Royal Regard

Chapter 7

Two hours before the fashionable promenade, Bella set a rapid pace through Hyde Park, trying to be ignored by passing riders and the few others braving the chilly walking paths. Even on a raw, grey day, one peer or another would surely feel compelled to engage her, if only to tell everyone else he had. Bundled up against threatening rain, the sable trim of her new jacquard pelisse hugged her jaw line, and a matching Russian hat covered her from the crown of her head to her earlobes.

She was hoping the smell of precipitation rising out of the London fog and soot only presaged freezing rain, rather than snow, but the temperature had been steadily falling all day. It was too cold to be out, really, but she hadn't been able to stand one more minute of impertinent workmen and servants with silly questions. It had been days since the weather was warm enough to escape the house alone.

She had an umbrella on her person and, waiting in Berkeley Square, a carriage with a heavy fur lap rug and coal footwarmers, which Mrs. Jemison had insisted she use for the long walk to the park, "in case Your Ladyship should find it chillier than might be comfortable."

Her stories of icy gales at sea did nothing to appease her housekeeper's concern, nor did Bella's pronouncement that there was no need to always be comfortable. She had tried to invoke her new countess demeanor to decline unequivocally, but Mrs. Jemison had used her running-the-lives-of-countesses-since-before-you-were-born voice, ordering the coachman to follow Bella at a snail's pace until she complied. Eventually, she did, if only to stop the carriage drivers behind him from screaming obscenities in the narrow street.

She had brought Ivanhoe, thinking she might stop for chocolate and biscuits at Gunter's before returning to Russell Square, but kept a close eye on her lapel watch to ensure she was home long before crowds of lords and ladies descended on the Park at five.

Frigid as it was, she still wished she were back at sea, away from the ever-present miasma of coal smoke and carriage horses, away from aristocrats trying to make her into a heroine or villainess, depending on personal inclination. She wished she were still on the Arabella, where everyone treated her like a member of the crew, albeit one who held more sway with the ship's owner than any sailor.

Just as the end of the path came into sight, still a fair walk away, a cabriolet came up next to her, two matching blacks slowing on command to meet her pace. The sleek high-steppers were a perfect match to the black carriage, black greatcoat, hat, and boots, and the coal-black hair and eyes of the driver. If he weren't so handsome, he might have blended into his equipage entirely.

"How lovely to see you, ma petite." Lord Malbourne tipped his bicorne hat. "Might I offer a ride to your destination?"

She walked faster. "No, thank you. It is very kind of you to offer, but I had planned a quiet afternoon alone."

"I am sad to hear it. I have been hoping we might enjoy the discussion of Paris you promised."

As she turned off the carriage track and onto a walking path, he guided the buggy away from her, stopped the horses, jumped down, and quickly tied the ribbons to a low tree branch.

She stopped for a moment involuntarily, manners overtaking sense, but rapidly began to walk away as she recalled her husband's likely displeasure. If possible, even worse than at the Gosfords' ball a few nights ago, when the Duke of Wellbridge stole two consecutive dances.

Discourage Malbourne's attentions in no uncertain terms, Myron had said more than once. If nothing else, Bella had to give Lord Malbourne credit for determination. No matter how certain her terms, he remained perpetually sure of her regard. It was like he could read the dangerous thoughts that invaded her mind—and her body—whenever he looked her way.