A muscle ticked in his jaw. “He should have informed you. Do you object to the boat?”
“I have never been in a boat.” Not even a small one, as Lord Tarrington’s estate had no body of water. She turned to him. “It is safe?”
“Very much so.” He pointed out to the river. “You see? It is a favorite travel option for picnickers and traders alike.” The river was indeed peppered with many boats, all of which were upright. Not a single one seemed intent on dumping its passengers in the river. And yet... it was a verylargeriver. Was it deep as well? It must be. She was suddenly aware of how very much she didnotknow about how to swim. What would she do if she found herself deposited in the water? Did people naturally float?
“Miss Faraday? We can go by carriage if you prefer.”
She jolted herself from her fatalistic thoughts. “No. No, this will suit. I apologize for holding up the procession.” She forced one foot forward, but Lord Berkeley’s hand on her arm stopped her. She stared at his hand for several seconds before looking up.
His head was ducked down, his eyes intent on hers. “We truly can go by carriage.”
She swept aside his concern, if indeed that was what she saw a hint of in his expression. She’d never balked from a challenge yet. Perhaps by the end of the day, she would have learned, of necessity, how to swim. That would be... beneficial to her existence, would it not?
Probably not, but she was choosing to look on the positive side of things. “No, this will suit,” she said again.
His eyes kept hers for another couple heartbeats. Or several heartbeats, as hers seemed to be moving at a faster-than-normal pace.Then he nodded, straightened, and gestured to the boat.
The bank of the river was slick beneath her boots, and she was glad that Jones had suggested them, neither of them knowing exactly what activities Lydia would be engaging in that day. Lord Berkeley held her elbow as she grasped the hand of an oarsman to gain her footing in the boat. Floors should not move—it wasnot natural. Yet the one beneath her seemed to be making it a life goal to send her onto her backside.
Lydia had barely managed to keep her feet upon the floor when Lord Berkeley stepped in beside her and the boat swayed beneath his weight. There was nothing to be done; her backside desperately wished to meet the ground, and so it did.
The air was knocked out of her as she fell between two seats. Immediately, wetness began seeping through her dress. A general gasp of concern came up from the back of the boat, and several oarsmen rushed to her sprawled person, but Lord Berkeley was fastest of all, stooping and grabbing both her upper arms to haul her back to her feet.
She had better be careful, or he might think her clumsy. No, he probably already did.
“Are you well?” he asked.
She tried to laugh off her discomfort. “I was worried I might fall out of the boat. I did not anticipate getting wet whileinit.”
He looked down to the bottom of the boat, where a small amount of standing water remained that had not soaked into her skirt. “You still do not wish to take a carriage?”
“And attempt to getoutof this death trap? No, thank you. With my luck, I will certainly fall in now.”
The corner of his mouth definitely twitched then. “Here, let me see you to a seat. Would you like to sit in the shade?”
“I think I may dry more quickly in the sun.” And gain more freckles, but she would deal with Jones’s ire over that later.
He helped her to sit then introduced her to the remaining members of their party. “This is Lord Charleton, whom you met last night, and Lady Teresa.” Lord Berkeley gave no indication of what the relationship with the latter might be, but Lydia smiled at each in turn. After not receiving a smile back from Lady Teresa—or, not one that appeared more sneer than pleasure—she assumed it was because there was not a particularly close one.
At least, Lydia hoped not. Because the way Lady Teresa proceeded to scrutinize her made Lydia feel more than a little unwanted.
“How long do we anticipate we will be waiting for Charlie, do you say?” Lord Charleton asked with an air of amusement.
“He is not feeling well today,” Lord Berkeley returned.
“Not feeling well? I daresay it is last night’s adventure. I swear he—” The man looked around, taking in his company, and cleared his throat. “He seemed a bit peaky then. So he will not be joining us?”
Lord Berkeley shook his head.
“Bad luck. I shall tell the oarsmen we are prepared to leave then.”
The man navigated the few rows to the men in question with far more finesse than Lydia had managed, leaving silence in his wake—for a moment, at least, until Lady Teresa inclined her body toward Lord Berkeley, evidently attempting to begin a private conversation. Lydia looked forward, not wanting to intrude. Well, sheshouldnot want to intrude, though in truth, that was exactly what she would like to do.
“Your mother’s ball was a massive success, as usual.”
Lord Berkeley said nothing, and Lydia’s small peek in their direction showed him nodding his head.
“I called on her the following day with my mother and was told the family was not at home.”
