The park was nearly deserted due to the early hour when Rotherfield and Caroline arrived. The mare he’d purchased for her was a sweet-goer, a pretty sorrel with a blaze, and it pranced stylishly. Delighted with the gift, Caroline put it through its paces and found it perfect. As she drew up from a canter, she leaned forward to pat the horse’s neck.
“She’s flawless, my lord. I can scarce thank you sufficiently, but you should not—”
“Nonsense, my dear.” The earl took in her flushed face and the wisps of dark hair that escaped her chic military hat. “A pretty lady deserves a pretty mount, after all. And I must compliment Cecile for your habit—’tis charming.”
She glanced down at the scarlet-and-black outfit with its frogged closures and polished brass buttons. “You think so? I feared to look like a remnant of Boney’s wars.”
“Not at all. In fact, you are a credit to me, Caroline. Even Ponsonby, who has quite an eye for ladies, owned I’d done it right this time. He complained I had stolen the march on him before you’d been presented.”
Caroline considered the extremely handsome and charming Ponsonby and shook her head. “Spanish coin, my lord.”
“ ’Tis almost a quote, my dear. But do you not think you could bring yourself to use my given name, Caroline? I should hate to think we might be christening our firstborn before I ever hear you call me Marcus.”
A rueful smile acknowledged the truth of what he said. “Marcus then,” she managed with a lightness she did not feel.
“Good. I was beginning to fear that you would be like the Duchess of Wellington, whose conversation is peppered with ‘my lord the duke’ until poor Arthur is forced to escape to Mrs. Arbuthnot for comfortable companionship. Not that I should do likewise, my dear, for I expect to be a pleasant husband.”
Steering him away from a discomfiting subject, she asked, “Are you acquainted with Wellington then?”
“We are not of the same circle, but ’tis not difficult to know him, my dear. He’s not one to stand on ceremony despite the way he is lionized, you know.”
She nodded. “I have even heard that he blacks his own boots.”
“Remarkable what on-dits make the rounds amongst the ton, isn’t it?” he observed sardonically. “I cannot vouch for that, of course. If you would confirm the rumor, you should have asked Westover—he at least served with him.”
“He did not tell me—only that he was wounded and came back.”
“I’m surprised he told you that. From all I’ve heard, he’s remarkably closemouthed about the war. Not that he had anything to hide, but rather that he lost some friends, I understand.”
“Yes—well, I would rather not speak of Patrick, if you do not mind.”
“Patrick?” The black eyebrow lifted and the black eyes observed her shrewdly.
“Westover,” she amended. “I should not like to discuss Westover. Now, Juliana—”
“And I should not like to discuss Miss Canfield, my dear,” he dismissed flatly. “Let us just close those chapters and let the book lie. The betting at White’s appears to be shifting in Westover’s favor since he has been seen with Mrs. Lyddesdale, and Haverstoke and Lady Canfield are both in raptures over Bascombe’s engagement. By the end of the Season, I expect everyone to be wed and the maneuvering to be over.”
“Yes—well, I daresay you are right,” she sighed, “but—”
“No,” he told her gently but firmly. “Have you given thought to going to Oakland?”
“No,” she lied, when in fact she’d spent considerable hours pondering what to do. “Lady Milbourne is determined I shall be married from Milbourne House, but she is scarce up to the excitement. And Lady Lyndon is equally determined that it will be her house, so I have tried not to think of it at all,” she answered lightly. “But we waste a lovely morning, don’t you think? I shall race you to the corner if you will but give me a small lead.”
“Done. You may have to the gaslight.”
She gave the mare her head, fully aware that Rotherfield’s big black would take the lead long before they reached the corner. And it did. He reined in and waited for her.
“Marcus!”
A nattily attired military man in dragoon colors hailed Rotherfield and rode to meet him. The earl looked up in surprise.
“Hallo, Major Thornton.”
“Out early, ain’t you?”
“Miss Ashley is trying out a new mare.” Rotherfield indicated Caro, who’d just reached them.
“Delighted to make the acquaintance, Miss Ashley.” Turning back to the earl, the major nodded. “Heard you was betrothed. Getting leg shackled at last, eh? Didn’t credit it at first, mind you, but guess it’s true.”
“Yes. Caroline, are you acquainted with Major Thornton?”
“Saw me at the Connistons’ party,” Thornton reminded her.
“Of course.”
An inveterate gossip, the major gestured for Rotherfield’s attention. “I say, Marcus, you have any money on the Westover thing? If you did, you’d best be collecting.”
“What?” Caro’s world seemed to be spinning. “He got married?”
The major shook his head. “Latest on-dit—he paid up. Stupid thing to do, ain’t it? Had plenty of time to win, too, by the looks of it. I had my money on the Lyddesdale widow—she wasn’t afraid to be seen with him.”
“He paid up,” she echoed faintly. “But why?”
“Caroline—”
“Heard he was leaving town—someone said he was repairing to Westover, but then I heard he meant to go abroad—Italy, I think ‘twas said. Not that I credit all I hear, of course.”
“Italy!” she choked in dismay. “Oh!”
“I say, you all right, Miss Ashley?”
Suddenly conscious of the concern of both men, Caroline collected her disordered thoughts and nodded. “No—that is, I am fine, sir.”
“You are certain? You look queasy. Maybe the ride—”
“Major Thornton, I assure you that she is quite all right, aren’t you, my dear?” Rotherfield cut in as he reached to take her reins. “Overtired, perhaps, but otherwise fine. Indeed, we were thinking of repairing to Oakland ourselves for a quiet wedding.”
“You don’t say!” Thornton looked at Caroline again and tipped his hat. “Wish you happy, Miss Ashley—I do.”
“Thank you … uh … ”
“Surprising Season, I’d have to say,” the major rambled on, “what with you and Rotherfield here—caught the tabbies unawares, you did—and then there was Miss Canfield and young Bascombe.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Now, that was it, wasn’t it? ‘Beauty and the Buffoon,’ Brummell calls ’em. Don’t know how he gets by with it—the Beau, I mean—son of a tailor and all that, but he does. Heard he was in deep to the tradesmen, too—better learn to watch his tongue before he finds himself alone to face ’em.”
“I am sure that Miss Ashley has no interest in George Brummell, Major,” Rotherfield interrupted sharply.
“Huh?” Thornton looked up and encountered those cold black eyes. “Oh, daresay she don’t.” When Rotherfield’s expression did not change, he squirmed uncomfortably in his saddle. “Well, best be going, I expect. Your servant, Miss Ashley … Marcus.”
“Pray do not let him overset you, my dear,” Rotherfield murmured as the major rode out of hearing. “He’s a notorious prattle—nothing more.”
But she was barely attending. Her thoughts were on Patrick Danvers. He’d forfeited on his infamous wager and he was leaving London. Maybe she would never see him again. She closed her eyes for a moment to hide her pain from the earl. Well, she’d not expected to marry Westover, after all, so it should come as no surprise that he was leaving her life.
“Come, Caroline—I’ll take you home. A little brandy and it will pass, I promise you.”
“No,” she answered slowly, “it will not.”
“It will,” he repeated firmly.
“Poor Juliana—she cannot help hearing of Brummell’s gibes.”
“That will be forgotten also. Learn to rule your life by your head rather than your heart, my dear—’tis less painful.” He edged his horse so close that his leg brushed hers and the hand that held her reins clasped hers over the pommel. “When we return from Oakland, I’ll make a push to gain admittance to Almack’s, and you will have the position you deserve. If you like, we can leave tomorrow. I am sure that Lady Milbourne will not object, and Lady Lyndon will be delighted to see me in parson’s mousetrap, whether she is there to witness or no.”
“ ’Tis so sudden, I—”
He nodded, a wry smile twisting his mouth. “All right then—I’ll not press you for now, but I mean to be married before the Buffoon takes the Beauty, my dear.”