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Authors: Patricia Rice
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knows
he chose so wisely by marrying a poor farmer’s daughter with a herd of young
siblings.”
“He’s a gambler. I’m not. Betting on love is the worst sort
of foolishness, although Fitz manages to win even in that. I prefer to make an
informed choice.” He knew Bell better than any woman in London. He was more
than informed. He’d seen her toes.
Six
“Kit, if you don’t sit still and quit kicking my seat,
I’ll have the driver tie you on back with the trunks.” Bell hid her
exasperation as her brother ignored her warning and continued kicking with the
new boots he’d insisted on wearing.
“Why can’t I ride on the horses?” he whined.
“Because they are carriage horses. I have told you we are
going to look at ponies, but if you don’t behave, I’ll assume you don’t want
one. Read one of the books we brought.”
“We could tie his feet,” Syd suggested helpfully. “How much
longer before we arrive? I’m perishing of thirst.”
“Me, too,” Kit shouted, bouncing in his seat.
“You need a baggage wagon to put him in,” Tess said, digging
through their lunch basket for the last of the cider.
Bell hadn’t wanted to ask Quent if she might borrow his
carriage to transport tutor, maids, and wiggly six-year olds. He’d accuse her
of absconding with his father’s wards. Bell preferred to think of it as
strategic retreat until she heard from Blake Montague, or better yet, Blake’s
mentor, the Duke of Fortham, about her chances of winning guardianship.
She had heard nothing from Summerby about Little Dream. She
told herself that no news was good news.
Disturbed by Tess’s movement, Beebee woke from her slumber
and began to whimper. Bell lifted her chubby niece into her lap and hummed a
lullaby. At least the babe was easily pleased. She leaned against Bell, sucked
her thumb, and drooled down Bell’s spencer. Bell twisted the babe’s fair curls
around her finger. She had no idea what she was doing, and her doubts were
piling higher than the sky.
“Isn’t that the large gentleman who visited the other day?”
Tess asked, glancing out the window after putting away the empty jug. “The
handsome one who shouted at Kit?”
Bell thought a foul word and dipped her head to look out the
far window. Muscled legs and narrow hips in tight breeches might be anyone, but
the stunning black Friesian gelding was all Quent’s. A smaller bay bearing a
more slender man rode along side of him.
Bell gestured at the driver’s door and Syd. “Tell the driver
to halt, please.”
She transferred Beebee back to Tess and unsuccessfully tried
to wipe the drool from her spencer.
“Exchange seats with me,” she demanded, indicating that Tess
scoot over as the carriage pulled to a halt.
The horses obligingly stopped with the carriage. Bell
lowered the window glass. She was far more comfortable flirting than scolding
like a fishwife, but she would learn to shout if that was what it took to reach
through a man’s thick head.
Quent lifted his hat in greeting. “Good morning, my lady. Warm
day for a drive.”
“Equally warm for riding, I should think. I do not remember
asking for an escort.” There, that seemed respectable and polite without a fishwife
in sight.
“I have business with Fitz and heard you were heading that
way also. We thought it might be pleasant to keep you company.” Quent’s dark
eyes danced with mischief.
“Certainly, my lord, most pleasant. I do not believe you have
formally met my sisters.” Once Quent had dismounted and opened the carriage
door, Bell made the introductions, leaving Kit for last.
He was kicking the seat as hard as he could, chanting “pony,
pony, pony.” Bell grabbed him beneath the arms and shoved him out the door in
Quent’s general direction. “Here. Wexford would like a horse ride. I’m sure
that will make the journey more pleasant for all concerned. Have a good
gallop.”
Startled, Quent grabbed the young earl. She almost laughed
at his stunned
he chose so wisely by marrying a poor farmer’s daughter with a herd of young
siblings.”
“He’s a gambler. I’m not. Betting on love is the worst sort
of foolishness, although Fitz manages to win even in that. I prefer to make an
informed choice.” He knew Bell better than any woman in London. He was more
than informed. He’d seen her toes.
Six
“Kit, if you don’t sit still and quit kicking my seat,
I’ll have the driver tie you on back with the trunks.” Bell hid her
exasperation as her brother ignored her warning and continued kicking with the
new boots he’d insisted on wearing.
“Why can’t I ride on the horses?” he whined.
“Because they are carriage horses. I have told you we are
going to look at ponies, but if you don’t behave, I’ll assume you don’t want
one. Read one of the books we brought.”
“We could tie his feet,” Syd suggested helpfully. “How much
longer before we arrive? I’m perishing of thirst.”
“Me, too,” Kit shouted, bouncing in his seat.
“You need a baggage wagon to put him in,” Tess said, digging
through their lunch basket for the last of the cider.
Bell hadn’t wanted to ask Quent if she might borrow his
carriage to transport tutor, maids, and wiggly six-year olds. He’d accuse her
of absconding with his father’s wards. Bell preferred to think of it as
strategic retreat until she heard from Blake Montague, or better yet, Blake’s
mentor, the Duke of Fortham, about her chances of winning guardianship.
She had heard nothing from Summerby about Little Dream. She
told herself that no news was good news.
Disturbed by Tess’s movement, Beebee woke from her slumber
and began to whimper. Bell lifted her chubby niece into her lap and hummed a
lullaby. At least the babe was easily pleased. She leaned against Bell, sucked
her thumb, and drooled down Bell’s spencer. Bell twisted the babe’s fair curls
around her finger. She had no idea what she was doing, and her doubts were
piling higher than the sky.
“Isn’t that the large gentleman who visited the other day?”
Tess asked, glancing out the window after putting away the empty jug. “The
handsome one who shouted at Kit?”
Bell thought a foul word and dipped her head to look out the
far window. Muscled legs and narrow hips in tight breeches might be anyone, but
the stunning black Friesian gelding was all Quent’s. A smaller bay bearing a
more slender man rode along side of him.
Bell gestured at the driver’s door and Syd. “Tell the driver
to halt, please.”
She transferred Beebee back to Tess and unsuccessfully tried
to wipe the drool from her spencer.
“Exchange seats with me,” she demanded, indicating that Tess
scoot over as the carriage pulled to a halt.
The horses obligingly stopped with the carriage. Bell
lowered the window glass. She was far more comfortable flirting than scolding
like a fishwife, but she would learn to shout if that was what it took to reach
through a man’s thick head.
Quent lifted his hat in greeting. “Good morning, my lady. Warm
day for a drive.”
“Equally warm for riding, I should think. I do not remember
asking for an escort.” There, that seemed respectable and polite without a fishwife
in sight.
“I have business with Fitz and heard you were heading that
way also. We thought it might be pleasant to keep you company.” Quent’s dark
eyes danced with mischief.
“Certainly, my lord, most pleasant. I do not believe you have
formally met my sisters.” Once Quent had dismounted and opened the carriage
door, Bell made the introductions, leaving Kit for last.
He was kicking the seat as hard as he could, chanting “pony,
pony, pony.” Bell grabbed him beneath the arms and shoved him out the door in
Quent’s general direction. “Here. Wexford would like a horse ride. I’m sure
that will make the journey more pleasant for all concerned. Have a good
gallop.”
Startled, Quent grabbed the young earl. She almost laughed
at his stunned
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