like some Shakespearean star-crossed lover.
Camden realized he would gain nothing by arguing with Wittingham, however. The man, for all his haughty priggishness, was a stalwart friend and an unrelenting interrogator, and Camden knew he would not let up until Camden admitted the error of his ways.
“Perhaps you are right,” Camden said, pleased that he sounded convincing. “Perhaps I should take some time away from work, go on a holiday. I’ve certainly earned it.”
“Finally you are talking sense, man,” Wittingham said. “Come, let’s start your holiday now. I’m sure Farber and Hollsworth haven’t lost all their money or passed out yet, surely we can catch up with them.”
“Not tonight, Wittingham, I’m exhausted from — ”
“Eh, no. No excuses,” Wittingham said. He took Camden by the arm and propelled him from the room, grabbing their coats and hats on the way out. “Tonight, you will have fun in spite of yourself.”
Chapter Seven
Del tightened the reins as Liath snorted and threw her head, the flighty horse startled and peeved by the sound of snapping twigs and crunching leaves beneath her hooves. Del shifted and pulled her riding habit down to more fully cover her leg. She cursed the necessity of wearing heavy skirts and perching in the awkwardly balanced sidesaddle. Oh, to be able to wear breeches and sit astride the horse, so she wouldn’t feel at every moment as though she were about to pitch head first into the dirt.
Del glanced at her pocket watch. She had been riding for nearly an hour, and must be close to the pond where she was supposed to meet Jane, but she could see no sign of it. Finally, after several more minutes, she spotted a copse of trees nestled in a shallow valley, and she knew the pond was just ahead.
Goodness, Jane had told her the pond was secluded, but this seemed a bit extreme. There was nothing else in view, no house or cottage or barn or road, just rolling hills and quietly grazing sheep.
Liath snorted again and sidestepped, the sudden shift in balance nearly throwing Del from the saddle. They had entered the copse, and the horse clearly resented each
thwap
and scratch from the low-hanging branches.
“Steady, girl,” Del said as she gently stroked Liath’s neck. “We are almost to the pond and the indignity will soon pass.”
Del scanned the area, looking for Jane. When her friend had suggested the picnic, Del had tried to beg off, preferring to be glum and morose in the privacy of her own home, but Jane had been insistent.
You need to get out
, Jane had told her.
Fresh air and cold water will set you back to rights
. Del had tried to protest that there was nothing about her that needed righting, but Jane had not let it go. Now, here in the valley, with the sun sparkling off the ripples of the pond and the breeze gently rustling the autumn-touched trees, Del was glad she had finally agreed to the picnic. She did need this, she realized. She had been shut up in her townhouse, alone, for weeks, pretending she was merely feeling a bit under the weather and needed some time to rest. While she had been able to convince herself of that for the first few days, it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend, to herself or anyone else — particularly Jane — that she would regain her usual demeanor anytime soon. A day spent outside of London, lazing near the water, eating and napping and perhaps swimming, was exactly what she needed.
Del dismounted and wrapped the reins around a low-hanging branch, giving Liath enough lead to graze. She smoothed her hair and skirts, her body and clothes both stiff and rumpled from the ride. It appeared Jane had not yet arrived, and Del was thankful for the time alone to stretch her legs and revel in the quiet solitude. She loved Jane, but once her friend arrived it would be all excited chatter and gentle ribbing, with no restful silence to be found.
Liath’s whinny drew Del’s attention to the trees behind her, where the
Camden realized he would gain nothing by arguing with Wittingham, however. The man, for all his haughty priggishness, was a stalwart friend and an unrelenting interrogator, and Camden knew he would not let up until Camden admitted the error of his ways.
“Perhaps you are right,” Camden said, pleased that he sounded convincing. “Perhaps I should take some time away from work, go on a holiday. I’ve certainly earned it.”
“Finally you are talking sense, man,” Wittingham said. “Come, let’s start your holiday now. I’m sure Farber and Hollsworth haven’t lost all their money or passed out yet, surely we can catch up with them.”
“Not tonight, Wittingham, I’m exhausted from — ”
“Eh, no. No excuses,” Wittingham said. He took Camden by the arm and propelled him from the room, grabbing their coats and hats on the way out. “Tonight, you will have fun in spite of yourself.”
Chapter Seven
Del tightened the reins as Liath snorted and threw her head, the flighty horse startled and peeved by the sound of snapping twigs and crunching leaves beneath her hooves. Del shifted and pulled her riding habit down to more fully cover her leg. She cursed the necessity of wearing heavy skirts and perching in the awkwardly balanced sidesaddle. Oh, to be able to wear breeches and sit astride the horse, so she wouldn’t feel at every moment as though she were about to pitch head first into the dirt.
Del glanced at her pocket watch. She had been riding for nearly an hour, and must be close to the pond where she was supposed to meet Jane, but she could see no sign of it. Finally, after several more minutes, she spotted a copse of trees nestled in a shallow valley, and she knew the pond was just ahead.
Goodness, Jane had told her the pond was secluded, but this seemed a bit extreme. There was nothing else in view, no house or cottage or barn or road, just rolling hills and quietly grazing sheep.
Liath snorted again and sidestepped, the sudden shift in balance nearly throwing Del from the saddle. They had entered the copse, and the horse clearly resented each
thwap
and scratch from the low-hanging branches.
“Steady, girl,” Del said as she gently stroked Liath’s neck. “We are almost to the pond and the indignity will soon pass.”
Del scanned the area, looking for Jane. When her friend had suggested the picnic, Del had tried to beg off, preferring to be glum and morose in the privacy of her own home, but Jane had been insistent.
You need to get out
, Jane had told her.
Fresh air and cold water will set you back to rights
. Del had tried to protest that there was nothing about her that needed righting, but Jane had not let it go. Now, here in the valley, with the sun sparkling off the ripples of the pond and the breeze gently rustling the autumn-touched trees, Del was glad she had finally agreed to the picnic. She did need this, she realized. She had been shut up in her townhouse, alone, for weeks, pretending she was merely feeling a bit under the weather and needed some time to rest. While she had been able to convince herself of that for the first few days, it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend, to herself or anyone else — particularly Jane — that she would regain her usual demeanor anytime soon. A day spent outside of London, lazing near the water, eating and napping and perhaps swimming, was exactly what she needed.
Del dismounted and wrapped the reins around a low-hanging branch, giving Liath enough lead to graze. She smoothed her hair and skirts, her body and clothes both stiff and rumpled from the ride. It appeared Jane had not yet arrived, and Del was thankful for the time alone to stretch her legs and revel in the quiet solitude. She loved Jane, but once her friend arrived it would be all excited chatter and gentle ribbing, with no restful silence to be found.
Liath’s whinny drew Del’s attention to the trees behind her, where the
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