And as she watched the pup eat, she pondered everything Dash had told her. And all he had not.
“Help me shake these out, princesse?” He had taken down the tent and was holding up one of the quilts.
Happy to make herself useful, she left Mr. Dog to his food and took hold of one end of the quilt. They shook it a few times and then folded it perfectly, as though they’d done it a thousand times together.
“Will your sister be at the party?” Ambrosia tried to turn the conversation.
“Beatrice is at home with my mother. She… isn’t fond of Society.”
But his family, she deduced, was well off. He owned an estate. So… “Did she make a debut?”
“She did.”
“But she never married?”
Dash took the corners of a second quilt from her and executed the last fold. “After five seasons, she determined she was better off escaping the institution.” He turned away and stuffed the quilt into the larger of her two trunks.
Having been married to Harrison, Ambrosia approved. But… “What happened?”
Dash’s eyes narrowed and his hands stilled. “It’s not that she lacked suitors. But one morning, after a rather lively ball, she just… up and announced that she’d had enough.”
“She was not compelled, then.” But not wanting to dwell on the lack of choices she’d had, Ambrosia steered their talk elsewhere. “After I settle in London, I want to purchase Mr. Dog a jeweled collar. Nothing expensive, mind you. But something to build his confidence, something he can be proud of.”
“A jeweled collar? Mon Dieu, the other hounds of Mayfair will take him for a dandy. Pauvre garçon.” Yet the fond glance he cast at Mr. Dog and the ripple of laughter in his voice eased the tightness in her chest.
Then, with a careless lift of his brow, he added, “But tell me—are you truly in such a hurry to reach London?”
Ambrosia’s heart stilled. “Not particularly. But I thought you were.”
“We make good enough time, I think.” He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “What would you say to a little détour… perhaps?”
“But why?”
“Why not? We will explore, non?”
“You mean, for fun?” The idea was such a foreign one that she could hardly wrap her mind around it.
“Yes, Madame Bloomington, for fun.” Something in the way he addressed her formally, in a gravelly tone, sent a shiver down her spine.
“But where would we explore?”
He gave a teasing smile, eyes gleaming. “Ah, mais non. That is a secret. For me to know… and for you to discover.” Then, more softly: “Do you trust me, princesse?”
Crazily enough, she did. “Fun. Hmmm… How can I not?”
“See how brave you are?” he laughed, and with a glance around, he closed the lid of the trunk, fastening the closure, and then hefted it onto the back of the carriage. “We’d best head out then.”
Feeling excited, not only to be going somewhere special today, but at the slight lengthening of the time she would spend with Dash Beckman, Ambrosia scooped Mr. Dog into the carriage and watched while Mr. Beckman had a few words with Mr. Daniels.
The driver scowled at first, shaking his head. Within moments, however, he seemed to come around to Mr. Beckman’s way of seeing things.
Dash climbed in beside her, and a few seconds later, they were on the road again.
“Have you made this excursion before?” Ambrosia couldn’t contain her curiosity completely.
With his feet resting on the bench opposite them, Mr. Beckman leaned back and closed his eyes. “A walkabout, before the war.”
“With school friends?”
