Page 11 of Unending Joy
“Thornhill,” Joy confirmed.
“We are acquainted since Eton, though he has not been much in Town. Any chance you could distract him while I court Lady Maeve?”
“Does he like animals?”
“I do not see why he would not. He was fond of horses when I knew him.”
“Then I shall try my best.” Though Joy could not think her beauty comparable and she possessed no feminine wiles to speak of.
“Capital! I shall invite him to ride out to Richmond on the morrow, if that suits you?”
“I will talk to Maeve and send word.”
Thus, a plan hatched, they began walking slowly along the garden’s edge, gathering the kittens and discussing possible events where Freddy might cultivate new candidates. Joy promised to keep her eyes open for any young ladies whose temperament aligned with Freddy’s, while he offered to do the same for her. Whilst she faced no parental ultimatum, she knew her own family harboured hopes of seeing her settled—and she very much feared she would lose Freddy if this plan did not work.
Freddy had always consideredhimself an uncomplicated, easy-going sort of fellow, fond of friendly company and boisterous outings rather than the delicate niceties demanded by London’s drawing rooms. So when Joy suggested a riding excursion to Richmond, while also surveying a future wife, he seized upon it with gusto.
He found himself mounting his chestnut gelding in front of Westwood House, shading his eyes against the bright sun as he surveyed his little party.
Joy, astride her spirited mare, Nightingale, offered him a wry smile. She wore a riding habit of deep green wool, cut in a flattering yet practical fashion, with a short fitted jacket buttoned neatly over a cream waistcoat and a matching skirt that draped elegantly to one side of the saddle. A jaunty velvet hat,trimmed with a modest ribbon, sat upon her wind tossed curls. In the bright sunlight, she seemed every inch the lively country miss rather than the weary débutante he often saw in stuffy drawing rooms. The mischievous gleam in her eyes told him she was just as eager to be free of London’s constraints as he was.
Lady Maeve sat upon a sleek grey mare, all but glowing with excitement as she fiddled with her reins. Her riding attire displayed a touch more flair—a blue-grey habit with delicate ivory piping, complemented by ribbons of pale blue that flowed from her hat. She had chosen gloves of the same shade, creating a pleasing ensemble that displayed to advantage her dark hair and bright complexion. And then there was His Grace, the Duke of Thornhill—the quintessential tall, dark, and handsome gentleman, and a quietly magnetic presence that had already sparked a buzz in theton. He would be a worthy opponent if ever there was a contest for Maeve’s hand.
Freddy had known Thornhill long before he became the Duke. Thornhill was somewhat reclusive, dashing, and reputedly with a fortune the size of Derbyshire—traits that made him an object of fascination and frequent speculation. A young, single duke did not come along often, but Freddy worried not. He knew he was a great favourite with the ladies as well.
In Freddy’s mind, this ride was a stroke of genius. He, Joy, Maeve, and Thornhill—all friends, with similar interests. A chaperone was not required for such an excursion as this, as Freddy and Joy were as brother and sister. If it just so happened that Freddy could orchestrate a small romance for Lady Maeve and himself, well, that was making the best of the situation.
“Shall we be off?” he called, waving the riding whip he had been tapping against his boot.
The three others nodded, and with a chorus of gentle clucks and a flurry of hooves, the party set forth from Mayfair towards Richmond.
Before long, Joy spurred her mare forward, drawing level with Freddy. “Is this not the perfect day for a ride?” she said, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration, looking quite pretty. Funny he had never noted that about her before.
They began by winding through the bustling streets of central London. Even at this early hour, the thoroughfares were lively with carts rumbling towards market stalls, flower sellers hawking their wares, and carriages carrying gentlemen into the city. Freddy could hardly wait to leave behind the clamour of vendors and the press of foot traffic. As they progressed westward, the cramped buildings gave way to wider avenues lined by elegant residences with small, tidy gardens. The tang of smoke from countless chimneys gradually diminished, replaced by air that felt fresher, though still touched with the city’s lingering haze.
Once they reached the outskirts, the scenery transformed. Narrow lanes meandered between open fields, dotted here and there with grazing sheep or a rustic windmill. The road wove beneath canopies of elm and beech, the sunlight filtering through leaves to create dappled patterns on the ground. Indeed, the entire scene felt worlds away from the grand ballrooms and whispering gossips of theton. Freddy inhaled deeply, revelling in the sense of freedom.
Thornhill and Lady Maeve rode beside each other, while Freddy and Joy naturally fell in alongside one another.
Richmond Park itself—once they entered—offered sweeping vistas of rolling grassland, ancient oaks, and the distant sparkle of the Thames. Deer grazed quietly amid tall ferns, lifting their heads in mild curiosity as the riders passed. Freddy had the distinct impression that here, under broad skies and among gentle slopes, one’s thoughts could roam as freely as the wind. No wonder Joy had clamoured to come. She practically glowed as she guided her mare along a winding path.
“This is heaven. If I had been forced to endure one more tea party discussing gowns, or watch the Dowager fuss over seating arrangements for some dreary dinner, I might have run away entirely.”
Freddy smothered a laugh. Joy’s candour always amused him, though he knew she was not entirely jesting. “We cannot have you running off, my dear Joy. Who would keep me on my toes otherwise?”
Her eyes narrowed in mock exasperation. “You would manage. Yet I should hate to see you roam the salons unchecked. It would be far too easy for you to flatter your way into half a dozen young ladies’ good graces.”
“Flattery? Me?” He feigned shock. “I prefer to call it ‘polite conversation,’ but if you must be uncharitable?—”
“Oh, hush.” She elbowed him lightly, earning a playful snort from his gelding. “Better you than those stiff-necked bores who can talk of nothing but the latest parliamentary debates.”
Freddy saw Thornhill and Lady Maeve riding side by side a short distance ahead, their figures silhouetted against a backdrop of rolling green. He leaned closer to Joy. “What do you think?”
Joy followed his gaze. “It is hard to say. Lady Maeve is all smiles, but the Duke’s countenance is rather unreadable. I think there is hope for friendship amongst us all.”
“Excellent,” Freddy murmured. He’d privately hoped to observe Maeve without signalling any preference, leaving the path clear for him to stake his own claim if the inclination took him. But in truth, he wasn’t entirely certain whether his interest in Lady Maeve was genuine beyond her pleasing face and countenance. Marriage was for a lifetime.
Joy, apparently reading his thoughts, nudged him. “You do intend to speak more than two words to Lady Maeve today,do you not? I thought you were—well, not fixated, but at least curious?”
