*~~*~~*
Perry relished the feel of the horse between his knees, even thought it had been sometime since he’d indulged in the pleasure of riding.
Far too long, he realised, as it took him several minutes to adjust to the gait of his mount.
Fortunately, he didn’t have a great distance to travel, since Mowbray House was only a couple of miles from his own, and he hoped to make good time.
He’d not considered the amount of traffic he might encounter, of course. And it was Christmas Eve, so many of London’s residents had decided to emerge from their homes and share the greetings of the season with each other.
There was music now and again, several fires with the scent of roasting chestnuts in the air, and people—everywhere people—wrapped up warmly and walking arm-in-arm with rosy cheeks and smiling faces. What the hell was going on?
His pace had been slowed considerably, and at one point he leaned down, tapped a gentleman on the shoulder and inquired if there was any kind of special event occurring in the neighbourhood.
The man laughed up at him. “Why no, sir. It’s Christmas Eve. Many have been given leave for the afternoon, others just want to share their happiness that this damned year is almost at an end.”
“Ah. That makes sense, I suppose.” He held his horse in check as a group of children skidded gleefully down the snow-covered street. “Thank you, friend. Happy Christmas to you and yours.”
“And to you, sir,” grinned the man. “Safe travels.”
They couldn’t be anything elsebutsafe, mused Perry, plodding along at a walking pace. He could have run to Mowbray House and reached it sooner.
Precious minutes were wasted going around a band of musicians; although their music was sprightly it was all Perry could do not to yell at them to get out of the dratted way and let him through.
His eagerness to reach Grace was making him irritable and he took a breath, trying to attain his customary placid state.
He failed, and for the next quarter of a mile drummed his fingertips on the pommel, while struggling very hard not to grind his teeth together in frustration.
Finally—after what seemed like hours—the crowds thinned and he was able to pick up the pace, trotting for a while and then finding sufficient room to canter. Ridingventre à terrewas still out of the question, but since he didn’t consider himself the hero of a fanciful and florid romance novel on his way to rescue Grace from a fate worse than death, he spared little time worrying about it.
Mowbray House loomed ahead, and Perry gulped down the mixture of excitement and apprehension that threatened to choke him. His heart thudded beneath his thick jacket and his hands were damp inside his gloves. This, he told himself, is utterly ridiculous. That a man his age should be suffering from an attack of nerves? Well, it was embarrassing to even admit it to himself.
Moments later he was looping the reins of his horse around a convenient statue and pounding on the door of Mowbray House.
Deery opened it and raised an eyebrow at him. “Sir Peregrine.”
“Yes,” answered Perry, somewhat obscurely. “Er…yes.”
“May I be of assistance, sir? Would you wish to come in?” He held the door wider.
“I’m hoping to see Mrs. Chaney, Deery. Could you ask her if she will grant me a few moments?”
“Oh dear.” Deery’s face grew even more sombre, if that was possible. “I’m afraid Mrs. Cheney isn’t here, sir.”
“Not here?” Perry’s voice squeaked and he cleared his throat. “What do you meannot here?”
“That would benot present, Sir Peregrine. As innot in the house. She has left.Gone.”
“Gone?”
Deery’s eyes almost rolled. “Correct sir. Mrs. Chaney has departed Mowbray House.” He spoke slowly and distinctly, matching his words to the obvious confused state of the gentleman before him.
“Gone where?”
Deery sighed. “Well, it is my understanding that Mrs. Chaney expressed the intention of returning to Seton Hall, and spending the rest of the winter there in her own home. Mr. Max and Mrs. Kitty have already left for Ridlington.” He looked down his nose at Sir Peregrine. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Dammit.” Perry almost gnashed his teeth but caught himself at the last moment. “No, Deery. Thank you. I will attempt to catch up with her then, at Seton Hall.”
“Very good, sir. I shall wish you a happy Christmas then.” The butler nodded.
“Oh, uh…yes. Happy Christmas, Deery. Thank you.”
Mounting up once more, Perry turned toward Seton Hall. “Damned woman. Can’t stay in one place, it seems.”
He set off at a spanking pace, grateful that he didn’t have to avoid so many people. He should be able to make the trip in less than an hour, God willing.
And then—then, Mrs. Grace Chaney—there would be words spoken and matters settled. Followed by a pleasurable period of intimacy.
Wincing at the inevitable bodily response to the thought of such things, Perry slowed the horse a little and determined to focus on other matters, lest he arrive at Grace’s side bruised and useless.
That would not enhance any of his plans for this Christmas Eve.
