“What?” She asked, wondering if she had mud on her face.
“I thinkyoudeserve to be spoiled.” His voice as much as his words sent heat spiraling into her belly. And butterflies. Butterflies fluttered around in her stomach and then took flight into all of her limbs.
Aubrey forced herself to breath normally, glancing at Mr. Dog in an attempt to return to normalcy. “I do hope no one is missing him dreadfully.”
Mr. Bateman nodded.
“You are missing Guinevere? You are worried about him?”
He sent her a sad look. “She has been a loyal companion.”
“You will locate her after your birthday party.” She spoke with confidence. Somehow, she couldn’t see Mr. Bateman not achieving any goal he set out to achieve. She knew so little about this man, though. “What do you do, Mr. Bateman? Where is your home?”
He hesitated a moment before answering, as though weighing what he should tell her. She wished he had blurted something out without thinking. Moments such as this, he was too mysterious for her comfort.
“My estate is near the small hamlet of Trequin Bay.”
“I’ve not heard of it.” Aubrey clamped her lips shut in hopes that he would expand on his answer.
“I’ve lived most of my life on the Atlantic coast of north Cornwall.” By the look in his eyes, she could see that he loved it there. She could easily picture him riding Guinevere along a sandy beach with cliffs looming on one side, ocean waves crashing on the other. Guinevere’s mane would lift up in the wind as Mr. Bateman road the powerful animal effortlessly.
“That is where your mother and father settled, after leaving France?”
He nodded and the sun shining through the windows showed a few tiny wrinkles at the corners of his, oh, so lovely eyes. She would not press him to discuss memories if they might have been unhappy ones… not knowing that he’d eventually gone to war against a country that had once been his homeland.
He laughed a great deal at life in general, but he also seemed to be hiding something. Was he hiding sorrow?
“You wish to host salons in your future home,Princesse. Are you talented at any of the arts, yourself? Which of them is your favorite?” He changed the subject easily.
“Oh, I have no talent myself, but I love them all,” Aubrey admitted without any shame. “One of Mr. Bloomington’s neighbors, Mrs. Mary Tuttle, possesses the most wonderful library.” She bit her lip, wondering how much she ought to admit to this man who she barely knew, realizing that once again he had her talking about herself. And yet she continued…
“I led my late husband to believe that the two of us, Mrs. Tuttle and I, were reading from the Bible, but instead we were looking at books about art, and even reading some mythology and modern fiction. I’d already read the scriptures he assigned me hundreds of times, you see—“
“No need to explain yourself to me,Princesse. And so, you developed your thirst for writings beyond that of King James?”
Aubrey nodded with a grimace. “I did. Mrs. Tuttle is the most interesting person. Before moving to Rockford Beach, she lived in London and she told me all about the salons that she once hosted. I could not help think that it would be the most wonderful thing in the world for a recently widowed woman to pursue as her purpose, for a woman who did not plan to marry, nor had any children or family.”
“It is a worthy endeavor.”
This was something she was coming to quite appreciate in regard to Mr. Bateman. Although he’d laughed at her often, and just as oftenwithher, in those things that mattered mostto her, he afforded genuine consideration.
He had not tried to persuade her to give up her dog and now he had expressed confidence in her future endeavor.
“I… Thank you, Mr. Bateman.” Mr. Dog––until she could come up with a more dignified and original name––chose that moment to rise up on his hind legs to look out the window. He barely held onto the side of the carriage and seemed to be defying gravity.
“He truly is magnificent.” Aubrey announced. She could hardly have been more proud if he were her actual child. “I do believe, Mr. Bateman, that this dog is going to make quite the splash in London.”
“Like you.” Mr. Bateman grinned.
“Like me.” Aubrey grinned back.
Chapter 5
Aubrey
Mr. Dog was all sorts of talented, and… interesting looking… but the one thing that he was not, was clean. And whatever muck he’d gotten himself into was not lending itself well to the close confines of the coach interior. After riding along for just over half an hour, Aubrey could not pretend it didn’t bother her any longer and pointed out a small brook on the side of the road.
“Would you be terribly upset if we stopped to—“
