Page 10 of The Heiress's Daughter
“Sixpence?” Her head jerked up and she gave him a startled look, as if recalling where they were. She gave a halfhearted, not-very-convincing laugh. “Heavens, they’re not worth the penny you first offered me, let alone sixpence. Anyway, I was still thinking about the maid we’re going to hire this afternoon.”
No maid caused her to look like that. He glanced ahead at his cousin and her husband, riding very close together, hand in hand. “A romantic couple, are they not?”
She nodded.
“To an outsider they might appear to be quicksilver and clay. Certainly nobody predicted they’d make a match of it. Many predicted Maggie would soon get bored with Oliver—he’s a very steady chap—and others were sure that he would get impatient with her flightiness.” He shook his head. “It hasn’t happened yet and I don’t believe it ever will.”
She tilted her head and eyed him thoughtfully. “Never? You think so?”
“I know so. My cousin is something of a flibbertigibbet, and Ollie is her rock.”
She frowned. “You mean he keeps her under control?”
He laughed. “I’d like to see any man try. No. It’s hard to explain, but since their marriage, Oliver has been more relaxed, happier. He used to be rather—I don’t know—dour. A bit stiff. And she was always a flighty piece, but those who knew her best could see there was always an underlying brittleness. But that brittleness has gone now and she’s just…happy. Secure. As is he. Together, they balance each other. Ah, we’re almost there,” he added, as Hampstead town came into view. “In a few minutes you’ll be able to have a good gallop. I know you enjoy that.”
“Yes, my sister and I always used to race each other.”
“Come on then, let’s see if we can beat this staid old married couple,” he said loudly as he passed his cousin and her husband, and with shouts and laughter the race was on.
After the initial lighthearted race, they slowed, enjoyingthe fresh air and sunshine. They dismounted by one of the ponds to eat the apples he’d bought. Race peeled and sliced one for Miss Studley, which she ate absently and thanked him civilly.
Afterward they fed the cores and peels to the horses. Then, before Race realized it, his cousin and her husband had disappeared into the woods, leaving Race and Miss Studley alone, except for Addis, who lounged on the grass a short distance away, minding the horses.
Cursing his cousin under his breath for her blatant matchmaking, he said to Miss Studley, “My cousin is a minx. Would you care for a stroll around the pond?” It was a smallish pond, and they would be under the eye of her groom the whole time.
She hesitated, then said politely, “Thank you, that would be pleasant.” But her eyes told a different story. If only he knew what it was.
He itched to strip that veneer of politeness from her, to reveal the woman beneath, with feelings and thoughts and dreams. He knew he could feel them seething under that smooth, calm facade. But how?
Again he was reminded of the sea anemones of his childhood; if he pushed, she would withdraw even more.
Ducks dotted the pond, ducks of several sorts. Race came to a sudden stop. “Good lord, there’s an acquaintance of mine,” he exclaimed.
She stopped and looked around. “Where?”
“There.” He pointed at a large drake waddling through the grass toward the edge of the pond.
“I can’t see anyone.”
“That pompous-looking fellow over there. Approaching the pond as if he owns it.”
“You mean the duck?” she said incredulously.
“Yes,” he said completely seriously. “He’s an MP. House of Lords.”
She gave him a governessy look. “A duck. In the House of Lords.”
“Yes, that’s him all right, with the ginger hair and the pink waistcoat—Lord Wigeon.”
She snorted.
“Large as life and frightfully pompous,” he continued. “Look at the way he walks, as if he owns the world. And you should hear his speeches—long, pretentious, repetitive and as boring as—No, on second thoughts, what was I thinking of? You wouldn’t want to hear them. Not unless you’re in dire need of a nap, and even then I’d avoid them. Nightmares, you know.”
“That’s very silly,” she said. Her smile was trying to escape.
“Oh lord, and there’s another one.” He pointed at a large drake with a knobbly red beak. “Sir Humphrey Shelduck. He’s a member of my club, and believe me, he’s another fellow to be avoided. Not that you’re likely to visit my club—no ladies allowed, you know, which makes for dreadfully dull company, I can tell you. Do you see him?”
She giggled. “You’re being ridiculous.”
