Page 29 of The Meaning of Love
“After the past week, that sounds heavenly.”
A week before, they hadn’t been engaged, hadn’t known the other was in London or that they would meet. Neither had imagined they would be thrust into the spotlight as they had been.
At that hour, traffic heading out of the capital was light. As the horses trotted on toward Hammersmith, Melissa said, “You mentioned your mother was intent on hosting a dinner?”
He nodded. “To introduce you to the family. She says if it’s not held soon, people will start to speculate as to why not, so…”
“Hmm. She’s right about that. Did she give you any idea of a date?”
He admitted his mother hadn’t, and Melissa quizzed him on the extent of his family and the members likely to attend.
That nudged him to ask for a verbal sketch of her family, most of whom, it seemed, were resident in London.
“The Osbaldestones and Norths have long held office in the civil service, so while some of the family have had country properties at various times, their duties fix them in the capital so they rarely got to use them.” Melissa shrugged. “It’s difficult to entertain in the way high office demands from a country house, even one in Kent, Surrey, or Essex. The family have largely become London-based.”
“I imagine your parents’ household must be accustomed to constant entertaining.”
“Perpetual and unceasing.” She paused, then added, “It sounds tiring, but once everyone is used to what has to be done, how things need to be done, it becomes easier and easier to the point where it’s virtually a way of life.” She glanced at him. “I suppose that’s what I meant by saying we’re London-based—our family is truly immersed in that lifestyle.”
He nodded in understanding. “In contrast, my parents came to London only when they had to—for instance, to marry off my sisters. My father preferred country life—he rarely occupied his seat in the Lords, preferring, instead, his seat on his hunter. Consequently, Mama had little entertaining of a political nature to do. She entertains socially while in London, and rather more when at the castle. You could say her social base is there rather than here.”
Melissa tipped her head, studying what she could see of his face. “If your parents were distanced from the political scene, how did you come to go into the Home Office? I always understood your family was behind that.”
He smiled fondly. “That was my uncle Claude’s doing. He was in the Home Office for years and loved it. He died in harness, so to speak, about seven years ago. From when I was relatively young, he used to tell me of his work, and I found it fascinating—it was so different from anything I saw my father do, all of which revolved about managing the estate. As I grew older, my conversations with Claude evolved into long discussions on matters of current social and political import. I suppose you could say he lit the spark of interest that eventually led to me joining the Home Office. Somewhat strangely, my father was keen on the idea as well. Looking back, I suspect that, despite his own inclinations, he felt that me having a wider experience socially and politically would be better for the earldom in the long run.”
Bluntly, she asked, “Did you get on well with your father?”
He nodded readily. “We rubbed along well—despite our divergent interests, in other spheres, our concerns overlapped. He loved to ride and so do I, and it was the same with loving the castle and being devoted to seeing the earldom as a whole function smoothly and well. We always had those things in common, and he was, in fact, a very shrewd man.”
From his tone, she surmised that he and his father had been close.
He checked his horses and turned them south, over Kew Bridge. As the hooves clopped loudly and the wheels rattled, she glanced at the river running east, wide and unstoppable on its journey to the sea.
She would meet his mother and brothers soon enough and could observe and form her own opinions regarding his relationships with them. What else did she need to know? This seemed the perfect time to further her knowledge of him and his life. Given she was seriously considering linking her life to his, it behooved her to use the opportunity he’d handed her.
Before she could decide on her next interrogatory tack, they reached the Star and Garter. He turned in under the archway to the inn’s stable yard, and ostlers came running, their eyes lighting with appreciation as they took in the magnificence of the pair of bays and the elegant curricle.
After surrendering the reins, Julian gave her his hand and assisted her down to the cobbles. As they approached the side entrance, she read the sign above the door and smiled. “I’ve never been here, but I’ve always wanted to visit.”
He pushed open the door and ushered her inside. “After we lunch, then stroll the river banks and relax, perhaps we can return and sample their high tea before heading back to town?”
She smiled. “That sounds wonderful. It’s the high tea I’ve heard tales of.”
The owner bustled up, took one look at them, and beaming, bowed them to a prime table before a window. They were promptly served, and while they ate, they looked out over the river, noting the occasional boat that glided past and commenting on those strolling the towpath. A few might be locals taking the air, but many were, like them, refugees from London down for the day.
Over the table, their conversation remained light with a humorous bent. Once they were replete, they rose, and after Julian had paid their shot, he had the rug fetched from the curricle and, hand in hand, they headed for the riverbank.
In companionable silence, they walked a little way along the towpath and found a suitable spot between two trees in which to spread the rug and sit in the dappled sunshine.
Side by side, they looked out over the quietly rippling river, then Julian heaved a long sigh and flopped back. He stretched out full length beside her, linked his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. “This is peaceful.”
While it was hardly silent, the sounds that reached them—birds twittering in the trees, water lapping at the bank, the occasionalplunkof an oar—were, indeed, soothing.
Melissa looked down at him and smiled at the sight. She debated joining him but, for the moment, remained sitting. Lifting her face, she closed her eyes and reveled in the cool caress of the light breeze on her cheeks.
Proving that, despite his closed eyes, he wasn’t somnolent, he said, “You’ve asked about my political interests. Do you have any of your own? Causes you feel drawn to?”
Eyes still closed, she arched her brows lightly. “I mentioned at the outset that I’d intended this Season to be my last—my admittedly vague notion of what to do with myself subsequently was to investigate how I could best assist those devoted to bettering the lives of the far too many orphaned children in London and elsewhere in England.” She paused, then, without waiting for him to prompt, went on, “I realize that, in having the sort of upbringing I’ve had, I’ve been one of the lucky ones in life. Given that, it seems only right that I do what I can for those who, through no fault of their own, have not been so lucky.”
