Page 25 of A Lady's Dangerous Secret
“I knew this riding habit would fit you the best!” Aunt Frances clasped her hands together, pleased with herself.
A rap sounded on the front door.
“Robinson, wait a moment,” her aunt said.
She marched over to Charlotte and grabbed her upper arm. Her aunt tugged her away from the door. “You must be in the drawing room. You cannot look as if you’re hovering near the door in anticipation.”
Charlotte let herself be dragged into the drawing room and positioned on a settee. There was no sense in fighting her aunt. She just wanted to be free of her talons as quickly as possible.
Aunt Frances sat in a nearby chair and then shook out the skirt of her gown so it fell naturally around her legs.
“Sit up straight, Charlotte. You must always look impeccable.” She pushed her shoulders back in acquiescence. Her aunt gave one last apprising look before she plastered aplacid expression on her face, as if she had been whiling the day away in a field of flowers.
Aunt Frances’s skills were endless.
“His Grace, the Duke of Westcliffe,” Robinson announced. Charlotte and her aunt stood and greeted the Duke.
“Wonderful to see you both. Lady Charlotte, you look lovely today.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Charlotte responded politely. It was not the Duke’s fault he was not James, but it was still hard for her to muster sufficient enthusiasm for their ride in the park.
Her aunt had no such problem. “What a splendid day for a carriage ride.”
“Indeed, it is. I admit, I’m looking forward to being back in the country where the air is truly refreshing.”
Her aunt smiled and the Duke offered Charlotte his arm. They walked out of the drawing room and outside, where the Duke led Charlotte to his awaiting curricle. He helped Charlotte into the carriage himself. She could not help but note the gorgeous, matching black horses that would lead them for their ride. The horses’ coats possessed a healthy sheen and shimmered in the hazy daylight.
The Duke climbed in beside her and took the reins. He made himself comfortable while Charlotte straightened the skirts of her riding habit.
“You have a beautiful curricle, Your Grace,” she commented with a sense of awe.
His mouth quirked up on one side. “Lady Charlotte, I may be older than you, but I’m not on my deathbed. I still enjoy a proper ride.”
Although she knew he was teasing, she could feel her cheeks flush. “I would never imply such a thing. You appear quite hale and hearty.”
He chuckled and then snapped the reins. They engaged in some idle chitchat about the weather so the Duke could concentrate on driving to the park. Even in Mayfair, there could be a cart or errant pedestrian suddenly in the way of the carriage.
Fortunately, their drive was uneventful, and they promptly found themselves on Rotten Row. The Duke expertly maneuvered the carriage down the treelined bridlepath. It was refreshing to see some greenery in the midst of the filth and grayness of London. Rotten Row was replete with aristocrats on horseback and in equipages, moving slowly to ensure their presence was noted by those around them.
“I’m counting the days until I can return to the country,” the Duke admitted. He frowned at the carriage in front of them, which had stopped abruptly so the passengers could speak with a couple traveling in the opposite direction.
“I echo your sentiments, Your Grace. I’ve missed Shropshire and its openness.”
Gentlemen on horseback facilely moved around the stopped vehicle, and the Duke’s attention was consumed by nodding to other members of the peerage. Charlotte observed the deference they gave him when they passed.
Soon, the Duke eased the curricle forward, and he returned to their conversation. “There’s plenty of land around Romney Castle for riding. It’s not just the sea. You’ll have free rein over it all.”
“You seem to already know me well, and what I would like.” She could not help but warm up to the Duke of Westcliffe, even without feeling an ounce of passion.
“Don’t think me impudent, but is it safe to be out riding with the…transport of goods in the area?”
The Duke shook his head, grinning in amusement. “I believe we have already established that smuggling exists around my land. I try to keep myself removed from it. I have moreimportant things to focus on than the transport of goods, as you just called it,” he said, and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “You don’t need to worry about safety. None of the smugglers would dare approach my family. My daughters walk by the water. They’re chaperoned, of course, but I never fear for their well-being. You’d have a degree of freedom as a married woman.”
“That’s good to hear. I imagine there may be less smuggling anyway, now that the war has ended.”
“Smuggling is like the tides. The tide comes in and goes out no matter what’s happening, but sometimes it changes in size. Although the tide may not be as strong, it never goes away completely,” the Duke said. He cleared his throat. “My late wife’s mother was French, and I’m afraid my daughters and I became accustomed to certain French luxuries. I’m glad they’ll be more accessible again.”
Charlotte smiled. He truly was an amiable man, yet stormy gray eyes flitted into her mind.
