Page 4 of Awakening a Lord's Desires
They do not think me as odd as they think you.
“Are you not going to answer me?” she asked when Caroline said nothing.
Caroline smiled. “I am sorry. I do not wish to injure you through my traipsing. But I enjoy it so and, as you said, Father allows it.”
Just as Caroline expected and hoped, her stepmother looked a little confused and almost frustrated that Caroline did not react more strongly. Caroline took a step backwards up the stairs.
“I will just go and dress for breakfast.”
“Very well,” Penelope said, and Caroline raced away, glad to get away before her stepmother could say anything else.
Chapter 4
Charles walked into his breakfast room with a smile. Oliver Blackwell, Charles’ good friend, was already seated, a newspaper in hand and a steaming cup of tea in front of him.
“Ah, you’ve returned.” Oliver folded his newspaper and put it down beside him, grinning up at his friend with his green eyes sparkling. “You were very industrious this morning.”
“You know I like a morning ride, Oliver,” Charles said, rubbing his hands together as he perused the collected dishes of food on the sideboard. “It was rather interesting to say the least.” He piled food atop a plate and went to sit at the head of the table next to his friend.
Interesting does not even begin to describe it. The back of his neck was still tingling from the experience.
“What do you mean? Now, you’ve intrigued me.” Oliver cut into a piece of sausage and chewed thoughtfully, waiting for Charles’ explanation.
Charles wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but he had the oddest feeling like he’d been in touch with the divine that morning. For Miss Turner had been like an angel.
An angel giving you devilish thoughts.
He cleared his throat and looked down at his food for a moment, hoping his friend didn’t notice his embarrassment at his crude thoughts. “I was rather a scoundrel, my friend, and nearly ran over a young woman while riding on the path between the two patches of woods.”
“Good God, is she all right?” Oliver asked, wide-eyed.
“Yes, all is well. I went to assist her to her feet, and she had struck her head, but it seemed fine. Anyway, Oliver,” he smiled, “she is the most perfect creature I have ever beheld. A little odd, perhaps, in that she was on her own, wearing a very workable woolen gown, but she was perfect.”
“Well, this is getting better already.” Oliver chuckled. “Who is she?”
“I at first thought she was a servant, dressed the way she was, but she is the Baron of Wentworth’s daughter, living just over there. Since my family rarely comes to the countryside, we have never before had the good fortune to meet.”
“And here you thought to relax, old friend, during your stay in the quiet Kentish countryside,” Oliver said with a smirk. “But will you be fawning over this young lady instead? I can see it in your eyes.”
Oliver’s wicked grin made Charles smile and shake his head.
“Hardly, Oliver. I have had my fill of young ladies pretending to be something they are not to draw my attention. I shall only enjoy the countryside in that relaxing manner one does after a busy Season. But like I said, she was quite different than the usual. I should like to meet her again.”
“So shall I.” Oliver picked up his newspaper again. “But I assume you will be keeping this meeting to yourself? A young lady on her own in the woods, coming across a gentleman.” He lifted his brows and tsked. “It does not look good, rather like a section of Tom Jones’ scandalous tale.”
Charles dipped a spoon into his egg. “No, it does not. I will keep it to myself, of course. But it’s likely we’ll see her at Lady Fenton’s country ball tomorrow night.”
“Ah, perfect. I will be looking forward to it. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Oliver finished his tea and stood. “I have an unfinished painting awaiting me in the conservatory. I should like to get to it before the housekeeper comes to drive me out of doors in the beautiful weather.”
Charles laughed, nodding to his friend as he left. He ate quietly, deep in thought. He had very much tired of the Season and his mother’s less-than-subtle attempts at forcing a bride on him.
“Think of your legacy, Charles. You must marry!” she’d said more times than he could count.
While he’d been polite to all the young ladies pushed in his direction, not one of them had sparked his interest the way a certain golden-haired blue-eyed beauty had. Not one of them made him feel ready to burst, like he wanted to run a race, take a wild gallop, or jump into an ice-cold pond. But Miss Turner was different, and he was determined to find out why.
After he ate, he went to his study to attend to some business. The invitation for Lady Fenton’s country ball lay atop his desk, unanswered. She’d sent it a few days ago and he’d thought to reject it, hoping for some peace and quiet after the whirl of constant activity in London. But now that he’d told Oliver they would go, he picked it up and considered it.
It was possible that it would be just as terrible as the London balls, with too few gentlemen of means and far too many eligible young ladies. But at the same time, he was certain that Miss Turner would be there, and that made it worth the attempt.
