Page 19 of Unending Joy
His mother’s eyes lit up. “Frederick, these gentlemen were asking after our hunters for next season. Perhaps you can enlighten them?”
Before Freddy could begin a reply on one of his most favourite topics, Joy stepped in cheerfully. “Gresham’s hunters? Why, good bone, steady on their feet, short cannons.” She turned to Sir Gregory. “And above all, a back long enough for comfort yet short enough for power.”
Tinmouth blinked while Denbigh’s jaw unhinged. Joy, warming to her theme, launched into the pedigrees of his hunters—touching on Highflyer, Luna’s hock action, and why a dash of Herod blood would settle Denbigh’s infamous stallion’s inclination to buck. Freddy bit his lip. Lady Gresham paled, torn between pride and panic. The gentlemen did not know whether to be impressed or alarmed.
When Joy finished, silence reigned for three beats. Then Freddy lost the battle. Laughter burst from him.
His mother’s head turned. “Frederick!”
He caught his breath but not his grin. “Forgive me, Mama, but she knows our horses as well as I do.”
Tinmouth recovered enough to bow stiffly. “Miss Whitford, your…er…insights astonish.”
“Delight, surely,” Joy returned, eyes dancing.
Lady Gresham cleared her throat with surgical precision. “Indeed. And now, Frederick, perhaps you will escort Miss Whitford for some punch?”
“With pleasure,” he said, offering Joy his arm. As they crossed the garden, he whispered, “You realize, do you not, you have slain three prospects in one volley?”
She tilted her head, pleased. “Only three? Next time I shall quote training plans. However, I am afraid your mother was not impressed.”
CHAPTER 7
The soft light of spring spilled gently through the lace-curtained windows of the upstairs parlour. Joy sat upon the Aubusson rug, utterly at ease in her dressing gown, with three of the four kittens clambering over her lap like furry buccaneers. The fourth had taken up residence in Maeve’s slipper and was gently snoring, much to Maeve’s delight.
“Oh, he is the very soul of mischief,” Maeve declared, her fingers lightly scratching behind the ears of a grey puffball that had just decided her lap was the optimal location for his morning nap. “Honestly, Joy, I never thought I should find such delight in cats.”
Joy smiled wryly, brushing a streak of cream from her sleeve that one of the kittens had left as a gift. “That is the usual effect. They sneak into your heart and wreck your furniture.”
Maeve laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Speaking of sneaking into hearts—did I tell you what Thornhill said yesterday? He remarked upon the particular shade of ribbon I was wearing and said it reminded him of the early spring sky in Ireland. Can you imagine?”
“The man is positively poetic,” Joy drawled, reaching for another roll. “Has he also compared your eyes to dewdrops and your laugh to birdsong?”
“He has not been quite so florid, thank goodness,” Maeve said with a giggle, accepting a cup of chocolate, “but he did offer to send me a book of Irish poetry. I did not know he was so well read!”
Joy grinned at that, tearing off a piece of roll to feed to a kitten that had scaled her knee like a miniature mountaineer. “Beware the literary suitor. They tend to think themselves quite profound.”
“You are cynical this morning,” Maeve said, arching an elegant brow. “Surely you do not begrudge me a little happiness?”
“Not at all,” Joy said sincerely. “I am very pleased for you. I am only mildly amazed you have managed to captivate a duke without once tripping over a potted plant or spilling tea in his lap.”
“I am not so inelegant, thank you,” Maeve said, tossing a napkin at her friend. “Besides, it is your turn next. I have made a list of prospects for you.”
Joy groaned. “Do not say so.”
“Only a short list,” Maeve assured her. “Lord Meredith—good family, tolerably handsome, rather serious.”
“He once asked if cats were safe to keep indoors,” Joy replied flatly.
“Very well. What about Mr. Langdon? He sits a horse well.”
“But rides like a sack of potatoes.”
“Joy,” Maeve said, trying not to laugh, “you are impossible.”
“Accurate, though,” Joy said, her expression unrepentant.
Before Maeve could press the matter further, the clock on the mantel chimed one. Startled, the kittens leapt in various directions, one sliding across the polished floor like a skater.
