Do not worry about what you are wearing. Adventure has no regard for fashion.
Lady Ida’s Tips for the Adventurous Lady Traveler
“Shouldn’t we be going?” Ida asked, glancing up at the sky, which was not helpful. The sun was covered by clouds, so she couldn’t figure out what time it was. Just that it was after breakfast, and Della was out there somewhere, and now that she’d decided to let Lord Carson accompany her, she wanted them to be on their way. She’d thought the trip might take a week, but what if it took more?
“Soon, Lady Impatient. We need clothes. Unless you wish to wear your library clothing for the duration of the trip?”
Ida hesitated. She’d never worn the same dress two days in a row, never mind having worn the same underthings. Why hadn’t she considered that when embarking on the journey?
Oh, yes. Because she’d impulsively stolen a carriage and run away from London in search of her sister, leaving Lord Lapdog and her mother’s plans behind. And she was a duke’s daughter who had never had to consider anything like a change of clothing. Things were just done for her, and she’d accepted them as a matter of course.
Well, then.
“I suppose so,” she said grudgingly.
“I knew you would see reason,” he said in a smug tone.
“Hmph.” That was as close as she would come to admitting he was right.
He took her arm. “Mrs. Hastings told me there is an adequate shop for ladies, and the men’s clothing store is just across the street.”
“Do you have enough money for all of this?” she asked. Because she was fairly certain she did not—not that she knew how much anything cost, but she couldn’t imagine Pearl’s birthday money would stretch to accommodate the cost of a new wardrobe and traveling funds. There was a limit to the duchess’s generosity.
“I do.” She didn’t doubt it, he sounded so positive. Then again, he had the ability to sound persuasive about anything.
“Stop making those noises,” he said.
“What noises?”
“Those disapproving noises. You’re thinking again. I can tell.”
“I’m always thinking,” she replied in a reproving tone.
“Can’t you just stop? Or maybe only think about what kind of clothing you wish to purchase?” They’d stopped in front of a small shop with a sign indicating it was Mrs. Battle’s Boutique, and he pushed the door open, a welcoming bell tinkling overhead. “Be like most other ladies, as far as I can tell?”
“I can’t.” It was as close to a confession as she could manage.
“No, of course not.” She braced herself for what else he might say, how he might make her feel odd and strange. As she usually did.
“That’s because you are so intelligent and honest. Not to mention foolhardy and impetuous.”
It didn’t sound as though he were judging her poorly. Almost the opposite, in fact, despite the last couple of words. But she had no opportunity to ask him to clarify, since they were now inside the shop.
Just that his words made her tingle all over again, as though his words were kisses. Verbal kisses that sparked something inside.
“Can I help you?” A lady stepped toward them, a look of surprise on her face. The shop was filled to overflowing with bolts of fabrics, dress forms, and ribbon hanging from the ceiling. Luckily the proprietress was short in stature, or she would be perpetually pushing ribbons off her face.
Ida was not short, so she held a piece of dark purple ribbon to one side as she looked around the shop.
“Mrs. Battle?” Bennett asked. The woman nodded. “Yes, we’re hoping you can help us. Our luggage is with our other coach,” Bennett said smoothly, as though he dissembled everyday. He likely did. “And my sister is in need of a few things in case the coach does not catch up with us.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Battle replied. “I was wondering why two such fine gentlefolk would be patronizing my shop. But I assure you, the quality is just as good as you would find in the best shops in London.”
“I am certain it is,” Bennett said reassuringly, and the woman smiled in response.
He was very good at that charm thing.
“Did you stay at The Goose’s Egg? Mrs. Hastings’s meat pie is wonderful.”
“Yes, it is.” Ida smothered a giggle as Bennett shared a knowing look with her.
“Let me just pull some things out. I do keep some ready-made gowns in the shop for some of the local girls, as long as you don’t mind wearing serviceable colors.”
Ida arched a brow toward Bennett, who looked chagrined.
“Serviceable colors will suit me perfectly,” she said. “Thank you, Mrs. Battle.”
It didn’t take long for Ida to select a few gowns and other necessities, unfortunately having to pass over the purple ribbon, which didn’t go with anything else Ida had chosen. Mrs. Battle didn’t have that much of a selection, but as she’d promised, the gowns were well-made and in serviceable colors like dark green and leaf-brown, and soon they were out the door, looking across the street to where Holdings’ Haberdashery stood directly opposite Mrs. Battle’s Boutique.
“Do you suppose the town has nothing but alliterative shops?” Ida asked in a low, amused voice.
“No, if that were the case The Goose’s Egg would be The Goose’s Gegg, or something like that.”
“Mrs. Hastings’s Hotpies and Hotelier.”
“Meatpie and Manor.”
“The Goose’s Egg is hardly a manor,” Ida pointed out.
Bennett waved his hand as they crossed the street. “Artistic license. For the alliteration and all.”
Ida had a smile on her face as they entered the haberdashery, and she realized she had never had twenty-four hours filled with so much smiling. And conversation, and sparring, and remarks on her general prickliness.
Not to mention the kissing.
She liked it. She felt as though she were finally escaping, even though it wasn’t truly an escape, at least not for long—she’d be returning to London eventually, if only to bring Della back and reunite all the sisters.
And then face the scandal of being yet another duke’s daughter who’d run headfirst into danger.
“Good morning.” A salesman greeted them as they walked in. Like in Mrs. Battle’s shop, Holding’s Haberdashery was small and cluttered, with an assortment of hats and handkerchiefs on one side, and fabric on the other.
“Good morning. I am in need of some essentials, if you please.”
“Of course.” The salesman—Mr. Holding, Ida presumed—looked Bennett up and down. “I believe we have some things that will fit you.” He glanced at Ida. “And perhaps while we discuss the specifics, your—?”
“Sister,” Ida supplied.
“Sister will want to have a cup of tea in our waiting area? Mabel!” he called, and a young girl emerged from behind a white fabric curtain, a questioning look on her face that cleared when she saw who was there.
“Mabel, please take the lady into the back and make her a nice cup of tea.”
Mabel nodded, and gestured toward the place she had just come from, Ida walking forward as Mr. Holding approached Bennett.
Twenty minutes later, Bennett reappeared, a package in his arms and a new hat on his head. “Are you ready, sister?” he said with a grin.
“Thank you, Mabel,” Ida said as she stood, placing the teacup on the table beside her. “I appreciate your keeping me company while my brother shopped.”
“It was no problem, miss,” the girl said, staring at Bennett.
And why shouldn’t she stare? He truly was glorious, all long limbs and confident grin and smiling whiskey-colored eyes.
The only thing that wasn’t perfect about him was the hint of stubble on his face, and even that only made him more attractive.
Hmm. She hadn’t noticed the feel of the stubble when she’d kissed him. She’d have to make a note to pay attention the next time.
Oh no. No, there would be no next time. Hadn’t she said just that this morning? Apologized for kissing him, and he’d treated it as though it were nothing? Which made her feel odd, and not in her usual feeling like Odd Ida way.
“You’re thinking again,” he said, squeezing the arm he held.
“I’m thinking we should be on our way,” she said brusquely. Not about how the stubble on your face might feel on my mouth. “We don’t know how long it will take to get there.”
“The carriage is waiting, my lady,” he said, gesturing toward where Eustace stood holding the horses.
Ida took his hand as she stepped back up onto the carriage seat.
“Ouch!” she exclaimed as she sat. Her bottom was sore, and she sprang up, glaring at the seat. She had never sat on a carriage seat for so long in her entire life as she had the previous day.
She almost missed her mother’s sitting room with all of its overstuffed chairs.
He shook his head in mock dismay, then swung up and sat down, making an exaggerated noise that indicated how comfortable he was.
“Hmph,” she said as she placed her bottom gingerly down again.
“We could stay here a bit longer,” he said, “if you need to rest your delicate self.”
She didn’t reply, just glared at him. He, of course, laughed.
“I’d give you something to sit on, but you kidnapped me before I could pack a bag,” he continued.
“You just bought things!” she said.
“I didn’t think to purchase a cushion for your—” He paused, and looked down.
“Besides which, I did not kidnap you,” she replied in a prim voice, feeling her lips start to curl up in a smile, even though she was trying to remain serious. “On the contrary, you are a stowaway on this particular adventure.”
He picked up the reins and urged the horses into motion, causing the carriage—and her—to lurch forward.
She felt his hand at her waist, steadying her, and she tried not to think about how welcome and lovely his touch made her feel.
He’s just making certain you don’t fall onto the road, she told herself. Even though she knew full well that he had already shown that he liked to touch her—hadn’t he taken her hand going up the stairs? And held her as they kissed?
Ida the Omniscient now felt as though she knew nothing at all. And she wanted to know everything. Especially about kissing.
Bennett’s fingers tingled from where he had touched Ida. But that was disingenuous; his whole body felt as though it tingled, every fiber of his being wanting that contact with her again.
He wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt.
Focus. Focus on anything else. Things like—
“My God. I never even asked. Where are we going anyway? Where does your sister live?”
He felt her shift in the seat beside him. She cleared her throat, and he could almost hear her thoughts—Should I tell him? What if I decide I want to go on my own after all? What if someone finds us, and asks where we are going, and he tells them? Is it safer for me to be quiet?
“A town called Haltwhistle,” she answered at last.
“I’ve never heard of it,” he replied.
“Hardly surprising. It is tiny, so small, it took a lot of searching in the atlas to find it.”
“Ah, which is why you were at Mr. Beechcroft’s.”
“Yes.” She paused. “And—and there was not wanting to be at home.”
She was confiding in him. Like before, when she’d said she couldn’t be like other women. He could hear it in the hesitancy of her voice, so different from her usual confident tone. He didn’t want to startle her, but he wanted to know more.
“Why did you not wish to be at home?” he asked, keeping his tone mild.
“Well. You know my mother, the duchess—”
Thoughts of the Duchess of Marymount practically forcing him into marriage with no fewer than two of her daughters came to mind.
“Yes, I am acquainted with her, of course. She is quite . . . insistent.”
“That is one way of putting it.” She sighed. “My goodness, you truly are diplomatic. I envy that ability. I cannot seem to temper my words when I speak.”
“But your mother—?” Bennett prompted.
“She has decided I am to be married. Was to be married. After this adventure, I don’t think anyone will want to marry me.” She sounded pleased.
“Not to me, I would have heard about it, I presume,” he said with a chuckle. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“No, not you. Far, far worse than you.”
“How could there be anyone worse than me?” he said in mock horror.
She nudged him with her elbow. “Silly. You know you are splendid in many ways.”
He wanted to hear more about that, but first . . . “So who did the duchess deem worthy of marriage to her most intelligent daughter?”
She made an embarrassed noise, and he smothered a grin. Lady Ida was not immune to compliments, it seemed, especially if they were about her intelligence.
“Lord Bradford.”
Bennett frowned as he searched his recollection. Lord Bradford, Lord Brad—“No. He is pleasant enough, but he is . . .”
“A nitwit? Yes. A perfectly pleasant nitwit, but a nitwit, nonetheless.”
How could the duchess possibly think Lady Ida would be at all happy with Lord Bradford? How little did her mother know her daughter?
And how much must that hurt Lady Ida? That her parent didn’t know her enough to know who would be the worst possible match for her?
“Do you know Lord Bradford informed me horses go twice as fast as humans because they have four legs, whereas we have only two?” She sounded outraged.
“Well, at least he is interested in nature?” Bennett said, trying not to laugh. “And he can count?”
She nudged him in the side again. “That is not the basis of a marriage, and you know it. Oh wait, never mind. You don’t at all. You said you wanted someone soft and welcoming.” Her words were accusing, and he wondered if he’d insulted her when he said that. Never mind, he knew. He had insulted her, even though she had no desire—as she’d said several times now—of wanting to marry him.
Wait, had she stung his pride? Damn it, she had.
They did not wish to marry one another. That had been firmly established. He did not want to hear her announce it in that particular Lady Ida way anymore.
But he did want to kiss her again. And he had the distinct impression that she wanted the same thing.
The two could coexist, could they not? In some sort of parallel theorem?
He did not want to sidetrack her into geometry, however, so he would not ask.
She continued. “Lord Bradford would be soft and welcoming.” Her tone was sprightly. “Perhaps you should consider marriage to him yourself. He’s very similar to a lapdog. I imagine he would fetch your slippers, if you rewarded him with a treat.”
Bennett burst out laughing. She was funny, unexpectedly so. “I could take him out for walks, let him sleep at the foot of my bed. It sounds ideal.”
“For you, obviously.”
“And for you? What do you want?”
A moment where she hesitated, and he wondered if he had gone too far, pushed too much, been too inquisitive.
“That’s like asking me where I wish to escape to,” she began, in a voice so soft he instinctively slowed the horses so he could hear her better. “I don’t know who that person might be. I don’t know if that person exists. Just that I want someone who can accept me, who I am. How I am, more accurately.” That last bit said with a rueful sigh, as though she were acutely aware of how she was perceived.
“It sounds as though you want someone welcoming.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Perhaps I do. I think it might be more difficult to find someone who would welcome me.”
Damn it. He wanted to stop the carriage, turn to her, and pull her into his lap, kissing her senseless. Anything to show her that she would be welcomed, by the right gentleman. Someone who could appreciate not only her stark, glorious beauty, but who could also appreciate her strong, gorgeous brain.
That person could not be him, however. He didn’t want to be encumbered, and he did not want a wife who would challenge him at every turn. In conversation, in life, in bed.
Did he?
This whole conversation, the past twenty-four hours, felt so intimate. Ida felt raw, exposed, vulnerable. She’d always been able to hide behind things, either a literal pillar or a pillar constructed by her own blunt condescension, tempered by her intelligence and complete disinterest in what most “normal women” were interested in.
It was a large imaginary pillar, to be sure. One that was able to hide all the varying parts of her. Something she’d grown accustomed to drawing over herself, like a blanket.
Not the fuzzy blanket it seemed he desired; a blanket that was more like a shroud, designed to hide what was underneath.
But he was plucking at the fabric enclosing her, luring her from behind her pillar, making her say so many things she hadn’t realized she’d thought, much less felt.
And then there was that kiss. She had to do something to stop thinking about it, about him, and how he’d held her. How he’d made her feel so precious and yet so powerful.
Her mind chased itself in circles looking for something. Anything.
“Why did you compare me to a hedgehog?” she blurted after a few moments of silence.
“Well,” he said in a thoughtful tone, “I suppose at first it was because you were all prickly, and yet also adorable.”
“I am not—not adorable!” she sputtered.
“So you say.”
“Did you always think like that? Or is it only after embarking on this—whatever it is,” she said, gesticulating toward the carriage.
“Would it insult you if I said that I hadn’t paid much attention to you before? Before that day at Alex and Eleanor’s house?”
It didn’t insult her. Nor did it surprise her. “No, not at all. I know how I appear to people,” she began.
“How?” he asked, his tone genuinely curious.
“Well,” she said, hearing the wry humor in her voice, “you likely only saw me when I was lecturing about something or another. I tend to do that, go on and on about a subject even if my audience doesn’t necessarily appreciate it.”
“Like the gas lighting incident,” he said. “But you did that for a reason, didn’t you?”
That he knew, that he might understand, made her warm inside.
“Although I didn’t realize that until I got to know you.”
She shifted on the seat, trying to get comfortable. “Yes. It was the only way I could think of to distract everyone so as to allow Eleanor to speak with our father the duke.”
“So you used your knowledge for good.”
Definitely warm.
“Thank you.” She looked off into the distance in thought. “It wasn’t anything I’d planned—”
“Much as you didn’t plan stealing Mr. Beechcroft’s carriage, I wager.”
She laughed. “Yes, much the same.”
“I admire that, you know.”
She held her breath, waiting for him to say more.
“That you launch yourself into the fray without worrying about how you will be perceived. You have this innate honesty that shines through.” He chuckled. “Sincerus Idaterum.”
She smiled, pleased he had taken up her classification game.
It wasn’t often anybody actually spoke her language; not in the literal way, but in a communicative way. He did. He understood what she was trying to do and say, and he seemed to appreciate it.
That connection felt so special, so unique, she wanted to hold onto it with all of her strength. Even though it wasn’t her future, she knew that.
“But back to me calling you a hedgehog,” he continued, still in that amused tone. “You’re so much more than that, I realize,” he continued, taking one hand from the reins and wrapping it across her shoulders, drawing her body closer to his. “You are an intricate, layered person, Ida. I have to admit I never met anyone like you before.”
“Thank you.” Her throat was tight. “You know most people don’t find me intricate at all. Usually they find me annoying. Or boring. Or both.”
“Or hedgehog-like,” he added slyly.
“But it seems hedgehogs are intricate creatures.” If he was going to compliment her, albeit oddly, she should at least embrace the comparison.
“It takes great maturity to admit your similarity to the animal,” he said, teasing.
“What kind of animal would you be, then?” she demanded.
Silence. She could hear him thinking, though, which was comforting. That he was seriously considering her question instead of just dismissing her, or teasing her some more.
Not that she didn’t like being teased—it turned out she did, especially when he did it—but this wasn’t the moment, and he seemed to know that. Seemed to know her.
What kind of animal was he? One that was steadfast, and persevered through difficult times, and was also governed by routine.
“I think I might be a cow,” he said, aware of how ridiculous he sounded. But not caring. Not with her. Not after the past twenty-four hours or so of conversation. “Cows are very useful animals. They are essential for life if you are fond of milk and cheese.”
“I love cheese,” she said. Another item in the column of facts about Ida. He wouldn’t have expected her to have a preference of foodstuffs beyond pure sustenance. And yet it seemed she did.
“But cows are dull, aren’t they?” he continued. “I don’t want to be a dull animal.”
“I think you’d be a leopard,” she said in a musing tone. “All sleek and powerful and blending into the background until you see them and then realize just how beautiful they are.”
Her words left him speechless, but his other body parts responded quite well. It took a moment before he could speak.
“Th-thank you,” he managed to say at last. “Being a leopard sounds as though it would be far more fun than being a Bennett.”
“What is the worst thing about being a Bennett?” she asked, her tone curious.
He exhaled as he thought about it. “I suppose it’s never being able to relax. Never being able to just let go of something and know it will be taken care of. I’m the one who takes care of things, and now everyone expects it of me. I’m the one who does things. Nobody else takes initiative and does things on their own.”
“You do seem to be quite engaged and responsible.”
“Is that how you first saw me? It sounds very dull.”
“I suppose it could be seen as dull, if one were unimaginative.”
Oh. She most definitely was not unimaginative.
She continued. “It takes a lot of concentrated effort not to marry someone, especially with someone else like my mother so determined to make it happen.” Her tone was rueful. How hard must it be for Ida to have the duchess as her parent? “That you didn’t want it, but that you didn’t end up hurting anybody—that told me you were caring and thoughtful as well as utterly responsible.”
It didn’t sound so dull when she said it.
“Thank you. I believe that is also why I always end up taking charge of things—because otherwise, people will get hurt.” His mother, his brother, his father’s tenants and the other people whose livelihoods depended on his family. “Which actually is why I asked Alexander originally to spend time with Eleanor. If I cannot commit to something entirely, I cannot do it in good faith.”
“Oh,” she said with a sharp intake of breath. Was she thinking of him entirely committing to something? In some other context?
He should not be thinking of that now.
“But you said—you said you would like it if someone else could take charge once in a while? Oh no!” she exclaimed, twisting in the seat to look at him. “Who is handling your business affairs while you are away? Dear lord, I never even thought of that! I am so sorry. I could not live with myself if people suffered for all of this.”
He gave a reassuring smile. “Alexander offered to help, should I need to escape. I didn’t expect to take him up on his offer so soon, but I assure you, nobody will suffer.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she replied. “What will happen when you return? Will you be able to relinquish some control so you can finally take some time for yourself? Would you be able to let someone take initiative?”
The thought brought all kinds of images to his mind, pictures of her telling him what to do in that bossy tone. Demanding that he kiss her, or touch her in very specific spots.
But then reality intruded. She’d asked about what would happen now that he’d left; what about her?
“Does anyone know where you’ve gone? Much less that you left?”
Her quick, sharp inhale told him what he needed to know. Ida, you impetuous carriage-stealer. He spoke in a firm tone of voice. “We will stop in the next village. We need to send letters letting everyone know we are safe.”
“Everyone but Pearl and Eleanor are going to think we’ve eloped,” she said in a resigned tone.
“We should tell them that,” he said.
She swung herself on the seat to stare at him, and he turned to look at her face. He was surprised to see just how shocked an expression she had. “It’s the only way,” he explained. “If our families believe that we have eloped, they will both be pleased at the outcome, just not the process. My father wants me to marry, as does your mother. I assume I am a better catch for you than Lord FourFeet, and so your family won’t chase after you.”
“Likely if my mother considered it, she’d realize that I might not be sufficiently compromised, so she should leave me be.” Ida spoke in a flat tone of voice, making him hurt for her. He knew why the duchess didn’t understand her youngest daughter—she was far too complicated and intelligent—but why couldn’t the duchess just love her?
She deserved to be loved.
“That’s settled then,” he replied, turning back to face the road. Not wanting to face his own desires. “We’ll stop at the next village to write our letters, and we might as well stop there for the night as well.”
Ida knew she owed Pearl a letter—she’d promised, after all—but she hadn’t anticipated her letter would include:
I have run away with Lord Carson, the gentleman that nobody in our family has married yet.
Pearl would be aghast. The Ida of three days ago would be aghast as well. The Ida of today?
Well, she was discovering that she liked being adventurous, and daring, and speaking her mind. Sharing her thoughts.
Her sisters loved her, but they didn’t always understand her. Reasonable, since it seemed Ida didn’t always understand herself—why was she so determined to hide behind pillars? Why couldn’t she imagine a happy future for herself?
This Ida, the one at this very moment, was happy, even though the future was still uncertain, and Della was still missing, and Ida had no idea what would happen when she and Bennett returned to London.
“Well,” she said, wanting to share her happiness, but not entirely certain how. Or if he would want to hear her. Or if he would understand her. Or anything at all, really.
Was this how it felt to be a normal woman?
Hmm.
“Yes?”
“Now that we’ve been on the road for over a day.”
“Meaning we’re seasoned travelers?” he said in an amused voice.
She swatted his arm. “Not precisely. But it is very different from how we were just a few days ago.”
“How does it feel to you?” he asked.
She sighed. But not in an unhappy way. “It is an adventure. It is an escape, and it feels dangerous, and exhilarating, and wonderful.”
“And serviceable,” he teased.
“Yes, that. Service in finding my sister, after all.”
“About that—are you certain she wants to be found?”
“Uh . . .” Ida began.
“You’re not.” He did not sound surprised. “So you are saying that you took off in Mr. Beechcroft’s carriage heading for this tiny village called Halt-something.”
“Haltwhistle.”
“And you’re not certain your sister will even want to see you.”
Ida shifted in her seat. “That’s right.”
“Ida.” She had to admit to feeling a thrill at how forceful he sounded. What was wrong with her?
“My lord?”
“What happens if she won’t return with you? If she refuses to see you?”
“That won’t happen.”
He made one of her snorting noises. Had he always done that, or had he picked them up from her?
“It won’t happen because, and I know you can corroborate this, I am too stubborn to allow it to happen. Della will have to see me. I need to persuade her to return to London so we can be a part of Nora’s life.”
“Nora? Who is Nora? Another sister?”
Ida chuckled. “No, I believe five is plenty.”
“More than enough,” he murmured. She ignored him.
“Nora is Della’s daughter.”
“Her daughter?” He sounded surprised. “But you said your sister never mar—oh!”
“Precisely.”
“So not only are you planning on returning to London with your scandalous sister, you are also planning on returning with her natural-born daughter? And you are going to refuse my proposal?”
Ida nodded. “Yes. All of that.”
“What do you think will happen? Do you think you’ll just be able to pick up your life where it was? Because you’re an intelligent woman, Ida, I know you cannot think that is true. Society won’t allow it.”
“I know.” And it felt so freeing to admit it. “I expect I will be a pariah, as will Della. No honorable man will have me, and so my parents will be forced to send us both away. Perhaps I’ll be able to go live in a cottage somewhere, me and Della. And Pearl, if she wants to come.”
“You’d be happy there?” He sounded wistful. As though he wished to escape. Not necessarily with her, she wasn’t so presumptuous to think that—it was just one kiss, after all—but strike out on his own.
“I think so.” A few days ago she would have been more confident in her answer. But now the layers of herself were starting to peel, and perhaps she wanted more than she knew. “At the very least, I would like the freedom to try.”
“Freedom.” The word sounded as though he’d been forbidden to say it, whispering it in a quiet tone as though afraid of being overheard. “It is something we have, to some extent, and that we also take for granted.”
Her heart hurt at how aching his tone was.
She put her hand on his arm and rested her head against his shoulder. No, it wasn’t proper, but none of this was. And if she could give comfort to someone she was realizing might actually be a friend—a very attractive friend whose long, confident stride made her breath hitch—then she would.
He placed his hand on top of hers, squeezing her fingers.
They drove like that for a while, him caressing her hand as she breathed in his scent, a blend of soap and clean linen.
Surprising, since it had to have been some time since he last bathed. Even his cleanliness was perfect.
“What?” he asked as she shook her head.
I can’t admit I was thinking about how you smell.
“You’ve told me about your father, and his wishes for you,” she said, raising her head off his shoulder. But keeping her hand on his arm. “What about your mother?”
“My mother is an invalid.”
“I am so sorry,” Ida replied. Her hand was still on his arm, from before; odd that he hadn’t realized it until now. It felt so right, that felt odd too. But in a right kind of way. “I’d like to know more about her. If you want to talk about her.”
“I do. I will.” He took a deep breath. “My mother used to be very active. She was involved with my and Alexander’s upbringing, supervising our tutors, and spending time with us when we weren’t at our lessons. Our father was often absent, but it’s rare to find fathers who aren’t, in our world, at least.”
“And in the world of men who have to work long hours to support their families,” she added.
“Yes, of course, I was thoughtless.”
“That wasn’t what I wanted to point out. Your thoughtlessness. I think I am more guilty than you of focusing solely on myself—my wishes, my feelings, my thoughts. I know that I was blindsided by Della’s departure. I wish I had paid more attention. Maybe she would still be with us if I had.”
And then I wouldn’t be here with you. But that was the most selfish thought of all—that he was at all happy to be benefiting from her family upset was inexcusable. Even if it was true.
“But I started talking about myself. I want to hear more about your mother. What is the nature of her illness?”
Her tone was matter-of-fact, not pitying or overly curious. Just as though she honestly wished to hear the answer, and wouldn’t use his response to be falsely sympathetic or tell anybody else.
The idea, honestly, of her being falsely sympathetic was so ludicrous he nearly laughed aloud.
“The doctors aren’t precisely sure. Except that—except that her decline began around the same time she discovered my father’s second family.” He took a deep breath, relieved that she hadn’t immediately peppered him with questions. As though she knew he would tell her everything, but that it would take time.
And since they were traveling to an unknown village where they may or may not have a mailbox or a place to sleep, apparently they had a substantial amount of time.
“My father has a mistress. Like so many men of our world.” He nudged her in the shoulder. “That is one circumstance where I think we can agree it is limited to our world.”
She laughed abruptly, and then her hand shot up to her mouth as though she’d surprised even herself.
“And he has two children with this woman. I’ve never met them.” That hurt more than he would admit, even to himself. “I’d like to, but I don’t want to make my mother more upset, if she were to find out. But I wonder about them—they’re about ten years younger than Alex and me, and my father is not the most—well, he’s not very affectionate. And Alex and I, we have our mother, and the security of our position. I don’t know anything about their mother. I just hope they’re happy.”
She leaned into him, curling her hand more around his arm. “When we return with Della, I would like to assist you in meeting your half siblings. I know how important it is to have the support and love from your family, especially if your parents aren’t . . . well, you know.”
He thought of her mother, and her obvious machinations to marry him off to at least one of her daughters, and he nodded. “I do know. We both know. I hope that when I have children I will be as kind to them as my mother was to me.”
“You will be,” she replied immediately. “You cannot help but be honorable and kind and thoughtful.”
“Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice.