Dawn In My Heart. Ruth Axtell Morren
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watched his gloved hands as he maneuvered the curricle around the crowded square and was forced to concede he was a competent whip. He skirted the crested coaches parked in front of the stately residences while avoiding the oncoming vehicles clip-clopping toward them.
“You have a fine pair of grays,” she commented once they were away from the crowded streets of Mayfair and approaching the green expanse of Hyde Park.
“I can take no credit. They were Edmund’s. Not the pair that killed him,” he added.
“I’m sorry. It must pain you to think about your brother…the suddenness of the accident.”
“By the time I was informed, he was long dead and buried, but yes, it still came as a shock. I never expected him to go in quite that manner. An overturned coach…a broken neck…He was still in his prime and always had a strong constitution. I’d always expected him to live to his nineties.”
“You must have looked up to him,” she commented, wondering how it felt to suddenly inherit the place of an elder brother and heir. As an only child herself, she had always thought it would be nice to have a brother or sister, someone to turn to and confide in when there was no one else.
Lord Skylar glanced at her before fixing his attention back on the congestion in front of the park gates. “Everyone admired Edmund.”
She glanced at his profile. The words were spoken as a statement of fact. Before she could comment further, she noticed they were passing the gates without turning in. She sat up. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded as they continued down Knightsbridge.
“Oh, to a little farmhouse in Kensington Village,” he drawled, not taking his eyes off the crowded thoroughfare. “I thought I’d make love to you all afternoon and then return you to your mama in time for tea.”
“Turn this vehicle around immediately!”
He grinned wickedly, sparing her only a glance, and she realized her mistake. She sat back and fumed. “That’s not amusing.”
“My apologies. You are easily repelled by any mention of the physical aspect of our relationship. It seems to bring out the worst in me. I ask your pardon.”
Instead of replying to him, she craned her head around to take a last look at the park gates and gave a little sigh of regret.
“I hope you’re not too disappointed with the change in plans. I have found the park choked with traffic. They’ve turned it into a veritable fairground since the victory,” he said in disgust.
She turned back to settle in her seat. “I have scarcely seen the celebrations. Mother shares your opinion and deems it best to avoid the crowds.”
When he made no comment but continued, focused on the road, Gillian fell silent, deciding to make the most of the outing. Tilting her head back, she breathed deeply of the warm June air, which was filled with the smells of vegetation from the park alongside and baked pastries from a nearby hawker selling meat pies. The sharp tang of leather from the curricle’s seat reminded her of drives with her father.
She wished anew they could ride in the park, where her acquaintances might see her in this smart vehicle. It was well sprung and polished to a brilliant shine. Her hands caressed the supple leather seat. What a difference from riding in the closed landau with Templeton.
Suddenly, she laughed, looking upward past the leafy trees to the powder-blue sky and soft white clouds beyond.
Skylar gave her a brief look. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Freedom from my jailer.”
“The redoubtable Miss Templeton?”
“The very one.”
“If I had to select a companion to guard a young lady’s virtue, I do believe I would have chosen Miss Templeton.”
Gillian gave him a sidelong glance. “She has been my shadow for the last three years.”
“Tell me,” he asked, stepping up their speed as the traffic thinned, “are you in need of such an assiduous guard?”
Her smile disappeared and she looked away. “It is Mama’s desire to protect me. That is why I was astonished she let me go on this ride without Templeton.”
“Your mother trusts the contract drawn up between our solicitors. She knows the Pembrokes won’t renege on an agreement once they’ve given their word. What transpires between now and the wedding date does not unduly concern her.”
“Since you are going to behave with absolute propriety, I suppose Mama’s trust is not misplaced,” she answered with a firmness she was far from feeling. When he gave her no such assurance, Gillian turned to study the scenery along the Kensington Road.
She decided she would enjoy her outing and not let Lord Skylar’s unusual manner unsettle her. He was a gentleman, otherwise her mother would not have agreed to the match. She must believe that.
When they arrived in the village of Kensington on the outskirts of London, he took her to a small tea garden set in the middle of pastures where cows grazed peacefully. Gillian looked about her in delight at the quaint establishment surrounded by flowering gardens. Small round tables covered in pretty linen tablecloths were set up both in the main dining room and out in the gardens.
She readily agreed when he suggested they sit outside.
“Mmm.” She inhaled the fragrance of moss roses, pinks and sweet pea growing in a profusion beside their table.
He helped her into a chair, and a waitress brought her a glass of lemonade and a pot of tea for him. Sky asked her to bring them a selection of their cream-filled pastries.
“What a charming place. I’ve never been here before.” Gillian looked at the man seated across from her, against the backdrop of flowers, the drone of bees and the twitter of birds. “It’s not the sort of place Mother would frequent.” Nor you, she added silently.
“I’m glad it’s still around. I have scarcely had a chance yet to explore all my old haunts. My mother would bring me here as a boy when I was home on holiday. I used to dream of the syllabub made with their cream.”
She eyed him, finding it hard to imagine this austere looking man clad in black ever being a little boy craving sweets.
“These look scrumptious,” she said, preferring to turn her attention to the fruit tarts heaped with whipped cream the waitress set before them. She put one on her plate.
“The place is famous for its cream and butter,” he explained, nodding to the cows grazing in the lawn beyond the garden. “I don’t know how much longer it will be around. Everyone prefers Vauxhall, from what I hear.”
Her eyes lit up. “How I’d love to go there!”
He raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t been? In all your three seasons?”
“Mother thinks it vulgar. She believes it is only a place for the lower classes to go for their trysts.”
He sat back, crossing his long legs, his fingers playing idly with a teaspoon. “Some would say the same thing of tea gardens. We have the place practically to ourselves. The lower classes must indeed all be at Vauxhall.”
She looked around at the airy yet intimate surroundings. It did seem ideal as an out-of-the-way place to meet a sweetheart. Her thoughts went unbidden to other times, times she thought long dead and dormant, when she had been desperate for such a place. She turned her attention to the pastry in front of her. She was in a different position in life now. Older. Ready for a home of her own.
She took a bite of the warm tart and savored its buttery crust and rich custard hidden by the sweet strawberries and fresh cream atop it.
“You’re not having any?” she asked with a glance at his empty plate.
He shook his head. “You go ahead.”
“I should think