Page 23 of Unending Joy
“Of course she would be. She is a great gun,” Freddy muttered, but noticed she was not wearing her spectacles.
“I beg your pardon?” Letty asked.
“I said this is great fun,” he replied quickly. “Capital weather.”
But he could not let them have all the attention. Freddy leaned forward and gave the reins a flick. “Shall we see what my greys can do, Miss Partridge? Hold tight.”
They flew down Rotten Row, horses stretched, hooves pounding, wheels a blur. Freddy grinned as the wind slapped his cheeks. Up ahead, Joy turned and spotted them.
Never one to back away from a challenge, she gave a delighted whoop and urged her team on. The race was on.
They drew alongside each other, shouts and laughter echoing through the park as startled onlookers leapt aside. Freddy tipped his hat at Joy as their curricles jostled for dominance.
St. John bellowed, “Mad woman!”
Freddy laughed. “Takes one to keep up!”
It was Joy’s turn to laugh—wild and wicked, the sound of utter freedom.
But as they reached the far end of the park, a cluster of spectators waved frantically. They slowed, and Freddy recognized the formidable figure of Lady Severn, Countess of Severity, as she was known in private circles.
“Mr. Cunningham! Miss Whitford! This is not Newmarket!”
Freddy winced. Joy’s eyes widened.
“We are to be scolded,” she muttered.
“Roundly,” he agreed as he reined in to greet the Countess. “Lady Severn.” He doffed his hat.
Lady Severn’s lorgnette snapped open like a guillotine. “Neck-or-nothing galloping in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour—what are you, a pair of circus equestrians?” Her words fell sharply, laced with proper outrage and disappointment.
“My apologies, my lady, we were merely giving the horses a run.” Freddy dutifully hung his head, murmuring apologies that he only half meant. Beside him, Joy pressed her lips together,eyes sparkling mischievously even as she meekly inclined her head to the lecture.
“A run?” she huffed. “It looked more like a bid for an undertaker’s custom. Miss Whitford, young ladies with marriage prospects do not drive as though chased by Bonaparte.”
Joy, still breathless, managed a nod. “I shall endeavour to remember, Lady Severn—though Bonaparte rarely keeps to The Row.”
That earned a scandalised gasp from two onlookers and a muffled choke of laughter from Freddy, quickly disguised as a cough.
“See that youbothremember,” the Countess concluded, perfuming the air with disapproval before sweeping away in a rustle of bombazine and censure.
“Yes, my lady.”
Freddy glanced sideways at Joy, who was flushed and windswept, laughter still dancing in her eyes.
“It was worth it.”
“Entirely,” he said.
Once free from the Countess’s severe scrutiny, Freddy drew closer to Joy, feeling oddly buoyant. “That was exhilarating,” he said, unable to mask his grin.
“Utterly,” Joy agreed, laughter bubbling beneath her breath. She glanced at him slyly, her eyes dancing. “Though I suspect we have scandalised half the park.”
“Only half? Clearly, we must do better next time.”
Joy’s laugh, soft and infectious, buoyed him further. Yet just as Freddy basked in their shared camaraderie, St. John leaned forward, his charismatic presence dampening Freddy’s high spirits.
“Quite the show,” the Colonel said amiably, eyes lingering appreciatively on Joy. “You handle reins better than half my regiment.”
