Page 48 of Appointment in Bath

“Would he?”

“Possibly not,” Ivo allowed. “My parents are…” He hesitated over how best to describe his parents’ still passionate love affair with each other. “They’re, ah, very much consumed with their own interests. They rarely mention your father.”

“He hasn’t forgotten. He injured himself in a fall from his horse two years ago. He b-blames the weakness in his shoulder. Which m-means, he blames your father.”

“Does he, just,” Ivo mused.

“It’s n-nonsensical, I know.”

He looked at her as their horses walked on. “I begin to wonder if he hates us more than my family hates him.”

“Does your family hate him?”

“I don’t know. They must still feel something for him to have forbidden our association with your family for so long. It’s dratted awkward, I must say.”

“It is,” she agreed. “I-I wouldn’t like them to judge m-me on my f-father’s past behavior.”

He felt a surge of tenderness for her. “They wouldn’t. They’re reasonable people when it comes to it. And they love me. It must be enough that I l—” Ivo broke off abruptly, astonished by what he’d almost admitted. “I like you,” he amended. “That’s all that need be said on the matter.”

A soft smile curved Meg’s mouth. “I like you, too, Ivo.”

He stretched out his hand to her across their horses. She took it without hesitation. He pressed her fingers warmly. “Then we’re in accord.”

“Perfect accord.”

Chapter Thirteen

Over the next week, as the weather grew colder and intermittent flurries of snow continued to fall, Meg met Ivo every morning by the icy river. They walked and rode, talked and laughed, and shared more than she could ever have imagined sharing with any gentleman, a Beresford least of all.

He always took her hand at least once during their meetings. Sometimes he winked at her and twice he’d kissed her gloved fingers. Nothing scandalous. And likely nothing very meaningful, except to her.

Meg treasured every touch and every glance. She memorized the deep rumble of his laugh. The way his gray eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. The way he listened to her with his whole attention, turning thoughtful when she was serious, and smiling broadly when she edged ahead of him during their impromptu races across the moors.

He let her win, of course, though he never said so. But Meg recognized it well enough. Rowena could never outpace Snap. She was a lazy creature at the best of times, with a gallop that had more in common with a canter. A safe mount, Meg’s father had called her. Only fifteen and a half hands at the withers and eminently suitable for a lady.

“You can try Snap if you wish,” Ivo said later that week, when the two of them had returned to the woods by Sefton Bridge after a rousing ride.

It was time to go home. They both of them knew it. They’d been out for over an hour and they didn’t have the luxury of time. Not today. Dr. Spragg and one of his specialist associates was due at Letchford Hall and Lady Kate was arriving later this afternoon at Beasley Park. There was too much to be done.

But Meg wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet. Nor was Ivo, if his suggestion was any indication.

She brought Rowena to a halt beneath an old oak tree. “Ride Snap? You’re not serious.”

“Deadly serious.” Ivo dismounted. He secured Snap to a tree. “Don’t you want to know what it’s like to go as fast as the wind?”

She smiled. “You and your obsession with speed. First trains and now—”

“You’ll love it.” He came to assist her down. His tone turned teasing as his hands closed around her corseted waist. “Come my girl, don’t be shy.”

She gripped his shoulders as he helped her to the ground. She was provoked into a laugh. “It’s not shyness. It’s common sense.”

“Are you afraid Snap will be too much for you?”

Rowena stood untethered behind Meg. The mare’s head hung and her eyes drooped. She was too tired from her exercise to roam.

“He is too much for me,” Meg said. “He’s nearly seventeen hands.”

“Nonsense. A horse’s height has nothing to do with his degree of difficulty under saddle. Anyway, you’re as good a rider as I am. A firm leg and a soft contact and Snap will be butter in your hands.” Ivo’s own hands lingered at the swell of her hips.