Page 61 of The MacGregor's Lady
“He occasionally bides in Edinburgh, but in recent years he’s more often found in Paris or Rome.”
As head of the family, laird, earl, whatever Asher’s post was called, he ought to have known that. “He’s here now, and I for one am grateful for a whiff of fresh air and some greenery, regardless of who organized the outing.”
The next few minutes were absorbed with seeing the ladies onto their horses, deciding which party would ride in which direction, and sorting out grooms to accompany the various groupings. Asher was not disappointed to find that Malcolm had assigned him to Hannah’s exclusive company.
He boosted her onto the horse, organized her skirts over her boots, and waited while she took up the reins.
“Why are you glowering at me, Balfour?”
She’d taken to using his title when they were in company, a habit he positively loathed.
Asher turned his glower on the groom at the horse’s head. The man removed to his own mount with a nod and sat waiting several yards off, as immobile as a garden sculpture.
“If I’m glowering, it’s because I am concerned for your welfare on a ride of some duration. Will you be all right?”
“You mean because of my…” She fiddled with the reins. “I’ll be fine. Riding doesn’t bother my leg, though hacking in the park hasn’t done much to challenge my stamina.”
“I can’t imagine it would, not when every fortune hunter in the city has to lurk on the Ladies’ Mile, waiting to tip his hat to you.”
She smirked at him, looking both smug and smart atop her horse. Malcolm was fussing at the groom, directing the man to change horses and issuing last-minute instructions to all and sundry.
“And you’re off to the woods, correct?” Malcolm asked Hannah.
“I am in Lord Balfour’s hands,” Hannah replied, though Asher thought her tone ironic. “If he’s to show me the woods, then I’m off to the woods.”
In the several thousand acres of Richmond Park and its policies, there were a number of woods, at least one of them of significant size. Asher waited for the groom to mount up, then aimed his own horse—at the walk—in the direction of the largest wood.
The rest of the group set off in various directions amid laughter, teasing, and Malcolm’s reminders to gather back at the starting point in two hours—not a moment longer—for a picnic meal Mary Fran was already seeing unloaded from the coaches.
“You seem to be enjoying Malcolm’s company,” Asher observed as his horse ambled along beside Hannah’s.
“Malcolm is charming, as are all the MacGregor men.”
The comment sounded sincere. He ought to tell her the picture she made in a forest-green habit was charming too, particularly when she’d worn her hair in a fat braid that dangled in a loop over her right shoulder. “You find Connor charming?”
“Of course I find him charming. Charming and full of blather are two different things. Malcolm is charmingandfull of blather.”
The groom had dropped back far enough to give them privacy, but something in Hannah’s expression suggested the conversation might veer off into areas more personal than Asher was willing to allow.
“Have you come across any eligibles whose suit you’d consider, Hannah?”
She did not so much as turn her head to scowl at him. “I have not, nor will I.”
“I’ve heard from your stepfather.”
She petted her horse with a slow stroke of her glove down the beast’s neck. “Oh?”
“He presumes on our mutual connection with Fenimore, and asks that I forgive a father’s concern for his daughter, but would I please consider allowing my solicitors to act as his factors should settlement negotiations ensue with an eligibleparti.”
Had thunder rumbled in the distance—had cannon fire started booming over the distant hills—he could not have more effectively killed the joie de vivre Hannah had brought to the outing. Her horse gratuitously shied at a puddle, and Asher saw her give the reins forward in a tacit display of self-discipline.
“Have you written back to him, told him I have no intention of marrying and am a burden on the household generally?”
She was braced for him to mock her, to resent her, to treat her as a nuisance because she’d rejected his proposals. Would that he might.
“Hannah, from the number of times your stepfather referred to you as lovely, and the heavy innuendo in his financial references, I got the impression he was trying to pander to my pecuniary interests without outright asking how much it would take to make you my countess. Just how much do you have in trust?”
She named a figure that quite frankly astounded.
