Sometimes the adventure begins at home.
Lady Ida’s Tips for the Adventurous Lady Traveler
Of course Bennett—or Lord Carson, she should be calling him now—had been able to find money, a carriage, a coachman, reasonable horses, and all the supplies they’d need for the journey back to London within only a few days.
Ida had dried off by then, and had borrowed some of Mrs. Wattings’s clothing, since she and Ida were closer in size. She wore one of the gowns in the carriage, a simply elegant garment in a soft green color. Bennett had bought a suit from the small clothier that stopped in Haltwhistle once a week, so he had something besides his sodden travel garb to wear.
The suit wasn’t what she was accustomed to seeing him in; it was very plain, a dark brown that was simply cut and fit more loosely than his London clothing.
But he looked more dangerous in it, somehow. As though the suit’s practicality meant he would be ready at an instant to go do something terribly masculine and important, hopefully working up a sweat in the process.
Or perhaps that was her own wish.
Nora and Emily were beyond thrilled to be going to London, so most of the first part of the journey was the adults answering all the questions about what the girls would see.
No, there were not elephants roaming the streets, but there might be a zoo; yes, it was usual to see people walking about at all times of the day, but the girls would be safely abed in the nighttime; and, yes, there were shops where anybody could purchase ices, a treat that was promised as soon as they were settled into Eleanor’s household.
Ida was grateful for their nonstop talk, not just because the children were so refreshing in their curiosity and the interesting perspective they brought. Their talk also meant she wasn’t sitting in the carriage seat constantly thinking about Bennett, and about how miserable and lonely the life she’d chosen for herself was going to be.
“I know your sister Olivia works with a school that helps poor children,” she heard Bennett say, speaking to Della. The children’s chatter had subsided long enough for Ida to hear the conversation. “They just got a sizeable donation from my friend Edward, Olivia’s husband, so they might be looking for new teachers, if either of you two wishes to find work in London.”
He was suggesting a duke’s daughter go to work. He had truly changed, if he were suggesting anything so revolutionary.
Dear lord, but she loved him.
Della’s face lit up, and she glanced at Mrs. Wattings. “That could be something we would be very good at, and it would mean we could set up our own establishment. We would be free to make our own decisions.”
Just as she and Bennett were. It was unfortunate that their decision hurt so much.
“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” her friend replied dryly. “As always. You know you have a tendency to just forge ahead without thinking about the particulars of the thing too much.”
“Oh, like when I ran off with Mr. Baxter?” Ida’s eyes widened at Della’s blithe tone, and she caught herself before she glanced at Bennett to gauge his reaction.
She had to get accustomed to relying only on herself again. It had been a delightful interlude when she could share a joke or swap some teasing moments, but it was just that. An interlude.
She had her obligations, and he had his. She knew that, and yet she longed for so much more.
And even if she could somehow figure out how to navigate her obligations and be with him—would he even want to? Would he be able to spare the time for her? Would he be constantly worried that she would embarrass him somehow? Or that he’d long for someone soft and welcoming after all?
It wasn’t tenable. It wasn’t.
And he knew that as well, which was why they had said good-bye long before they’d all clambered into this carriage.
But it didn’t hurt any less.
It was agony sitting in a carriage with her. Agony and delight, intermingled. Agony that he couldn’t spar with her, note her prickly ways, look at her lovely face. Be the recipient of that breathtaking smile.
Delight that he could spend any time at all with her, given that soon their only meetings would be formal ones. In public, likely with all of Society watching them.
If she survived the scandal, that is.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye, noting how attentive she was to her sister, Mrs. Wattings, and the girls. How she asked questions, and probed further to find out information that would be useful when they arrived in London. How she listened thoughtfully when they replied.
She didn’t want to reveal it, but she loved her sisters deeply. Of course, that was why she had embarked on this improbable journey in the first place. But he guessed she would be mortified to know someone else had observed just how deeply she felt.
But he had. And he knew, if it were at all possible, that she would love him with an equal depth.
That tore him apart in its delicious agony, knowing he would never find anyone who sparked his imagination and inspired his passion as much as she.
They’d both been clear, however, that their respective obligations meant that they had no future.
He darted a quick, sidelong glance toward her. She was looking out the window, but her gaze was unfocused, and he imagined that, like him, she was thinking about what had happened, and what could never be possible.
If only—if only.
But then he wouldn’t be Lord Carson, Champion of the Needy, Provider for the Family.
If that weight were even lifted a tiny bit, just imagine what he could do. What they could do together.
It didn’t bear thinking about, and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it all. About her, about their time together, about how she made him feel.
Was this what love felt like?
He wouldn’t wish this feeling on his worst enemy.
And yet he couldn’t begrudge the feeling, because it meant he had gotten to know and to love her.
Delicious agony. Agonized delight.
No matter how he phrased it, it hurt, and he never wanted to stop feeling it. All of it.