Page 22 of Unending Joy
From across the room, Freddy observed the newcomer with mild consternation. St. John, with his sun-burnished charm, broad shoulders, and disarming smile, was exactly the sort of man mothers introduced to their daughters while casually pointing out his status as a second son. However, a dashing soldier seemed to overcome any reservations a lady might have—especially a cavalryman who would match Joy’s skill on any horse.
And Joy was listening. Not simply hearing, as she did with most people, nodding politely while dreaming of a faster horse or a nap. No, she waslistening. Raptly.
She tilted her head, laughed—laughed—and even leaned closer when St. John said something Freddy could not hear.
Freddy’s stomach did something unusual, a slow twist that felt like regret and indigestion had made an ill-fated pact.
He had no cause to object. None. Joy was free to like whomever she pleased. She’d even been kind enough to ask his opinion on suitors, though he’d spent most of the time inventing faults too ridiculous to speak aloud. One of them, he now recalled, was that a certain gentleman bore the tragic disadvantage of resembling a trout.
He made his way to the refreshment table with more purpose than thirst, pouring himself a glass of lemonade that tasted too tart. He watched Joy from the corner of his eye. St. John had fetched her a pastry.
Pastry fetching? Was this courtship now?
Freddy sipped again and tried to recall if Joy had ever looked at him quite like that—eyes bright, mouth tilted in that wry half-smile. Of course not. They were friends. They had always been friends. She trusted him, confided in him, laughed with him…
…and now someone else was making her laugh.
He sighed and turned to find a young lady at his elbow, fluttering lashes and fan alike.
“Mr. Cunningham, how droll you looked during your waltz last night—as if your partner had stood upon your toe.”
“Only lightly,” he murmured, struggling to remember the chit’s name and unsure whether to smile or bolt.
He escaped to the edge of the room as soon as he could extricate himself, where the air was cooler, and watched as St. John made Joy laugh again. And then again.
It wasn’t jealousy, precisely. He didn’t want to be the onealwaysbringing her pastries or quoting poetry. But he’d always imagined that if someone were to earn her admiration, it would be someone who—well, someone who already knew the names of her kittens.
“You look as if you have swallowed a lemon whole,” Maeve said, sidling up beside him.
“I am merely contemplating how swiftly one may become obsolete.”
“You? Never,” she said cheerfully. “But if you intend to watch like a hawk all afternoon, do try not to moult feathers all over the floor.”
Freddy offered a short laugh but said nothing. He looked again at Joy and tried to smile.
Just then, St. John bent towards Joy and said something, apparently in a low voice. Joy laughed, then stood up.
“Shall we take a turn about the park?” he heard St. John say.
Freddy stiffened. Oh, very well then. Driving in the park now, was it?
Before he knew what he was about, Freddy turned on his heel and made straight for Letty Partridge, who had been loitering near the refreshments like a decorative sculpture.
“Miss Partridge,” he said brightly, startling her so that her macaroon tumbled to the carpet. “Might I tempt you with a drive through the park?”
Letty blinked. “Why…yes. I would like that very much.”
He offered his arm. “Excellent. I find it the perfect cure for overheated parlours and over-zealous flirtations.”
She gave him a puzzled look, but Freddy only smiled. Whatever else the day brought, he would not allow himself to feel left behind.
He called for his curricle to be brought around, just after Joy and St. John had left. After seeking permission from Lady Partridge, they set out, and soon the crisp wind was whistling by them as he hurried along, trying hard not to crane his neck in the most undignified fashion to see how far ahead they were.
They entered Hyde Park nearing its most fashionable hour, and Freddy immediately felt the energy and excitement of the throng around them. Carriages rolled leisurely along the paths, riders trotted elegantly, and pedestrians wandered in lively conversation. It took Freddy a moment to find Joy and St. John among the milling crowd, the Colonel’s black curricle blending with the vibrant scene. Joy’s bonnet ribbons trailed like pennants, and her laughter carried on the wind.
Freddy narrowed his eyes. Was she—was she driving?
Indeed she was, perched on the seat of St. John’s curricle, ribbons flying and curls bouncing, reins confidently in hand. St. John lounged beside her, clearly besotted, offering no protest as Joy handled the reins with a devil-may-care flourish.
