Page 25 of The Bachelor
“He’s actually quite the walker,” she said. “Apparently, it helps loosen up the calf muscles.” When the footman eyed her with thinly veiled astonishment, she added, “I believe his sister mentioned it.”
His face cleared. “That reminds me, my lady—the duchess paid us a visit yesterday to leave a message for you and the mistress. She intends to call on you this evening with the duke. I am to send a note if that is not convenient for you.”
“That is perfectly convenient, thank you.” The footman nodded, then went off to fetch her coffee.
Her thoughts wandered back to Joshua. How curious that he would be walking this morning when surely he needed to save his strength for riding. Indeed, she’d been shocked to learn yesterday that hecouldride, because she’d never seen him do so on the estate. But if a woman could ride sidesaddle, then it made sense that Joshua could ride with only one good leg. The principle was the same.
“Oh, Gwyn,” her mother said from the doorway, “I’m so glad you’re up already. Eliza wanted to say good morning before she goes shopping.”
Gwyn rose, as always delighted by a visit from the Dowager Countess of Hornsby, the woman who’d be presenting her and Beatrice for their debuts. Though Gwyn hated that Mama couldn’t, Lady Hornsby was the next best thing.
“Gwyn, my dear,” Lady Hornsby said as she entered with Gwyn’s mother. “How wonderful to see you in something other than black or gray at last. You look positively radiant in that jonquil color!”
“Thank you,” Gwyn said as she kissed Lady Hornsby’s perfectly rouged cheek. Gwyn only hoped thatJoshuawould find her new riding habit attractive. It stuck in her craw that he could kiss her and afterward seem as unaffected by her as before.
Lady Hornsby patted her gray hair, which was carefully coifed into a mass of ringlets that fringed her very fashionable pink turban. “How I wish I had your natural curls. Mine take my maid forever to create.”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t wish to have my outrageous color, I imagine.”
“Instead of my gray? Absolutely.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “Besides, as your mother can tell you, redheads have more fun. Particularly in the bedchamber.”
“Eliza!” Mama said.
“What? Gwyn’s not some blushing schoolgirl. I’m sure with a brother like Thorn, she’s heard a few salacious stories. And met a few salacious gentlemen.”
“It does me no good when I do,” Gwyn quipped. “Thorn acts as if I’m a nun whom no gentleman should sully. He would certainly never introduce me to anyone salacious.” And he’d had no trouble running off the only salacious gentleman she’d ever known. Though much as she hated to admit it, that had probably been wise.
“Such a pity,” Lady Hornsby said. “What are brothers for, if not to give their sisters a look at how gentlemen really behave?”
Mama cast her eyes heavenward. “I’m beginning to regret asking you to present my daughter, Eliza. I forgot how . . . brazen you can be.”
“What fustian,” Lady Hornsby said. “You could sing a bawdy song in your youth as well as the rest of us, Lydia, and you know it.”
Gwyn’s jaw dropped. “Mama? Singing bawdy songs?”
Lady Hornsby patted Gwyn’s hand. “It was a different time, my dear. We all sang the occasional bawdy song, didn’t we, Lydia?”
“Oh, Lord,” Mama muttered, her cheeks stained a bright red.
“I promise not to tell anyone,” Gwyn said. “If you will promise to sing me a few of them.”
“If she won’t, I will.” Lady Hornsby then added, sotto voce, “And by the way, have you heard the latest on-dit?”
She paused for dramatic effect, and Gwyn had to swallow her laugh. Lady Hornsby was a shameless gossip, and despite Mama’s protests that she didn’t approve, she secretly lapped up every word.
Lady Hornsby lifted one brow. “Lady Winslow is breeding again. What does that make, ten children now?”
“Good heavens,” Mama said. “I can scarcely keep up with my five. I can’t imagine managing twice that number, poor woman.”
“Meanwhile,” Lady Hornsby said, “your daughter there can’t imagine managing even one, I daresay.”
In response to the woman’s laugh, Gwyn smiled weakly. Ah, but shecouldimagine . . . and had, many a time. That was the problem.
Lady Hornsby was still laughing when Joshua entered the breakfast room.
“Joshua!” her mother said. “You’ve arrived just in time to meet my good friend, Eliza Brock, the Countess of Hornsby.”
Gwyn tensed when Lady Hornsby turned to study Joshua with a critical eye. Once again, his attire was old-fashioned: a brown coat of the style popular several years before, a nondescript waistcoat, and riding breeches of buckskin. But if the countess sharpened her wit on him based on how he was dressed, Gwyn would never forgive her. He looked handsome no matter what he wore.
