Page 78 of Miss Determined
He’d had it all wrong. With the right wife, all that other sorting and accounting and inspecting was a mere afterthought. Mostly pleasant duties undertaken on the scaffolding of a supremely satisfying and challenging relationship.
As Amaryllis became a warm weight over his heart and a breeze stirred the bedroom curtains, Trevor assured himself that within a week, he’d be free of the only real blight on the family escutcheon. Sacking Purvis would not be pleasant, but it would a relief.
And then would come the public courtship and that would be a very pleasant business indeed.
“Lord ValentineWindham,” Mama said in the same tone she might have referred to a visitation from the archangel Gabriel. “Stopping to chat with you right here in the park.Sucha pleasant fellow. Of all of Moreland’s sons and daughters, Lord Valentine is said to be the most like His Grace.”
“I didn’t know His Grace was musical,” Lissa replied, giving her mare another nudge. The creature was pretty enough—chestnut with four white stockings—but a plodder. A lady’s mount, meaning comfortable to sit on while going in a sidesaddle at a very sedate pace. A fine choice, if the point of a Hyde Park hack was to see and be seen and not to start the day with an invigorating gallop.
“Lord Valentine has his father’s charm,” Mama said, nodding graciously as Lady Stephen Wentworth tooled past at the ribbons of a smart gig, her husband lounging at her side. “Not that even Lord Valentine can hold a patch on your marquess.”
Since returning from Richmond last week, Mama referred to Trevor exclusively as Lissa’s marquess.
He was her marquess. Also her lover, her best friend, and her companion of first resort. Trevor had arranged another family tea earlier in the week, courtesy of Sycamore and Jeanette, and yesterday he’d contrived to cross paths with Lissa while she and Mama had enjoyed their morning hack.
Today, he was occupied sacking London’s most unworthy solicitor.
“This is what I wanted for you,” Mama said. “The most-sought-after invitations from the best hostesses, the finest fashions, all the right people greeting you with proper respect. You are a fine young lady from a good family, and you deserve no less.”
Mama’s confidence in Lissa’s deserts had bloomed along with the irises adorning the park. Trevor’s patronage and the resulting invitations were part of the transformation, but so was having enough coin to conduct life with some semblance of ease.
Damn Purvis to perdition. Lissa could not sack him—only Gavin had the authority to move the DeWitts’ affairs to another firm—but she would certainly watch Purvis with the vigilance of a barn cat at a winter mousehole.
“Miss Brompton.” Lissa brought her mare to a halt and nodded. Hecate was turned out in stylish good taste and sat her elegant bay as if to the sidesaddle born. “Delightful morning, isn’t it?”
“Mrs. DeWitt, Miss DeWitt. A spring sunrise does lift the spirits, particularly in such lovely surrounds. I do hope the season continues to bless us with such lovely weather. That is a fetching hat, Mrs. DeWitt. May I ask where you came upon it?”
Hats, weather, the lovely flowers, last night’s musicale, more weather… Yesterday, Lissa had indulged in a gallop with Trevor, or a canter, given the mare’s limitations. Mama had waited patiently beneath the maples and chatted with acquaintances only too happy to acknowledge her.
Today’s outing was merely an excuse to get out of the house on a pretty day, but even that was a vast improvement over last spring’s horseback excursions. Small talk was no longer a trial to Lissa’s nerves, passing smiles weren’t barbed with innuendo or pity, invitations had ceased to be ordeals to be dreaded.
Life was sweet, and next week, when Trevor’s mourning was well and truly behind him, life would become sweeter still.
“You ladies will excuse me,” Mama said. “I see my dear Agatha Prufrock is out with her oldest. We haven’t spoken in ages, and one does want to catch up.” Mama, who was a fine horsewoman, gave her mare a nudge with her heel and trotted off a few dozen yards.
“My mother has found her element,” Lissa said. “I don’t doubt that Mama might capture a few hearts before we leave London this year, and nothing could make me happier.”
Hecate arranged her skirts to drape more smoothly over her boots. “You mean that. You wouldn’t begrudge your mother a proposal before any have come your way?”
What to say? Miss Brompton had a reputation for stickling and vinegar, but Lissa hadn’t found her to be anything but pragmatic. Her wit was a bit dry, true, but never mean.
“Mama has been widowed for some time, and while she misses my father, I hope she would not put loyalty to his memory above her own happiness.”
“Let’s walk, shall we? Admire the sunlight on the Serpentine, or pretend to.” Miss Brompton signaled with her chin, and a sizable young groom rode up on a cob. “Miss DeWitt and I will enjoy a short stroll, Benjamin. If you’d see to the horses?”
“Of course, miss.”
Lissa dismounted, curious as to what Hecate Brompton could possibly have to say to her. They were cordial, but not… not friends. Lissa’s only friend in London was Trevor, though she certainly enjoyed the company of many of the Dornings.
“That bench,” Hecate said, striding off, skirts draped over one arm. “You must not take me to task for presuming, Miss DeWitt. My intentions are good.”
“Why would I assume they were anything else?” The bench was deserted, set apart from both walking paths and mounted traffic, suggesting the conversation required privacy.
“Because I saw you and Lord Tavistock yesterday morning.”
“We were in plain sight.” Except for a short moment behind a clump of rhododendrons, when Trevor has stolen a kiss, and Lissa had reciprocated his larceny.
“He kissed you,” Miss Brompton said, settling on the bench. “You kissed him. Don’t worry. Nobody else saw, and a kiss in the park is hardly enough to get much of a scandal going.”
