Page 12 of Unending Joy
Freddy’s mouth twisted. “I am curious, indeed. However, there is ample time for conversation once we find a suitable spot to rest the horses. For now, let Thornhill amuse her.”
Joy gave him a long-suffering look. “Very well. Just do not let the entire day pass before you so much as enquire after her wellbeing.”
“And the same goes for you.”
They continued in this vein for some time, bickering with the ease of siblings, trading witty barbs about each other’s riding style, the kittens, and what other diversions they could plan to further Freddy’s cause. So engrossed were they in their chatter that they scarcely noted how far they had ridden until Lady Maeve called back to suggest exploring an ornamental maze said to be tucked away near a grove of old yews.
“Come along,” Maeve urged. “I heard rumour there is even a carved wooden bench at its heart, for those who find it.”
“That sounds diverting,” Thornhill agreed in his low, even tone. “A challenge for the mind as well as the legs.”
They dismounted at the maze’s entrance, a low hedge forming the perimeter. Tethering the horses to a sturdy post, the quartet set off on foot, wending their way along narrow paths hemmed in by high shrubbery. Joy took the lead with characteristic boldness, claiming she could find the centre without error. Freddy followed closely, indulging her confidence yet fully expecting to become lost at least twice. Thornhill and Maeve brought up the rear, Lady Maeve for some reason eagerly comparing English gardens with Irish ones. A dead bore, if you asked Freddy.
Within moments, the group’s banter grew lively as they encountered closed ends and looped paths. Joy, her cheeks aglow from fresh air and excitement, let out a cry of triumphwhen she discovered a hidden plaque that pointed left. Freddy teased her that she’d misread it, only to find himself at an impassable hedge. Their laughter echoed among the hedgerows, and though they wandered in circles, no one seemed to mind.
At last, they stumbled upon the maze’s centre, where a neatly trimmed alcove contained a carved wooden bench, just as rumoured. Freed from the confines of the narrow paths, they paused to catch their breath and share their successes—or lack thereof. Thornhill, it turned out, had deduced a pattern of turns to reach the heart more swiftly, while Maeve had happily tagged along, proclaiming that she preferred the scenic route anyway.
Freddy surveyed the cheerful group with satisfaction. What a capital plan this was, he congratulated himself. A day in the country, good company, and the glimmer of friendship blossoming. He and Joy bantered so naturally that one might suspect they were indeed siblings, though occasionally a small pang reminded him that Joy also needed to find a mate.
They lingered in the maze’s centre for a while, swapping jokes about the many times they had nearly walked directly into a hedge. Eventually, a low rumble from Freddy’s stomach broke through the merriment. He winced, pressing a hand over his midsection. “It appears our expedition has left me quite famished. Did we not discuss a picnic?”
Joy’s face fell in exaggerated dismay. “Alas, no.”
Lady Maeve and Thornhill exchanged chagrined glances.
Freddy held up his hands. “No matter. Thornhill and I shall hunt down provisions. There is a tavern just over the hill. Joy, Lady Maeve—why not wait nearby with the horses or stroll the grounds for a short time? We shall return with sustenance soon.”
They retraced their steps out of the maze, collected their mounts, and set off along a narrow lane that looked promising. Sure enough, within minutes they came upon a small tavernnestled in a wooded copse, its sign bearing the faded image of a fox. Within, the air was warm with the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread. Freddy, stepping inside, found a lively crowd of local folk—field hands, travellers, an elderly man playing a fiddle in the corner. The landlord greeted them politely enough, though he appeared mildly taken aback by the presence of gentlemen in full riding regalia.
Thornhill, unassuming despite his lofty status, spoke in a quiet, respectful tone. “We should be obliged if you could supply us with a few bread loaves, some cold meats, and perhaps a flask of ale. We have ladies to feed, and we have neglected to bring a hamper.”
The landlord, swiftly recovering from his astonishment, nodded. “At once, your lordships.”
Freddy pressed several coins into the man’s hand, adding, “And some cheese, if you have any.” The man bobbed his head eagerly, then disappeared into the kitchen to gather the requested items. Within minutes, the two gentlemen had a motley assortment of foodstuffs wrapped in cloth parcels.
They returned to find Joy and Maeve waiting under a grand oak near the edge of the park, the horses grazing contentedly. Maeve clapped her hands in delight at the sight of provisions, while Joy laughed at the hodgepodge nature of their ‘picnic’. Soon, they had spread a borrowed horse blanket beneath the oak’s shade and were passing around bread, ham, cheese, and ale with the kind of camaraderie that arises when hunger meets simple fare.
Freddy found himself seated beside Joy, watching as Thornhill tore off a chunk of bread and offered it gallantly to Maeve, who rewarded him with a dimpled smile. The two conversed softly, occasionally glancing in Freddy’s direction as though to include him in the talk.
When at last they finished their makeshift meal, the sun had shifted westward, lengthening shadows over the grass. They mounted up and began the journey back towards London, lingering at a leisurely pace until the outskirts of the city beckoned them into narrower roads and heavier traffic. Freddy took the lead, ensuring they navigated the busy thoroughfares without mishap—though Joy joked that she had never seen him so dutiful, teasing that perhaps fatherhood would be his next accomplishment.
It was only when they reached the familiar London streets, their horses weaving between carriages, that Freddy felt a sharp jolt of realization. He’d spent the entire day bickering with Joy and arranging amusements, and hardly spoke a word to Lady Maeve to forward the notion of courting her. He cast a quick look in Maeve’s direction. She seemed content, chatting quietly with Thornhill about some detail about a garden party next week.
Freddy inwardly groaned. Had his day’s enjoyment blinded him to his own objectives? Perhaps so. And yet, as he watched Thornhill’s warm smile and Maeve’s answering laughter, a curious pang of both regret and genuine gladness stirred in Freddy’s chest.
He reined in his horse outside Westwood House, assisting Joy in dismounting while Thornhill assisted Lady Maeve. They exchanged polite farewells, with Thornhill pressing Lady Maeve’s hand a fraction longer than etiquette dictated. Joy eyed Freddy quizzically, as though reading the confusion in his mind. But all he could manage was a shrug and a lopsided grin, murmuring that he had been “very pleased with the day.”
As the Duke took his leave, Freddy remained at Joy’s side, his chestnut gelding snorting impatiently. Joy cleared her throat and rubbed at her temples. “I do hope you enjoyed yourself, Freddy. Even though you forgot something important.”
“I did not notice you make any effort to engage Thornhill,” he retorted to her scolding.
“We both failed.”
“Yes,” he admitted, lowering his gaze to the cobblestones. “Yes, I rather think we both did.”
CHAPTER 5
Joy sat cross-legged on the floor of the Whitford sisters’ sitting room, while Camilla, the marmalade kitten, pawed at a ribbon she dangled. The bright afternoon sunshine streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the comfortable space with a warm glow. Scattered about were baskets lined with cushions, a spindly-legged tea table, and a few embroidered footstools which had become playgrounds and scratching posts for the kittens.
