“I suppose,” he said, lowering his foot to the ground, “we ought to make our way back. The breeze is starting to feel chilly.”
She fell into step beside him again but made no attempt to revive the conversation. He found her company curiously restful. If he had been walking with Miss Hunt or almost any other lady of his acquaintance, he would have felt obliged to keep some light chatter going, even if it were about nothing at all of any significance to either of them.
Miss Claudia Martin, he thought, was a woman to be respected. She had character in abundance. He even thought that he would probably like her if he ever got to know her better.
It no longer puzzled him that she was Susanna’s friend.
“Shall we make a start at the same time tomorrow morning?” he suggested when they had arrived back at the inn and he had escorted her to the top of the stairs.
“The girls and I will be ready,” she said briskly as she removed her gloves. “Thank you for the walk, Lord Attingsborough. I needed it, but I would not have dared venture out alone. Therearesevere disadvantages to being a woman, alas.”
He smiled at her as she extended a hand to him, and he took it in his. But instead of shaking it and releasing it as she had surely intended, he raised it to his lips.
She withdrew it firmly, turned without another word, and had soon disappeared inside her room. The door closed with an audible click.
Thatwas a mistake, he thought, frowning at the closed door. She was certainly not the kind of woman whose hand one kissed. Her fingers had clasped his firmly, not lain limp there waiting for him to play the gallant.
Dash it, that had been gauche of him.
He descended the stairs and went in search of company. From the sounds that proceeded from behind the taproom door, he guessed that not many of the other guests had yet retired for the night.
He was glad about it. He felt suddenly and unaccustomedly lonely.
Flora had fallen into a doze, her head flopped over to one side, her mouth open. Edna was gazing pensively out the carriage window. So was Claudia.
Whenever she could see him, she gazed with a frown at the Marquess of Attingsborough, mounted on another hired horse and looking as smart and as fresh as he had yesterday morning when they set out from Bath. He was remarkably handsome and charming. He was also—she hated to admit it—surprisingly good company. She had thoroughly enjoyed their walk and most of their conversation last evening. There had been a certain novelty about walking outdoors during the evening with a gentleman.
And then he had spoiled a memorable evening—and restored her initial impression of him—by kissing her hand when bidding her good night. She had been extremely annoyed with him. They had enjoyed a sensible conversation of equals—or so it had seemed. She had not needed to be dropped a crumb of his gallantry just as if she were any silly flirt.
She could see that it was raining again—it had been drizzling on and off all morning. But this time it was more than drizzle. And within moments it was more than just a gentle rain.
The carriage stopped, the coachman descended from his box, there was the sound of voices, and then the door opened and the marquess climbed into the carriage without benefit of the steps. Claudia moved to the far side of the seat as he sat beside her. But carriage seats were not really very wide. Nor was a carriage interior very large. He instantly seemed to fill both. Flora awoke with a start.
“Ladies,” he said, smiling and dripping water all over the floor—and doubtless over the upholstery as well, “pardon me if you will while I travel with you until the rain stops.”
“It is your own carriage,” Claudia said.
He turned his smile on her and she had an unwilling memory of the warmth of those smiling lips against the back of her hand.
“And I hope it is not too uncomfortable,” he said, “or the journey too tedious. Though that is a forlorn hope, I daresay. Journeys are almost always tedious.”
He smiled about at each of them.
Claudia felt somehow suffocated by his presence—a remarkably silly feeling. But why could the rain not have held off? She could smell the damp fabric of his coat and his cologne. She could also smell horse, as she had yesterday. Try as she would, she could not keep her shoulder from touching his while the carriage bounced and swayed as it bowled along the highway.
What nonsense to be suddenly so discomposed—just like a green girl, or a silly spinster. What utter nonsense!
He asked the girls questions about school—skilled questions that had even Edna responding with more than just blushes and giggles. Soon they seemed quite at ease with him. And he, of course, looked perfectly comfortable as if it were an everyday occurrence with him to be sharing his carriage with two exschoolgirls and their headmistress.
“You told me last evening,” he said eventually, settling his shoulders against the corner of the seat and rearranging his long legs in their mud-spattered leather riding boots so that he did not crowd any of them—though Claudia wassoaware of those legs, “about your planned employment and hopes for success. What about your dreams, though? We all dream. What would your lives be if you could have any wish come true?”
Flora did not hesitate.
“I would marry a prince,” she said, “and live in a palace and sit on a golden throne and wear diamonds and furs all day long and sleep on a feather bed.”
They all smiled.
“You would not sit on a throne, though, Flo,” Edna pointed out, ever the realist, “unless you were married to a king.”
