Her smile bloomed back, and Hudson’s weak protests dissipated like steam from a cup of chocolate.
If she wanted to ride in front, well, why not? She would be exposed to the elements for five minutes at most. It was less than half a mile from the location of this carriage to the inn she’d chosen. And was sitting with him for a moment here in Marrywell any more scandalous than perching atop an open phaeton with an aristocratic suitor in the middle of Hyde Park?
Yes. Yes, it was. An aristocrat could get away with anything. Hudson was a commoner. He wasn’t supposed to talk with highborn women like Lady Tabitha, much less squeeze onto a rickety bench with her in front of a perfectly serviceable and utterly empty carriage.
But before he could formulate a convincing objection, Hudson found himself seated six feet off the ground, squeezed hip-to-hip in a bench meant for one at the front of his barouche. Lady Tabitha’s skirts fluttered against his legs, hiding one of his boots from view.
Not that he was looking at his feet. He was doing everything he could to keep from staring hungrily at Lady Tabitha… and no doubt failing miserably in the process.
She beamed at him. “May I hold the reins?”
“Do you know how to control my horses?”
“You can teach me.”
“Not in two minutes. I’ll drive.” He set his pair of geldings into motion.
“Are your horses so recalcitrant?” she asked.
“Not particularly,” he admitted.
She frowned. “Then why wouldn’t you allow me to—”
“Because I don’t want to be any more impressed with you than I already am,” he snapped.
Her eyes widened. “You are impressed by me?”
He immediately regretted saying so, and did his best to redirect the conversation to safer ground. “You know how it is between servants and Quality.”
“You’re still not my servant, and you’ve never toadied to Lord Oldfield.”
“How would you know whether I bow and scrape in private?”
She snorted. “Because I’ve seen how you look at him in public. You tolerate him, at best. I would guess you believe you’d make a better viscount than the viscount, but the most likely scenario is that there’s no guessing necessary. I’m sure it’s fact. I’d wager you already perform all of Lord Oldfield’s tasks for him, and likely better than the viscount would if left to his own devices.”
“I cannot sit in the House of Lords.”
“Does Oldfield?”
“No,” Hudson admitted.
Yet another way his employer was feckless and irresponsible. Oldfield was better acquainted with the contours of a dozen debutantes’ bosoms than he was familiar with the laws and debates of the time.
Did Hudson think he’d make a better viscount? Yes. Was this opinion because he already performed the associated tasks, or was the reason because he wished he was the one betrothed to his employer’s bride?
Also yes.
Hudson certainly wouldn’t have sent some other man to fetch her. He would’ve done everything in his power to ensure Lady Tabitha entered a union with him willingly to begin with. A runaway bride did not mean a failure on behalf of the bride. A runaway bride signified a mésalliance. If Oldfield were the right husband for her, she would not have fled out of desperation to avoid him.
She certainly wasn’t running from Hudson. She was plastered next to him as if they were conjoined at the hip and shoulder.
He had never seen her willingly step within arm’s reach of the viscount.
“We’re here,” Hudson announced as he pulled the carriage to a stop in front of the Blushing Maid Inn.
He leapt to the ground. After handing the reins to one of the inn’s waiting stable lads, Hudson turned back around to help Lady Tabitha down from the driver’s perch—just in time to see her leap airborne, as he had done.
Reacting purely out of instinct, he dashed forward to catch her, rather than allow her to find her own landing. Her body slid against his as she slowly eased to the ground.
