Dawn In My Heart. Ruth Morren Axtell

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      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 you could use some of these pastries,” she commented, remembering her mother’s mention that he’d been ill.

      “Are you of the opinion as most that I am in need of ‘fattening up’?”

      “You are quite thin. Is that just natural or—or…” She hesitated.

      “Have I been ill?” he finished for her, taking a sip of his tea.

      “Mother mentioned something of it.”

      He nodded. “Yes. I was ill.” He did not elaborate. After a moment, he asked her, “Tell me, Lady Gillian, what do you expect from this marriage?”

      She washed the taste of strawberries and cream from her mouth with a swallow of lemonade and set down her glass, wondering at the directness of the question.

      When she didn’t answer right away, he said, “Come, you agreed to this arrangement between our parents. Despite all their interests in our union, I don’t believe your mother would force you against your will. You СКАЧАТЬ