“Ho, you silly buggers.” Deene’s voice was calm over the clatter of the carriage. “That’s enough of this. It was a damned rabbit, you idiots, and you’re not getting any more treats if this is how you comport yourselves before a lady.”
His scold was lazy, almost affectionate, and to Eve’s vast, enormous, profound relief, the horses slowed to a canter, then a trot.
“Lucas, I’m going to be sick.” When had she gotten her hand wrapped around his arm?
“You are not going to be sick. If I pull them over now, they’ll understand that a queer start earns them a rest and possibly a snack. We’ll let them blow in another mile or two when their little horsey brains have forgotten all about this frolic and detour.”
Eve closed her eyes, and in sheer misery, rested her forehead on Deene’s muscular shoulder. A mile was forever, and yet what he said made perfect sense—to a competent horseman.
“I want to walk back to Town, Lucas. Right now, I want to walk back to Town.”
She felt him chuckle, damn and blast him. If he hadn’t been the one holding the reins, she would have walloped him.
“I’ve seen you ride through much worse misbehavior than that little contretemps, Eve Windham, and you did it with a smile. There’s a pretty view coming up. I typically let the team rest there.”
While Eve breathed in the lavender and cedar scent of Deene’s jacket—a cure-all for not just megrims, apparently, but a nervous stomach as well—she considered that she might possibly, in some very small regard, be overreacting.
She raised her head but kept her arm linked with Deene’s.
“You were going to tell me about The Downs.”
“You were going to tell me about Lavender Corner.”
Or they could argue about who was going to tell whom about which property. Despite her lingering upset, despite the looming challenge of the drive back to Town, Eve smiled.
Though she still did not turn loose of Deene’s arm.
From time immemorial, the horses who stayed alive were the ones who galloped off at the first sign of possible danger, and then, two miles later, paused to consider the wisdom of their flight—or to get back to swishing their tails at flies and grazing.
Deene wasn’t upset with his team for having a lively sense of self-preservation, though he was out of charity with them for scaring Eve Windham. He forgave them their lapse of composure when he realized Eve’s unease was keeping her glued to his side, a petite, warm, female bundle of nerves, trying to decide whether to resume arguing with him or treat him to another round of polite discourse.
She opted for discourse—a small disappointment.
“I do go to Lavender Corner to be alone,” she said. “I always make some excuse, that I’m meeting with my housekeeper, that I want to see how the gardens are coming, but mostly…”
Her words trailed off, and Deene stepped into the breach, even as he wondered what she wasn’t saying.
“I grew up with only the one sibling, and as a child, a five-year age difference made Marie seem like an adult. I always thought a lot of brothers and sisters would be wonderful, but I suppose it has drawbacks too.”
Her grip on his arm eased fractionally. “It is wonderful, unless they go off to war and don’t come back, or have to spend years expiring of blasted consumption. Even then, I would not exchange the people I love for anything in the world.”
What could he say to that? The people he loved encompassed his niece, whom he was barely permitted to see, and Anthony, though Deene would never mistake his cousin for a friend.
“One can tell you love each other,” he said, it not being an appropriate moment for a disagreement. “It’s there in your humor with each other, your protectiveness, your honesty. We’ve reached our pull off.”
For which he was grateful. Talk of love was for women among themselves, where it could safely stray off to that most inane subject, being in love. He pulled up the team, set the brake, wrapped the reins, and jumped down.
“Let’s stretch our legs, shall we?”
He didn’t really mean it as a question. Eve’s face was still pale and she would fare better for using her legs.
“You’ll let them graze?” she asked from her perch on the bench.
“They don’t deserve it, but yes, if you prefer.” He held up his arms to assist her to the ground, and she hesitated. In the instant when he would have remonstrated her for her rudeness, he understood that forcing herself to move at all when there was no driver at the reins was… difficult for her. “Evie, come here.”
He plucked her bodily from the carriage—he was tall enough to do that—and let her slide down his body until her feet were planted on terra firma. When he would have stepped back, she dropped her forehead to his chest.
“I’m an idiot.”
“If so, you’re a wonderfully fragrant idiot.” Also lithe, warm, and a surprisingly agreeable armful of woman. He kept his arms around her as he catalogued these appealing attributes and helped himself to a pleasing whiff of mock orange.
“I panicked back there when the horses startled.”
She sounded miserable over this admission. He took a liberty and turned her under his arm, keeping his arm across her shoulders while they walked a few paces away.
“I know you took a bad fall before your come out, Eve. There’s no shame in a lingering distaste for injury. I still get irritable whenever I hear cannon firing, even if it’s just a harbor sounding its signals.”
And for the longest time, thunder had had the same effect, as had the sound of a herd of horses galloping en masse. She moved away from his side, and he let her go while he released the check reins so the horses could graze.
“Being rattled from years at war is not the same thing at all as letting one fall—one, single fall—turn me into a ninnyhammer seven years and two months later.”
She probably knew the exact number of days as well, which made him hurt for her.
“I beg to differ with you, my lady—though I realize it has become an ungentlemanly habit. Tooling around the park, nobody’s team is going to spook at anything, except perhaps Lady Dandridge’s bonnets. If this is the first startled team you’ve been behind in years, then I’d be surprised if you weren’t a little discommoded. Walk with me.” He held out a hand to her. “There’s a patch of lily of the valley that is not to be missed over by those trees.”
She shot a wary glance at the horses, who were placidly grazing on the verge.
The look she gave his bare hand was equally cautious.
In that moment, he experienced a profound insight regarding Eve Windham, the things that spooked her, and why they spooked her. He ambled along in silence with her, hand in hand, resenting the insight mightily.
He found it much easier to consider Eve a well-bred young lady with ample self-confidence borne of a ducal upbringing, a very appealing feminine appearance, and no small amount of poise. He did not want to think of her as… wounded or in any way vulnerable.
“Have a seat,” he said some moments later, shrugging out of his jacket and spreading it on the ground for her.
Another woman would have argued over this rather than the silly things he debated with Eve—argued over the impropriety of being just out of sight of the road, of sharing a coat with a lone gentleman—but Eve sank gracefully to the ground, tugged off her gloves, and drew her knees up before her.
He sat beside her for a few moments in silence, letting the burbling of a nearby stream underscore what he hoped was a soothing silence. The air was redolent with the scent of lily of the valley, but beneath that he could still catch a little note of mock orange.
And Eve.