Page 42 of Miss Desirable
Mr. Ash Dorning approached on a handsome bay. Fournier had been introduced to most of the Dornings, and he was somewhat acquainted with Ash as a result of that fellow’s interest in The Coventry Club and his formidable skill with a sword.
“Miss Fairchild.” Dorning halted his horse and touched a gloved finger to his hat brim. “Fournier. A lovely morning for a hack, is it not?”
He was merely offering pleasantries, and yet, Fournier knew that the encounter was anything but a chance meeting. Dorning had stopped his horse when he might have trotted right on past with a nod, and he had started a conversation with Catherine where any number of gossipy equestrians would observe his courtesy.
And yet, Catherine had no facile reply for him.
“In spring,” Fournier said, “early mornings carry a double load of hope, for the day and for the season both. We crave the light and warmth as at no other time of year.”
“And when we grieve,” Dorning said, “light and warmth are especially dear. My condolences on your loss, Miss Fairchild. How are you managing?”
Dorning had the extraordinary eyes that Catherine probably regarded as a curse. On him, in the morning sun, the color shaded nearly indigo, and his gaze held a world of honest compassion.
“‘Managing’ is an apt description,” Catherine said. “Good and bad days. Life goes on between sorrow’s ambushes. Please thank Lady Della for her note of condolence.”
“Della lost her mother at an early age,” Dorning said, “and she well knows the burden Society can place on a lady due to circumstances beyond her control. She will pay you a call next week at the latest, and I will likely accompany her, if that suits?”
Catherine had stopped fiddling with her reins and inspecting the canopy long enough to aim a direct gaze at Dorning.
“I am always happy to receive friends, Mr. Dorning. They are a singular comfort in difficult times.”
“Just so. I will bid you good day. Enjoy the fresh air. I find it a much-needed tonic when the blue devils beset me. Fournier, perhaps you’d oblige me with a sparring match or two at the fencing salon?”
“I would be delighted. My regards to your lady wife.”
Dorning nodded and trotted off. Catherine stared after him as if he’d materialized from the fairy realm, a being out of context among mere mortals.
Fournier signaled Bertold to resume walking, and Franny fell in beside him.
“One could hardly believe that deft, soft-spoken gentleman is Sycamore Dorning’s brother,” Fournier said, “but he is, and what’s more, he and his sibling are dearly devoted.”
“Lady Della is a bastard,” Catherine said. “I’d forgotten that. Mama told me. The Quimbey spare went frolicking with the late Earl of Bellefonte’s second wife. Mama knew all the old secrets. Lady Della is petite and dark, while her siblings are all tall and blond.”
“And Ash Dorning reminded you, here in Hyde Park, that you are not the Dorning family’s only changeling. I gather Lady Della manages well enough.”
“Her ladyship is an earl’s changeling, claiming a discreet connection to a ducal family, while I am…” She fell silent.
“An earl’s by-blow,” Fournier concluded. “A baron’s changeling. But you were about to say that you were nobody.”
Catherine blinked, then pretended to shade her eyes against the slanting beams of sunshine. “I would not have said that, but I nearly thought it.”
“Except that you did not. I realize the mare is out of condition, but even she is capable of a short canter on such a lovely day. Shall we?”
He did not wait for Catherine’s assent, but cued Bertold to pick up the pace. A few strides on, Franny gamely broke into the canter, laboring mightily to keep up with the larger gelding. When the horses came down to the walk, Franny’s sides were heaving like bellows.
Catherine, flushed and smiling, patted her horse. “Well done, darling lady. We’ll have you back on your mettle in no time.”
Yes, we will.“Perhaps you will ride out with me again next week?”
“I would enjoy that, and I will have a pointed word with Nevin about his slacking. Franny needs more exercise, and Nevin needs to spend less time at The Boar’s Bride. I owe you my thanks, Fournier.”
“For?”
“I would have made one excuse after another to avoid the park. I would have let Franny go entirely to pot, and I would have told myself I was being prudent, taking things step by step.”
“For a time, perhaps, but your good sense would have asserted itself eventually. The polite society you so longed to join is not worth your misery.”
She cocked her head as if trying to identify the call of a distant bird. “I do believe Lady Della Dorning would agree with you, but then, she is surrounded by family happy to support her opinions.”
