Page 45 of The Meaning of Love
“Heh?” Damian looked between his older brothers. “What did I miss?”
Julian sank into his favorite armchair, took a sip of brandy and savored it, then swallowed and told them about the mystery man he’d now seen three times. “I’m increasingly certain he’s Irish and has been sent here with some message for me that he’s been ordered to deliver in secret, including letting no one see him speak with me. That’s why he keeps vanishing whenever anyone else—well, anyone other than Melissa—appears.”
Felix frowned. “But you’re no longer at the Irish desk—not even at the Home Office anymore. Surely they—whoever they are—realize you’re in the Lords now?”
Julian nodded. “I’m sure any political group over there would know that, which is why I think there has to be some particular and sensitive reason this man has been sent expressly to speak secretly with me.” He drained his glass, then lowered it and observed, “While the Home Office know I’ve left, the Irish might yet be inclined to see me as someone they can use to pass on information. Whether I’m in the Lords or not, they know I have access to the right ears.”
Damian huffed. “Well, if we see this blighter lurking about, we’ll make a point of hauling him in.”
“Please don’t.” Julian shook his head at his little brother. “While I admit I’m now curious to speak with the fellow, the last thing I need is for you to act overexuberantly and land me in the middle of some political crisis.”
Damian looked unconvinced. “Really?”
Julian leveled a stern look at him. “Yes. Really.”
Four mornings later, Melissa did something she hadn’t had a chance to do for years.
She drew up from their first gallop down the tan of Rotten Row and flashed Julian a beaming smile. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoy being on a horse. These days, I only get to ride when we visit Winslow Abbey.” She met his eyes. “Thank you for suggesting this.”
Beside her, mounted on a black gelding, Julian returned her smile with a lazily satisfied smile of his own. “I’m glad I thought of it. We’ll have to look into getting you a mount of your own here in London.”
He’d explained that he and his brothers rode on most days, even when in the capital, but as there was no suitable horse for her in his London stable, he’d arranged to hire a neat bay mare for the occasion.
By unvoiced consent, they headed back to the beginning of the riding track so they could indulge in another gallop. As they guided their horses along the grassy verge bordered by a remnant of woodland, she asked, “What sort of riding is there around the castle?”
“The bridle paths are extensive, and of course, there’s the local hunt as well.”
She listened attentively as he described the general layout of the bridle paths relative to the castle; an image of the place was forming in her mind, and she added in those details. She was conscious of rising excitement over their impending marriage, although her interest was focused more on what would follow than on the occasion itself.
As they trotted slowly into the more inhabited areas of the park, he observed, “At least people aren’t staring as much as they were, although whether that’s due to the hour and the particular people about or the announcement of our engagement ball and wedding, who’s to say?”
“I suspect the latter has more to do with it. Our news was all over the ton by the very next morning!”
“Given their reaction at church, the ladies must have had the story delivered with their morning cocoa.”
She chuckled. “Very likely. But as you say, at least people are no longer hovering in anticipation with their attentions glued to us.”
“True. The details of the ball and the fear of not receiving an invitation have eclipsed us as the most pertinent point of interest.”
“Thank heaven for that.”
“Mind you,” Julian continued as they turned their horses and joined the short queue of riders waiting to gallop down the tan, “I foresee the quest to secure an invitation growing fraught in coming days. Lord Hillcrest bailed me up at White’s on Monday. I haven’t spoken to him since our days at Oxford. Then Lady Ferrars pounced on me in Piccadilly, apparently to remind me that her younger son had been at Eton with me.”
Melissa laughed. “I’m getting many of the same approaches. Wherever possible, I refer them to Mama.”
He arched his brows. “There’s a thought.”
They’d reached the head of the queue, and the open track beckoned. He glanced at Melissa and found her grinning, waiting to catch his eye.
He grinned back and tipped his head. “After you.”
With a laugh, she tapped her heel to the horse’s side and shot off.
He held his horse back for a second, then loosened the reins and set the powerful gelding thundering in her wake. Although the groomed, well-pounded tan was tame compared to a woodland bridle path, the exercise gave him an opportunity to assure himself of Melissa’s abilities.
When she’d told him she hadn’t ridden in years, he’d been concerned that she might not possess the skills and confidence to ride about the estate. That anxiety had been laid to rest; she had an excellent seat and steady hands, and even though the hired horse was new to her, she managed the animal without a second thought, and the horse responded without hesitation.
Relieved, reassured, he raced close behind as she flew down the track.
