Page 42 of Bewitching Benedict (The Lovelorn Lads #1)

I f only, Claire thought, she could go hunting.

Even riding, but within London the only places to ride were the streets or the parks, and one of those was both too filled with people and—depending on where she chose to go—too dangerous.

The other, while obviously more suitable, was so very…

tame. There was no wildness in the park.

It was clipped, trimmed, mowed and swept, with pleasant pathways to keep to, and people braving the winter chill to take some exercise.

One could not ride pell-mell over them, even on a known jumper that would easily clear the blankets and the people sitting upon them.

But even riding lended itself to a certain freedom of thought rather than the vigorous application of mind and body that hunting could demand.

Claire was not overly interested in the kill.

It was the ride and the awareness of the land, the watching for signs of prey, the judging where it might be flushed out and the pursuit that she longed for now.

It would consume her, leaving no room for other thoughts, and for the past two days, Claire Dalton had wanted to do anything but think.

Now the day of the family engagement party was upon her, and the larger one would be a week hence.

She hoped to be married as soon as possible afterward, so that she might occupy her time with duties rather than thoughts. Where was Benedict Fairburn?

"Ah!" Betrayed by her own mind, Claire clapped a hand over her mouth and hoped no one had heard the burst of frustration.

Honestly, it was intolerable. She was accustomed to taking exercise in the country, if not in the form of riding and hunting, at least in her walks to and from the village and to the friends and tenants she visited with.

She had become too accustomed to carriage rides in London, and felt that if she did not move soon she would fly apart from agitation.

"Miss?" Her maid Lucy appeared in the door, concern crinkling her pretty brow. "Did you call for me?"

Claire nearly indulged in a groan, and put some effort into modulating her tone so she didn't snap at the girl. "No, although now that you're here, Lucy, I wonder if you would gather my coat and shoes. I must take some air."

"Of course, Miss." Lucy bobbed a curtsy and scurried off, leaving Claire to gaze out her window into the gardens.

They were of moderate size, generous for a townhouse, but they would not do at all for Claire's restlessness.

It would have to be the park, and she would walk there, as the idea of another carriage ride filled her with a desire to twitch.

Lucy reappeared with Claire's favorite coat and a pair of beautiful yellow slippers that were entirely inappropriate to extended walking. "Boots, please," Claire declared. "I expect to be gone some time and must not exhaust my feet with the party coming up this evening."

"You ought not go out and exhaust yourself at all," Aunt Elizabeth said, passing by the door.

She had been pleasantly interrogative about Jack Graham for the past day and a half, never pressing Claire beyond that which she wished to say.

Claire, who thought of her aunt as formidable, was made somewhat uncomfortable by this.

It felt as though Aunt Elizabeth had a hidden agenda, a suspicion made worse by the knowledge that she, Claire, had one herself.

Her aunt and uncle—indeed, all of Society—could not be allowed to hear of Graham's poverty or, far worse, his ruined sister and the twins until after the marriage had taken place.

She and Graham had discussed the topic at some length, concluding that they would retire to the country immediately upon marriage.

Claire's dowry would be comfortably sufficient to keep them, when the costs of Town need not be considered, and then Jack's townhouse could be sold or rented for further income.

The children would join them in the country a few weeks or months after they were settled.

It would give the newlyweds time to put about a story and prepare the quiet town of Bodton for two unexpected arrivals.

It was the best plot they could come up with; the one least likely, they felt, to lead to ruin.

Not a word of which she could say to her aunt, at whom she only smiled. "I'm sure I'll feel better for the exercise, Aunt Elizabeth. I promise to be invigorated and vivacious for the party tonight."

"Well, take Worthington with you," Aunt Elizabeth recommended.

"A young lady should have an escort, and if you tire he can arrange a carriage home.

That's a very pretty dress, Claire. You look lovely.

" With this compliment she took her leave, and left Claire with the odd feeling she was under-dressed and should change into something more attractive for her excursion.

She was becoming irrational. She shook herself, accepted the low-heeled brown leather boots that Lucy brought her, and found Worthington waiting at the front door for her whether she wanted him or not.

As it happened, she was pleased to have the valet with her. Worthington was an amiable companion who expected no conversation between classes, but was willing to engage in it if Claire so desired. With his escort, she trotted down the steps and into London.

The air was still dirty, the streets still stench-ridden, the noise still tremendous, with carriages rattling and horses neighing, with men calling to one another and women talking as maids shouted after children who ran to and fro with no care for their own safety.

It was easy to remember after only a block why one took a carriage in London if one could, but by that time Claire felt as if returning for the carriage would show a lack of commitment.

She strode on, and strode indeed, more eager for the exercise than a ladylike pace.

Worthington, behind her, didn't protest at her speed, which allowed her to conclude it was not unseemly.

It was nearly as fast to walk to the park, in the end, as it was to drive: the snarls of traffic were more easily evaded on foot, and several times Claire found herself outpacing, being outpaced by, and again outpacing carriages that could not move as lithely as she.

Had she noticed that earlier, she would have walked more, weather permitting.

At least she knew it now, and could apply her knowledge for the remainder of her time in London.

The park seemed somehow more inviting when approached on foot.

Worthington in her wake, Claire entered with the intention of making at least one full circuit.

Others were of the same mind, although they took a more leisurely pace, and after rushing past half a dozen walkers, Claire thought that in order to not draw attention she should perhaps slow down.

She moderated her stride, focusing her gaze on the stretch of green ahead and to the right.

A gathering of young men were playing cricket there with more application to hilarity than accuracy, although a big fellow appeared to be taking his duties as bowler quite seriously.

Claire slowed further to watch them, smiling as a disagreement presented in overly dramatic gestures and laughing voices broke out, then startled as the bowler left the field and, upon approach, proved to be Ronald Vincent.

A second glance showed her that one team was half made up of Charles's Lads.

Charles himself, whom Claire had presumed still asleep, was among them, and gave a shout and a wave upon seeing her.

Claire, forgetting herself, waved as vigorously in return, then folded her hand down hastily.

One might greet someone thusly in the country, but in London it would be remarked upon.

Indeed, Mr Vincent, damp with perspiration and fascinatingly undressed in his shirtsleeves alone, offered a bow and remarked upon it: "Miss Dalton. Forgive me for being bold enough to say so, but it's refreshing to see a lady remember she can make a gesture bigger than a mouse's."

No sooner than the words left his mouth than he looked mortified.

The very first memory Claire had of Mr Fairburn flashed through her mind: his fine seat on a horse, his cloak falling about him carelessly, the brilliance of his blue eyes—and the condemning phrase that had left his lips: I've found a mouse in the garden!

"I see the Lads have shared that story. Don't worry," Claire said with a laugh as Vincent's expression grew increasingly stricken. "I'm beginning to think I ought to find a way to make something of that name. What special talents do mice have?"

"They creep into places they are not expected, and make themselves at home there, as you have crept into all of our hearts," Nathaniel Cringlewood volunteered as he, too, joined them.

Like Vincent, he had the healthy glow of exercise, and his shirt, made of much finer material than the large man's, clung to his torso in a startling and distracting manner.

Claire blinked away, looking for somewhere safer to rest her eyes, and found Samuel Ackerman, as undressed as the rest of them, looking rather like a young Adonis under the blue morning sky.

The light caught on a still-pink vertical scar, no more than two inches long and quite straight, at the front of his right shoulder.

Claire stared at it curiously without even realizing she was doing so until someone tossed him his coat and he threw it over his shoulder, hiding the scar.

"Tut, Claire, staring at Ackerman like that," Charles said cheerfully. "He's pretty, but he's brazen, cousin, running about undressed when there are women about. I should pummel him for sullying your innocent gaze with his brazen ways."

"Ah," Claire replied somewhat absently, "no, Charles, I think that's unnecessary…."