayed with my aunt and uncle, Aunt would send me with the housekeeper to do their shopping because no list was even needed, and the woman’s inability to read Aunt’s handwriting had caused many a problem in the past. You know, perhaps my atrocious handwriting is a family trait. I may have gotten it from—”
“Miss Whitmore,” Benedict said, staring.
She furrowed her brows, meeting his eyes. “What? I— Oh! I just remembered that!”
“Yes!” He pulled back on the reins. “Anything else?” He felt a sort of trepidation—at any moment, she could recall him. And that possibility seemed far more dangerous than it had a few days before.
Her face was pinched in thought, but after a moment, she shook her head. “No. Nothing else.” She tightened her hands on the reins. “It is so frustrating. As if it is all in a book just steps from me—too far to read.”
“It will return, I am sure. These little snippets of memory have to be a good sign.”
She nodded. “Mama is having the physician come tomorrow, so perhaps he will have some thoughts.”
“That is good. Can I surmise that you will not be available for an outing then?”
Her eyes met his. They were a beautiful, dark color. Akin to mahogany. In that moment, they quite captured him.
“I would love it if you came even still. Perhaps in the afternoon, though? If possible.” She lifted a hand to shade her face from the morning sun that sneaked under the brim of her hat.
He would have to move a few things around in his management of the estate, but he would do it. “I will come at two.”
Her resulting smile was well worth any effort on his part.
And that was when he realized how greatly in trouble he was.
His mother had been right—he and Miss Whitmore did suit.
This version of her, at least. He could easily find himself falling for this smiling, witty, bold woman.
But what would happen when she remembered everything?
According to her own mother, this adventurous, enthusiastic woman was not who she was…
and when her memory returned to her, she would not like who he was either.
He ought to keep his distance.
But he did not wish to.
“Oh!” she declared, pointing down. “That is a decidedly oddly shaped rock. Now only six things to go!”
“Six?” he said, urging his horse forward again. “I thought you’d only found three?”
Her cheeks colored, but she met his eye. “To the shock of all, I have discovered a dashing gentleman on this lane.”
“I must have missed him,” he said, struggling to keep his grin in check.
“Possibly. He was back that way,” she said, gesturing obscurely behind them.
The rest of the list was easy enough, though it had been meant to be.
Truly, he had hoped to enjoy her company while also showing her around the neighborhood, reacquainting her with the sights that must have been familiar to her at one time as the sun climbed higher in the sky, warming the autumnal landscape.
And when they finally came over a rise and saw the old Abbey ruins with the river running behind them, Miss Whitmore’s cheer was the true treasure.
The way she appeared so comfortable in her saddle was a close second though—Benedict loved his horses, hoped one day to raise them, and having a wife who—
He cut off his line of thinking. Miss Whitmore was not meant to be his wife. Not anymore.
Blast, but that was a twist to the gut he did not enjoy in the least.
“What is the treasure?” she asked, the excitement of a child in her voice.
“A picnic,” he said, dismounting. “No jewels, unfortunately.”
“A picnic sounds delightful,” she said. “But how do I get off the horse?”
He laughed, wrapping his horse’s reins around a nearby fencepost. “I will help you,” he said as he crossed back to her.
In either a horribly stupid, or else stunningly brilliant move, he reached directly for her waist, wrapping his hands around her.
It was a mistake. Warmth bloomed at his palms, and her startled eyes met his. But though he wished to step back as if branded, he kept his composure—barely. After several heartbeats, she settled her hands on his shoulders and he lifted her from the saddle, settling her on the ground.
He could not bring himself to let go when her feet were steady. And when her gaze remained on his, he was tempted to come closer, not move away.
But with more effort than remaining on the back of a yet untrained stallion, he pried his fingers from her riding habit and stepped aside, clearing his throat.
“I had a groom bring this by while we hunted, so everything should still be quite fresh.” He made for the location he knew his man had left their picnic wares, shaking out his hands.
They buzzed with an unnatural awareness.
The two of them settled on the grassy knoll beside the ruins, Benedict having spread out a blanket for them. He made himself sit across from her rather than beside.
“Thank you for this,” she said, picking up a small sandwich. “It has been delightful.”
“It might not have been as exhilarating as our flight from the cows, but I am glad you enjoyed it.”
She smiled, shaking her head. “What would you usually be doing at this time of day, if not treasure hunting?”
He took a bite of his own sandwich. “It is far less entertaining. I handle most of the estate affairs.”
Her brows pulled together. “Is your father… I am sorry, I do not know if…”
“He is alive and well, he just, ah…” How did one describe that their father had a nervous disposition and a flighty personality? Without disrespecting the man. “He prefers to allow me to gain my footing.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
He leaned to the side, resting on his elbow. “Will you think less of me if I say I do not?”
She shook her head. “Not a bit. What is it you do not like? Is it rather boring?”
“I suppose in a way, yes. But the true issue lies in not being able to make the decisions on my own. I have ideas of what I think would be best for our future, and my father disagrees.”
“What would you like to do?”
He couldn’t account for the interest in her expression.
Was she truly so intrigued by his day-to-day activities?
He supposed it made some sense—for some odd reason, he would far prefer to listen to her talk about her day, regardless of the activities, than most anything else.
“In time, I hope to raise and train horses.”
“Oh? What would an endeavor such as that look like?”
He described the plans that his family had never cared to ask about before now.
Of his desire to breed horses, raise, train and sell them.
Of the interest he’d had from many at Tattersall’s this past spring and the profit he fetched for a perfect mare that summer.
What it would take to get the endeavor off the ground—not a great deal, truly, as he already had a stud at hand.
She nodded along, asking questions throughout it all. “But it sounds like a wonderful enterprise—your parents do not support it?”
He loved his parents and appreciated them—even Mother’s meddling ways—but they did not exactly show an interest in his desire to set their traditions on end. “They think the way we have managed things is well enough and there is no need to change now.”
She pursed her lips, considering that. “I believe there is always room for growth and change.”
He nodded, thinking of more than his personal business plans. Could Miss Whitmore have changed from what he’d always thought of her? Had he never known the truth to begin with?
And would she forgive him when he came clean about their past?
If she knew, she wouldn’t be smiling at him as she was.
She wouldn’t go on more outings with him and let him get to know her, even as she relearned who she was.
And the idea of losing her, losing this camaraderie, was more than a little painful.
Blast it all.
He was falling for Miss Whitmore.