Chapter 2
The morning light was not yet strong enough to break through the patterned white curtains pulled across the windows.
Camilla was awake but too comfortable to move out of bed.
Flashes of the dinner conversation from the night before paraded deliciously before her eyes, daring her to believe she had been wrong about Pembroke being completely indifferent to her.
After all, he had seemed pleased when she praised him, appreciative when she teased him, and he had defended her against her brother.
From the first time she had met Lord Pembroke at the start of Dorothea’s Season—the Viscount Throckmorton he had been at the time—he had seemed to notice her in a way others had not.
Of course, he had only been giving polite attention to a plump, awkward creature, scarcely entered into womanhood.
There was not a chance he would have admired her then—but he had noticed her.
And he had gone so far as to show her special distinction a number of other times, but it was never enough to let her believe he saw her as anything other than his cousin’s sister by marriage.
After all, he had once saved her from disgrace by inviting her to attend the opera under his escort after another gentleman had publicly snubbed her.
But then he had spoiled the evening by flirting with each of the ladies who approached him, although Camilla was standing beside Dorothea near enough to witness it.
He had also told her she looked very pretty at a masquerade in Vauxhall but didn’t ask her to dance, though he had asked other women.
As he alternated between teasing familiarity, warmth, and indifference, she could hardly believe him smitten.
But surely last night gave proof of his altered sentiments, did it not?
Joanna burst into her room with only a semblance of a knock. “Do not tell me you are still sleeping? You must get out of bed. It is looking to be a scorchingly hot day, and we don’t want the horses out once the sun is high overhead.”
“The horses?” Camilla stretched and yawned. “You are worried about the horses being uncomfortable?”
“Of course. What else is there to worry about?” Joanna went over to the wardrobe and opened it in search of Camilla’s riding habit.
“The brown is of a lighter cloth than the gray. Bring me that one.” Camilla rose from her bed and went over to sit before the mirror and pull a brush through her hair.
Her sister was shaking out the gown and rambling on about Briar needing to be ridden since she had not gone out in two days.
Camilla stared at her reflection only half listening, heartened to see that her face seemed thinner and her eyes larger.
In fact, she thought she might almost be declared pretty.
Taking herself to task for such vanity, she quickly pinned up her hair in a simple style that would be mostly hidden under her hat until the maid could redo it later.
“I hope you don’t mean for me to ride Briar if she needs to shake out her fidgets,” Camilla replied, knowing that was precisely what her sister meant.
“Well, you cannot ride Flea. You wouldn’t be able to handle him. And I don’t mean for you to ride Basil, for he is a slug and I will have to wait for you, which I don’t intend to do.”
“I am so pleased you’ve asked me to join you,” Camilla remarked drily, allowing her sister to tie her stays before she slipped into her riding habit.
She tossed the train over one arm and took the riding crop that Joanna handed her and went over to the door.
“At least allow me to swallow a sip of tea and a bite of toast before we leave.”
“Of course. Only do hurry.”
Inside the stables, the groom greeted the sisters, signaling for the stable lad to come and assist him to ready the horses. There were empty stalls where Miles’s hunters usually were. She wondered if Pembroke had gone out with Miles and whether they would meet during the ride.
Joanna’s chestnut gelding was led out first, and she went to his head, running her hand down his nose to greet him.
The groom put the bit in the horse’s mouth and with a practiced air, Joanna checked the harness.
She led her gelding over to the mounting block, refusing assistance, and leapt nimbly on his back.
The stable lad had Camilla’s dark bay mare ready, and she allowed him to assist her to mount, then followed her sister out of the stable.
Joanna kept the restless gelding at a steady pace until Camilla was beside her.
She sat straight, her leg curled around the pommel, then leaned forward to stroke Briar’s neck.
It was early enough that dew clung to the grass, and the morning air could still be described as fresh.
But Joanna had been right in predicting a sultry day, for there were hints of it in the light breeze.
“Shall we pick up our pace?” Joanna called out and spurred her gelding on without waiting for an answer.
Briar was a lady’s horse and served for all of the sisters except Joanna.
Still, the mare was accustomed to keeping pace with more spirited horses, and they went at a brisk trot as Camilla breathed in deeply, smiling in contentment.
It was indeed a pleasure to be outdoors and to move at a faster pace than a walk could offer.
She could even find it in her to be grateful to Joanna for having forced her out.
In addition to these pleasant reflections, the flush of triumph from last night danced back into her mind.
She had disconcerted Evo, which was no great victory in itself.
But Pembroke had praised her aloud, and that was something to celebrate.
Even with training, I doubt him skilled enough to break through her guard.
She did not know how long his stay at Elmscote was to be, but perhaps it would be long enough for his appreciation of her to turn into something deeper.
“Shall we gallop?” Joanna proposed, and at Camilla’s nod, surged forward.
The horses were given their head, and although Camilla had not ridden much of late, she was not inexperienced.
One thing their father had not neglected in their education was riding and handling the reins.
They charged forward at an exhilarating pace along a dusty path and Joanna, who rode every day, cut through a large opening in the hedges on her left then sped across a field toward the wooded area in the distance.
As they traveled over the open space, a movement to Camilla’s left caught her eye, and she turned to it just as Joanna began to rein in.
They eventually slowed to a trot and converged with the party of four riders, who revealed themselves to be Miles, Felix, Pembroke, and Evo.
“You couldn’t convince Tilly or Sophia to come, I suppose,” Felix said as they exchanged greetings, then held up his hand. “Never mind. I should know best since I left Sophia sleeping. Not for them a gallop across the countryside before breakfast.”
“Too poor spirited,” Evo said.
“I was not implying it,” Felix protested. “Simply commenting on their preferences.”
“They are not poor spirited,” Camilla said in their defense, adding with a smile, “They simply have better sense.”
Joanna shot her a look. “Do not tell me you are not enjoying this, for I shall not believe you.”
“I am enjoying it,” Camilla promised, resisting the urge to steal a look at Lord Pembroke as the two parties continued together.
“Where are you headed?” Miles asked Joanna. “To the glade, I suppose?”
She nodded. “It is pretty, and the trees surrounding it keep even the unshaded area cool. I wanted to show it to Camilla. Besides, there is that large pond where the horses might drink.”
“We are going there ourselves. Rock and Felix haven’t seen it yet.” Miles occasionally slipped into calling his cousin by his old nickname from when he was merely the Viscount Throckmorton and not yet the earl. Pembroke did not seem to notice.
They rode ahead, Joanna naturally keeping pace with the gentlemen and her brother, and Camilla falling comfortably behind.
Pembroke also fell back to ride alongside her, prompting her to sit up straighter.
It was imperative that he see her at her best; otherwise, she had no chance of winning his heart.
“I had not thought you such an early riser,” he said, his voice teasing.
“Oh? And why is that?” She could not think of a flattering reason why he would say such a thing, even when teasing. Did he imagine her a slug-a-bed? It was the absolute truth, but she would not like for that to be the image he held of her.
“I expect you spend your early waking hours in deep contemplation of how you might deliver the perfect witticism. A word aptly spoken and all…”
Camilla laughed, pleased, and finished the proverb.
“Like apples of gold in settings of silver.” This opinion of her didn’t seem so very poor.
At least he thought her witty. But she must not make it too easy by letting the compliment stand.
“I do not need to contemplate my retorts. They spring forth on their own without any effort on my part.” This was not entirely true, but he did not need to know that.
He laughed. “Of course they do. How ignorant of me to have suggested otherwise.”
A short silence fell, and she wondered if she should break it and set them both at ease, or cloak herself in a mysterious aura where he had to work to keep her engaged.
She was far from being mysterious, one of her great disappointments, but she thought she had grown at least a little in curbing her tendencies for outspokenness or awkward displays of enthusiasm.
He glanced at her. “You handle the reins well.”
“Thank you. My father made sure we were all taught.” He had drifted closer as they rode, and she wondered if he was conscious of it. “Not that Father would do it himself. He had our groom teach us.”
“Not overly involved, was he?”