Page 33 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

The sun was shining brilliantly in a cloudless azure sky. It was a perfect morning for riding. As a consequence, they weren’t the only two in the Row. Several ladies and gentlemen were about, making the privacy Jasper had envisioned when he’d suggested this meeting impossible.

But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

He was resolved to take what he could get. “Miss Wychwood. Good morning.” He sketched a bow. “How are you?”

“Very well.”

“No ill effects after last night?”

She ducked her head, giving a breathless laugh. “No, no. Not unless you count embarrassment.”

He rode up to her. Her gelding was impossibly large, but next to Quintus, he may as well have been a palfrey. “What have you to be embarrassed about?”

“Behaving like such a ninny. You would think I’d never played the piano in front of anyone before.”

“I thought nothing of the kind.”

She nudged her gelding into a walk, her gloved hands steady on the reins. “What did you think?”

Jasper fell in step beside her on Quintus. Miss Wychwood’s groom followed after them at a distance. “That you needed someone to come to your aid. I hoped I wouldn’t be too objectionable a candidate.”

“You weren’t,” she said. “You were perfect. I’m so very grateful. I wanted to tell you—”

“You needn’t.” Gratitude was the last thing he wanted from her. “It was a privilege.”

“I can still be grateful for it.” She gave him a shy glance through the fine net of her veil. “You’ve come to my aid so often these past days.”

A stab of guilt pricked at his conscience. It was in his interest that she think well of him. Even so, he wouldn’t permit her to make him out to be something he was not. “Perhaps it’s because I have ulterior motives where you’re concerned.”

Her voice took on a serious note. “My dowry, you mean.”

“Among other things.”

“I’m glad we can speak plainly about it,” she said.

He inclined his head. No doubt it would be wiser to woo her with honeyed words and empty promises, but he’d never excelled in that regard. Besides, there were enough secrets between them already—secrets he was destined to take to his grave. In this, at least, he could be honest with her.

And he wanted to be honest with her.

It was a dangerous urge. He hadn’t felt the like of it in years. This dratted desire to reveal himself to another person. To have them know him for who he truly was.

“What do you require it for?” she asked.

“For my estate. Goldfinch Hall.”

She smiled. “Is that what it’s called?”

“It’s named after the goldfinches that gather there every winter. There are hundreds of them, with red crowns and bright yellow wings—a colorful display. It’s quite striking to see them.” He looked at her. “Are you fond of birds?”

“I love all animals,” she said. “All.”

He wasn’t surprised. “You have pets?”

She resumed staring straight ahead as they rode. “Only Cossack. My parents won’t allow any others. They can’t abide them.”

Jasper waited for her to elaborate, but she said nothing more. He had the sense she was refraining from voicing some private grievance. A criticism of her famously eccentric mother and father, perhaps.

He wondered about her life with them. She, an only child. A daughter, shackled to their invalidism—be it real or imagined—there in that imposing white-stuccoed house in Belgrave Square. It can’t have been a happy life for her as a little girl.