Page 46 of Appointment in Bath

“Who knew,” Ivo murmured. “Sir Frederick is a jolly fellow after all.”

Meg gave another short laugh. It was a soft, husky sound. A private laugh, just for the two of them. It sent a throb through Ivo’s vitals to hear it.

“Not jolly, no,” she said. “But he enjoys the pageantry of the holiday. And he likes when I play carols on the pianoforte.”

“Do you play well?”

Meg guided her mare down the path that led back to the river. “Creditably well. Miss Adams taught me.”

Ivo rode alongside her. He kept a strong contact on his reins, taking care to keep Snap from playfully nipping Rowena’s neck. The mare didn’t appreciate the stallion’s overtures. She repeatedly warned him off with bared teeth and flattened ears.

“Your Miss Adams figures frequently in your stories,” Ivo said.

“She was a good lady and a very dear friend,” Meg replied. “Though she was only with me as a form of employment.”

“When did your father hire her?”

“She came to Letchford Hall when I was but five years old. The day she left for Bath, I wept for hours in my room.”

Ivo shot her a concerned glance. He didn’t like to think of her weeping about anything. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

Meg’s face was still flushed from their gallop. A lock of red hair had worked free from her chignon to curl about her freckled cheek. Ivo’s gaze was drawn to it relentlessly. His fingers itched to smooth it away.

A dangerous impulse.

It was a lover’s liberty, not that of a friend. Only a gentleman who had a lady’s heart would make so free with her person.

Unaware of his attention, Meg absently brushed the stray lock from her face herself as they continued into the woods that bordered the river. Frost glittered on the branches of the trees and sparkled in the low-lying grasses.

“She gave me such good advice,” she said. “I always knew where I was at when she was around.”

“Could your father not have enticed her to remain in some other capacity? A lady’s companion, perhaps?”

“My father had nothing to do with her leaving. Miss Adams had a distant family connection. A Mr. Philips. He was widowed two years ago and had a mind to remarry. They’re to be wed in the spring. She traveled ahead to begin making arrangements with the gentleman’s mother. Miss Adams is staying with the lady at her townhouse. I still write to her practically every day. I daresay she must be tired of my letters.”

“Who could ever tire of hearing from you?”

“You’re kind to say that—”

“There’s no kindness in it.” He paused, mouth tugging into a smile. “Did you realize, we’ve just had a whole conversation and nary a stammer to be found?”

Meg stilled on her mare. She plainly hadn’t realized.

“You were right. It must only happen when you’re nervous. Which means…” His smile broadened. “You’re no longer nervous with me.”

She bent her head. The rosy flush in her cheeks deepened. “I suppose n-not.”

“But I’m making you nervous to mention it, aren’t I? Never mind. I won’t reference the subject again. We can pretend this exchange never happened.”

Her pale blue eyes flickered with unwilling amusement. “Ivo…”

“Yes, I know. I’m odd. I won’t apologize.” He grinned. “Tell me more about this Miss Adams of yours. Will you ever see her again?”

“I hope I will, when I go to B-Bath for my season.”

Ivo’s grin faded, his cheerful mood dwindling. He didn’t want to contemplate Meg enjoying a season in Bath. Didn’t want to envision the legion of suitors who would no doubt pay court to her there. For many, her fortune alone would be enough of an inducement to make their proposals. But she was beautiful, too, and modest and intelligent and—

“Do you ever visit Bath?” she asked offhandedly.