Page 28 of The Viscount and the Vicar’s Daughter

“I can’t drive with you to York!”

“Why not? We’re in an open carriage. It’s all perfectly respectable.”

“Perhaps it would be if we were merely taking a turn about the grounds, but to drive all the way to York? Why, it’s nearly fifteen miles away!”

“A negligible distance for my cattle. I daresay we’ll get there in an hour and a half. Perhaps sooner, depending on the quality of the roads—and providing this curricle doesn’t disintegrate beneath us. In any case, it’ll give us time to discuss a few matters. I trust you’re warm enough?”

“Yes, but—” She broke off as it suddenly occurred to her what the purpose of their journey was. There was a railway station in York, wasn’t there? He was driving her there to put her on the train. Getting rid of her before anyone else had risen for the day. As if she were some distasteful secret that must be disposed of.

She turned her head away from him, once again staring in the opposite direction. Her hand clenched tightly on the seat. “You might have at least allowed me to pack my things,” she said.

Tristan glanced at her. “What things?”

“My clothes. My comb. My toothpowder. It may seem like nothing to you, but—”

“Your clothes should be consigned to the dustbin,” he said matter-of-factly. “Never in my life have I seen a collection of garments so unflattering.” He deftly maneuvered the horses past a slow-moving coach. “Indeed, Miss March, I can safely say that you are the least fashionable female I’ve ever had the misfortune to take driving.”

A mortified blush rose in her cheeks. “As I said before, sir, you needn’t have taken me driving at all.”

“It’s a necessary journey,” he said. “York is not Paris or London, I know. But I daresay we might find a dressmaker there to run you up a few gowns. The rest we’ll purchase at some shop or other.” He cast her another frowning glance. “Are you sure you’re warm enough?”

Valentine stared at him in blank astonishment. “Do you mean…you’re taking me to York to buy me clothes?”

“Amongst other things.”

“But you must know that I can’t accept gifts from you, my lord! It would be wholly improper for me to—”

“Not in the least. A gentleman is expected to lavish gifts on his betrothed. And it’s quite unexceptionable for his betrothed to accept them.”

She took a deep breath. “Are we still betrothed then?”

He scowled at her. “What sort of question is that?”

“I thought you’d changed your mind.” His scowled deepened, but she continued in a rush. “You seemed to be in a terribly bad mood when I came downstairs. And you said you’d been up all night with your father so I assumed he’d persuaded you what a mistake it would be for us to marry. And now, for you to drive me to York, where the train comes through and—”

“Is this what’s been occupying your mind since we left Fairford House?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Even though last night I solemnly promised you—”

“I know. And I don’t mean to insult you by doubting your word. But you must understand the difficulty of my position. I don’t know what went on when you spoke to your father. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I’ve lost my job and Lady Brightwell has withheld my wages. I’m completely at the mercy of others. If anything should happen… If you should change your mind…”

Her voice trailed off as Tristan eased the horses to the side of the road and brought the curricle to a halt. He set the brake and turned to face her, the expression in his eyes hard to read.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” he said.

“Haven’t you?” she asked faintly.

“No.”

“Then why—?”

“If I’m cross today it’s simply because the interview with my father last night was profoundly unpleasant. You see, Miss March, in addition to reading me a lecture on my lack of morals and my lack of honor, he informed me in no uncertain terms what’s to be done about you.”

“About me?”

“I intended to discuss it with you on the return journey from York.”