Page 9

Joy, astride her spirited mare, Nightingale, offered him a wry smile.

She wore a riding habit of deep green wool, cut in a flattering yet practical fashion, with a short fitted jacket buttoned neatly over a cream waistcoat and a matching skirt that draped elegantly to one side of the saddle.

A jaunty velvet hat, trimmed with a modest ribbon, sat upon her wind tossed curls.

In the bright sunlight, she seemed every inch the lively country miss rather than the weary débutante he often saw in stuffy drawing rooms. The mischievous gleam in her eyes told him she was just as eager to be free of London’s constraints as he was.

Lady Maeve sat upon a sleek grey mare, all but glowing with excitement as she fiddled with her reins.

Her riding attire displayed a touch more flair—a blue-grey habit with delicate ivory piping, complemented by ribbons of pale blue that flowed from her hat.

She had chosen gloves of the same shade, creating a pleasing ensemble that displayed to advantage her dark hair and bright complexion.

And then there was His Grace, the Duke of Thornhill—the quintessential tall, dark, and handsome gentleman, and a quietly magnetic presence that had already sparked a buzz in the ton .

He would be a worthy opponent if ever there was a contest for Maeve’s hand.

Freddy had known Thornhill long before he became the Duke.

Thornhill was somewhat reclusive, dashing, and reputedly with a fortune the size of Derbyshire—traits that made him an object of fascination and frequent speculation.

A young, single duke did not come along often, but Freddy worried not.

He knew he was a great favourite with the ladies as well.

In Freddy’s mind, this ride was a stroke of genius.

He, Joy, Maeve, and Thornhill—all friends, with similar interests.

A chaperone was not required for such an excursion as this, as Freddy and Joy were as brother and sister.

If it just so happened that Freddy could orchestrate a small romance for Lady Maeve and himself, well, that was making the best of the situation.

“Shall we be off?” he called, waving the riding whip he had been tapping against his boot.

The three others nodded, and with a chorus of gentle clucks and a flurry of hooves, the party set forth from Mayfair towards Richmond.

Before long, Joy spurred her mare forward, drawing level with Freddy. “Is this not the perfect day for a ride?” she said, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration, looking quite pretty. Funny he had never noted that about her before.

They began by winding through the bustling streets of central London.

Even at this early hour, the thoroughfares were lively with carts rumbling towards market stalls, flower sellers hawking their wares, and carriages carrying gentlemen into the city.

Freddy could hardly wait to leave behind the clamour of vendors and the press of foot traffic.

As they progressed westward, the cramped buildings gave way to wider avenues lined by elegant residences with small, tidy gardens.

The tang of smoke from countless chimneys gradually diminished, replaced by air that felt fresher, though still touched with the city’s lingering haze.

Once they reached the outskirts, the scenery transformed.

Narrow lanes meandered between open fields, dotted here and there with grazing sheep or a rustic windmill.

The road wove beneath canopies of elm and beech, the sunlight filtering through leaves to create dappled patterns on the ground.

Indeed, the entire scene felt worlds away from the grand ballrooms and whispering gossips of the ton .

Freddy inhaled deeply, revelling in the sense of freedom.

Thornhill and Lady Maeve rode beside each other, while Freddy and Joy naturally fell in alongside one another.

Richmond Park itself—once they entered—offered sweeping vistas of rolling grassland, ancient oaks, and the distant sparkle of the Thames.

Deer grazed quietly amid tall ferns, lifting their heads in mild curiosity as the riders passed.

Freddy had the distinct impression that here, under broad skies and among gentle slopes, one’s thoughts could roam as freely as the wind.

No wonder Joy had clamoured to come. She practically glowed as she guided her mare along a winding path.

“This is heaven. If I had been forced to endure one more tea party discussing gowns, or watch the Dowager fuss over seating arrangements for some dreary dinner, I might have run away entirely.”

Freddy smothered a laugh. Joy’s candour always amused him, though he knew she was not entirely jesting. “We cannot have you running off, my dear Joy. Who would keep me on my toes otherwise?”

Her eyes narrowed in mock exasperation. “You would manage. Yet I should hate to see you roam the salons unchecked. It would be far too easy for you to flatter your way into half a dozen young ladies’ good graces.”

“Flattery? Me?” He feigned shock. “I prefer to call it ‘polite conversation,’ but if you must be uncharitable?—”

“Oh, hush.” She elbowed him lightly, earning a playful snort from his gelding. “Better you than those stiff-necked bores who can talk of nothing but the latest parliamentary debates.”

Freddy saw Thornhill and Lady Maeve riding side by side a short distance ahead, their figures silhouetted against a backdrop of rolling green. He leaned closer to Joy. “What do you think?”

Joy followed his gaze. “It is hard to say. Lady Maeve is all smiles, but the Duke’s countenance is rather unreadable. I think there is hope for friendship amongst us all.”

“Excellent,” Freddy murmured. He’d privately hoped to observe Maeve without signalling any preference, leaving the path clear for him to stake his own claim if the inclination took him.

But in truth, he wasn’t entirely certain whether his interest in Lady Maeve was genuine beyond her pleasing face and countenance. Marriage was for a lifetime.

Joy, apparently reading his thoughts, nudged him. “You do intend to speak more than two words to Lady Maeve today, do you not? I thought you were—well, not fixated, but at least curious?”

Freddy’s mouth twisted. “I am curious, indeed. However, there is ample time for conversation once we find a suitable spot to rest the horses. For now, let Thornhill amuse her.”

Joy gave him a long-suffering look. “Very well. Just do not let the entire day pass before you so much as enquire after her wellbeing.”

“And the same goes for you.”

They continued in this vein for some time, bickering with the ease of siblings, trading witty barbs about each other’s riding style, the kittens, and what other diversions they could plan to further Freddy’s cause.

So engrossed were they in their chatter that they scarcely noted how far they had ridden until Lady Maeve called back to suggest exploring an ornamental maze said to be tucked away near a grove of old yews.

“Come along,” Maeve urged. “I heard rumour there is even a carved wooden bench at its heart, for those who find it.”

“That sounds diverting,” Thornhill agreed in his low, even tone. “A challenge for the mind as well as the legs.”

They dismounted at the maze’s entrance, a low hedge forming the perimeter.

Tethering the horses to a sturdy post, the quartet set off on foot, wending their way along narrow paths hemmed in by high shrubbery.

Joy took the lead with characteristic boldness, claiming she could find the centre without error.

Freddy followed closely, indulging her confidence yet fully expecting to become lost at least twice.

Thornhill and Maeve brought up the rear, Lady Maeve for some reason eagerly comparing English gardens with Irish ones. A dead bore, if you asked Freddy.

Within moments, the group’s banter grew lively as they encountered closed ends and looped paths.

Joy, her cheeks aglow from fresh air and excitement, let out a cry of triumph when she discovered a hidden plaque that pointed left.

Freddy teased her that she’d misread it, only to find himself at an impassable hedge.

Their laughter echoed among the hedgerows, and though they wandered in circles, no one seemed to mind.

At last, they stumbled upon the maze’s centre, where a neatly trimmed alcove contained a carved wooden bench, just as rumoured.

Freed from the confines of the narrow paths, they paused to catch their breath and share their successes—or lack thereof.

Thornhill, it turned out, had deduced a pattern of turns to reach the heart more swiftly, while Maeve had happily tagged along, proclaiming that she preferred the scenic route anyway.

Freddy surveyed the cheerful group with satisfaction.

What a capital plan this was, he congratulated himself.

A day in the country, good company, and the glimmer of friendship blossoming.

He and Joy bantered so naturally that one might suspect they were indeed siblings, though occasionally a small pang reminded him that Joy also needed to find a mate.

They lingered in the maze’s centre for a while, swapping jokes about the many times they had nearly walked directly into a hedge.

Eventually, a low rumble from Freddy’s stomach broke through the merriment.

He winced, pressing a hand over his midsection.

“It appears our expedition has left me quite famished. Did we not discuss a picnic?”

Joy’s face fell in exaggerated dismay. “Alas, no.”

Lady Maeve and Thornhill exchanged chagrined glances.

Freddy held up his hands. “No matter. Thornhill and I shall hunt down provisions. There is a tavern just over the hill. Joy, Lady Maeve—why not wait nearby with the horses or stroll the grounds for a short time? We shall return with sustenance soon.”

They retraced their steps out of the maze, collected their mounts, and set off along a narrow lane that looked promising.

Sure enough, within minutes they came upon a small tavern nestled in a wooded copse, its sign bearing the faded image of a fox.

Within, the air was warm with the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread.

Freddy, stepping inside, found a lively crowd of local folk—field hands, travellers, an elderly man playing a fiddle in the corner.

The landlord greeted them politely enough, though he appeared mildly taken aback by the presence of gentlemen in full riding regalia.

Thornhill, unassuming despite his lofty status, spoke in a quiet, respectful tone. “We should be obliged if you could supply us with a few bread loaves, some cold meats, and perhaps a flask of ale. We have ladies to feed, and we have neglected to bring a hamper.”

The landlord, swiftly recovering from his astonishment, nodded. “At once, your lordships.”

Freddy pressed several coins into the man’s hand, adding, “And some cheese, if you have any.” The man bobbed his head eagerly, then disappeared into the kitchen to gather the requested items. Within minutes, the two gentlemen had a motley assortment of foodstuffs wrapped in cloth parcels.

They returned to find Joy and Maeve waiting under a grand oak near the edge of the park, the horses grazing contentedly.

Maeve clapped her hands in delight at the sight of provisions, while Joy laughed at the hodgepodge nature of their ‘picnic’.

Soon, they had spread a borrowed horse blanket beneath the oak’s shade and were passing around bread, ham, cheese, and ale with the kind of camaraderie that arises when hunger meets simple fare.

Freddy found himself seated beside Joy, watching as Thornhill tore off a chunk of bread and offered it gallantly to Maeve, who rewarded him with a dimpled smile. The two conversed softly, occasionally glancing in Freddy’s direction as though to include him in the talk.

When at last they finished their makeshift meal, the sun had shifted westward, lengthening shadows over the grass.

They mounted up and began the journey back towards London, lingering at a leisurely pace until the outskirts of the city beckoned them into narrower roads and heavier traffic.

Freddy took the lead, ensuring they navigated the busy thoroughfares without mishap—though Joy joked that she had never seen him so dutiful, teasing that perhaps fatherhood would be his next accomplishment.

It was only when they reached the familiar London streets, their horses weaving between carriages, that Freddy felt a sharp jolt of realization.

He’d spent the entire day bickering with Joy and arranging amusements, and hardly spoke a word to Lady Maeve to forward the notion of courting her.

He cast a quick look in Maeve’s direction.

She seemed content, chatting quietly with Thornhill about some detail about a garden party next week.

Freddy inwardly groaned. Had his day’s enjoyment blinded him to his own objectives? Perhaps so. And yet, as he watched Thornhill’s warm smile and Maeve’s answering laughter, a curious pang of both regret and genuine gladness stirred in Freddy’s chest.

He reined in his horse outside Westwood House, assisting Joy in dismounting while Thornhill assisted Lady Maeve.

They exchanged polite farewells, with Thornhill pressing Lady Maeve’s hand a fraction longer than etiquette dictated.

Joy eyed Freddy quizzically, as though reading the confusion in his mind.

But all he could manage was a shrug and a lopsided grin, murmuring that he had been “very pleased with the day.”

As the Duke took his leave, Freddy remained at Joy’s side, his chestnut gelding snorting impatiently. Joy cleared her throat and rubbed at her temples. “I do hope you enjoyed yourself, Freddy. Even though you forgot something important.”

“I did not notice you make any effort to engage Thornhill,” he retorted to her scolding.

“We both failed.”

“Yes,” he admitted, lowering his gaze to the cobblestones. “Yes, I rather think we both did.”