Page 49 of Never a Bride
“Is there a particular reason, I wonder?”
“What?”
Blythe shook her head. “Pay me no consequence. I have fanciful imaginings, ’tis all. I just want you to be happy.”
Maxwell arrived first. He was expressing his thanks for the invitation to Emmeline, and shyly managing to greet Blythe without stuttering, when Alex rode up on his magnificent black gelding. Emmeline withheld a smile when he pulled up short on seeing Maxwell. He shot her a narrow-eyed glance.
“A good morn to you, Sir Alexander,” she said, feeling like giggling. Ah, foiling his plans brought a cheer to her heart.
Alex nodded back as he dismounted. “Lady Emmeline, Lady Blythe, your beauty surely rivals this fine English day.” He nodded at Maxwell, his smile still evident. “Lord Willoughby, glad I am that you’re joining us.”
They clasped hands.
“Please, call me Maxwell. No need for formalities here.”
“Then I’m Alex. Shall we be off, ladies?”
When Emmeline stepped up on the bench to mount her horse, she turned to find Alex before her. She looked down at him crossly. “You’re between me and my horse, sir.”
“I’m going to put you on your horse,” he said, clasping her about the waist with his big hands.
She only had time for a squeak of surprise, before she found herself set gently on her sidesaddle, as if she were light as cotton. His hands remained a moment too long and she implored him with her eyes.
“Please, Alex,” she whispered. “They’ll see.”
He sighed and stepped back. “Mustn’t have old Willoughby notice you’re a woman.”
“What does that mean?”
He shook his head as he turned away. Emmeline looked up at Blythe already mounted with Maxwell smiling blissfully up at her. She felt a moment of disquiet, as she hoped she was not setting Maxwell up for disappointment.
The men were soon mounted and leading the way into the heart of London. As the streets grew crowded, and the upper stories of timbered buildings jutted out over their heads, the gentlemen split up. Maxwell fell back to Emmeline’s side, leaving Alex with Blythe.
Before an hour had passed, they joined the traffic of the northern road. The city fell behind them, the air smelled clean, and on both sides of them hedgerows divided the rolling farm fields, where the spring planting had begun. By midmorning they reached Islington, a small village overflowing with London folk out for a day of leisure.
Emmeline knew she should be enjoying the sights as they approached the village green, where booths roofed with green boughs crowded against one another. But she couldn’t stop watching Alex and Blythe riding before her, pushed so close together by the crowd that their knees bumped. Why couldn’t Maxwell be at her sister’s side, impressing her as he so easily impressed Emmeline?
She had to admit that there was a secret place inside her that wished Alex was atherside, flashing his wicked grin, letting his gaze tell her what naughtiness he was thinking.
Alex soon led them out of the village green to a tavern. When Emmeline gave him a pointed stare, he laughed.
“Lady Emmeline, I know the owner, and I’m sure he’ll keep our horses in his stables for the day.”
“Do you know the owner of every tavern?” she asked sweetly.
Blythe hid her smile behind her hand.
Alex dismounted and stood at Emmeline’s knee. “Only the best. Now do come down, and let’s see what the day brings.”
He grabbed her about the waist and lifted her down. Her skirts rustled against his garments, and her feet landed between his. She was off-balance, and he caught her by the arms and held her still, where she could feel the brush of his body. Flustered and refusing to look him in the eye, she stepped away, grateful that at least Maxwell was left to assist Blythe. She heard Alex chuckle.
With her sister at her side and the men behind, Emmeline walked into the crowd roaming the village green. She felt like a young girl again, overwhelmed with the excitement of watching the jugglers and the acrobats perform. A little monkey danced for coins, and there was even a lumbering bear on a chain. The taverns spilled out laughing people, and everywhere were cries for “Fresh tarts!” and “Boiled eels!” and “Ribbons for the ladies!”
Alex presented them each with the latter, and Emmeline thanked him, then tied hers in a bow at her waist. She looked up to find Maxwell watching her despondently.
“Is something wrong?” she asked him.
He glanced after Blythe, who now walked between tables of cloth from exotic countries with Alex trailing behind her. “Why do I never think of things like this?”
