Page 19 of The Meaning of Love
Heightenedattention?
Julian caught Melissa’s eyes as she glanced at him. She widened her eyes slightly; she hadn’t thought of that, either, but like him, was grateful they would avoid it.
“Where is our carriage?” Lady North peered along the row of carriages.
Julian and Melissa, both taller, looked along the line.
A figure across the street caught Julian’s attention.
The man who’d been staring at them in the theater was standing beneath a lamp post and, once again, staring their way.
Melissa swayed back, nudging Julian. “Do you see him?” she murmured.
“Yes. Be damned if I know who he is.”
“There’s Felsham.” Lady North waved to her coachman. “At last!”
Julian glanced at the oncoming coach, then looked across the street in time to see the man step back and fade into the shadows.
Melissa glanced questioningly at Julian.
Hiding a frown, he nodded at her mother’s carriage and urged her toward it.
He helped both ladies up the carriage steps, then followed and shut the door. He looked out of the window into the darkness, but there was nothing to see, and he was left with absolutely no idea as to who their mystery man might be.
Late the following morning, Melissa sat beside Julian in his curricle, enjoying the feel of the breeze in her face. As they bowled into Croydon along the Brighton Road, she directed him onto the side road that would take them to Selsdon and Farleigh and, eventually, to Sedon Hall.
She’d seen him manage his high-stepping bays in the park, but there, the carriage had been barely rolling along. Today, once they’d left the bustle of the capital behind and fields and orchards had started to border the road, he’d eased his hold on the ribbons, and the horses had lengthened their strides until they’d been fairly bowling down the macadam. She’d been relieved when he’d checked the beasts at the first bend and been further reassured by his constant monitoring of the pair and the road ahead.
She’d relaxed and enjoyed the sights, the sounds, and his company. He hadn’t brought his tiger today, so there’d been no restriction on the topics they could broach. They’d started by swapping dry observations about their experience at the theater, then she’d expanded on the various events at which she suspected they would have to appear over the upcoming week. His questions had underscored how out of touch he was with the ton’s ways, and when she’d asked, he’d described the more limited social round in Dublin.
“Because I only came home twice a year—at Christmastime and around midsummer—I effectively spent no time in London, either during the Season or through the rest of the year.”
“I see.” She made a mental note to remain aware, as they continued parading through the ton’s ballrooms in support of their faux engagement, that he might not be as experienced in ton machinations as she. The notion of acting as his protector in a sphere in which she was supremely confident made her smile; eight years ago, he’d been so much more worldly and experienced than she.
The thought gave her pause. As they bowled along the country lane, deeper into the green fields of Surrey, she reflected that her view of him was still largely that of the man he’d been, which—experience of the ton being one example—was not necessarily the man who sat beside her.
The man she’d agreed to consider marrying.
Hmm.
After they’d rounded the next curve, she asked, “Is it normal for those in the administration in Ireland to remain in the country so consistently?”
“Not usually.” He glanced her way. “Gregory—he’s the Under-Secretary for Ireland, the head of the civil service over there—liked the way I approached negotiations with the Irish, and he ended up wanting to keep me close in case of need.”
“What was it about your way of doing things that was so impressive?”
“I don’t know about being impressive—effective might be nearer the mark.” He guided his team around a tight bend, then went on, “I always thought it was because I can talk to just about anybody.” His lips lifted in a fleeting smile. “One of the benefits of my years as Dagenham and rubbing shoulders with villagers in Little Moseley and others of that ilk.”
“Do you still keep in touch with Henry Fitzgibbon?”
He nodded. “And Thomas, George, and Roger as well.” Briefly, he met her eyes. “Back then, we were all, relatively speaking, untitled, and during our shared holidays while at Eton and later Oxford, we used to visit each other’s homes, and there, we’d just be like any local lads.”
“So through that, you learned how to deal with ordinary people?”
He thought, then shrugged. “More that I learned not to judge people by their rank or to make assumptions about honesty and integrity based on wealth or standing or lack thereof.”
They rattled into Selsdon, then took the lane to Farleigh. Once they were bowling along again, she asked, “You mentioned that your mother lives at Carsington—that’s your principal seat, I take it?”
