frowning after the rapidly disappearing curricle. “He’ll get himself or someone else killed if he goes on like that.”
“More likely someone else,” remarked Gwen with some asperity. She could still feel the impression of Colonel Reid’s buttons pressing against her chest. If he hadn’t thrown her to the side . . . She’d give him one thing, no matter his ridiculous banter—his reflexes were good. She shook out her skirt with more force than necessary. “That type has more lives than a cat.”
“And the morals of one, too,” agreed Colonel Reid. “We get a fair number of that kind in India, sent off by their families or out for adventure. They cause more trouble than they’re worth.”
There was a note of authority in his voice that hadn’t been there before. Despite herself, Gwen found herself taking notice of her companion. “How long were you in India, Colonel Reid?”
“Most of my life,” he said, his bright blue eyes looking out across the courtyard at lands far, far away. “I came there as a lad of sixteen and never thought to go anywhere else. It’s a grand place, Miss Meadows, a grand place.”
He held out his arm to her and she took it, picking her way across the courtyard with him towards the newly arrived stage. “And yet you chose to come back here.”
“It’s not back for me,” he said. “I was born in the Carolinas. In America,” he clarified, and seemed amused by the expression of horror on his companion’s face. “It’s not so wild as that, Miss Meadows. I spent my youth in Charleston, which is as fine a city as you’ll find.”
Gwen deeply doubted that. It was in the Americas, after all. Any colony that wantonly rebelled against its rightfully ordained monarch didn’t know what was good for it. “Why leave it, then?”
“Why does any youth do what he does? A longing for adventure, a thirst for new worlds—and, of course, the desire to thumb one’s nose at one’s parents.” He gallantly gave her a boost up into the carriage, his hand sturdy on the small of her back. “Not that you’d know anything about that, Miss Meadows, a paragon of virtue such as you are.”
For some reason, this irked her. “I was young once too,” she said sharply.
So painfully, painfully young. She had been such a fool back then, so convinced of her own innate wisdom and superiority.
She was still convinced of those things, but with a difference; now she’d earned it, through hard experience and grinding humiliation.
“You’re still young,” said Colonel Reid, settling himself into the seat behind her.
“I’d have you know that I count four decades to my credit—and a half!” Take that. One couldn’t quibble with forty-five. “I’m well on the way to my half century.”
“As I said,” said Colonel Reid, his lips twitching in a most unfair way, “a mere sprig of a girl. Now, I’ve my half century and a few years plus that.”
“And burnt brown for most of them,” said Gwen acidly.
“The sun in India will do that to a man,” said the Colonel amiably. “But I don’t see you as the sort to bundle under a bonnet and hide away from the sun.”
The man was too perceptive by half. A shrewd rogue, Jane had called him, and she was right. Not that it mattered. They would collect the girls and Colonel Reid would be well away out of her life again.
“The situation has never arisen,” said Gwen crushingly. “The climate of Shropshire is far from tropical.”
The tutor and his charge took their seats in the stage across from them, the schoolboy showing a lamentable tendency to squirm. The man with many chins considered the schoolboy and then made an ill-advised attempt to squeeze in next to Gwen instead, squashing her against the side of the Colonel.
“Impossible!” she fumed. “Sir, there is no room for you on this bench.”
“Na, there’s room right enough,” said the man, the lower sort of clerk by his accent, wiggling his ample backside in the space on
“More likely someone else,” remarked Gwen with some asperity. She could still feel the impression of Colonel Reid’s buttons pressing against her chest. If he hadn’t thrown her to the side . . . She’d give him one thing, no matter his ridiculous banter—his reflexes were good. She shook out her skirt with more force than necessary. “That type has more lives than a cat.”
“And the morals of one, too,” agreed Colonel Reid. “We get a fair number of that kind in India, sent off by their families or out for adventure. They cause more trouble than they’re worth.”
There was a note of authority in his voice that hadn’t been there before. Despite herself, Gwen found herself taking notice of her companion. “How long were you in India, Colonel Reid?”
“Most of my life,” he said, his bright blue eyes looking out across the courtyard at lands far, far away. “I came there as a lad of sixteen and never thought to go anywhere else. It’s a grand place, Miss Meadows, a grand place.”
He held out his arm to her and she took it, picking her way across the courtyard with him towards the newly arrived stage. “And yet you chose to come back here.”
“It’s not back for me,” he said. “I was born in the Carolinas. In America,” he clarified, and seemed amused by the expression of horror on his companion’s face. “It’s not so wild as that, Miss Meadows. I spent my youth in Charleston, which is as fine a city as you’ll find.”
Gwen deeply doubted that. It was in the Americas, after all. Any colony that wantonly rebelled against its rightfully ordained monarch didn’t know what was good for it. “Why leave it, then?”
“Why does any youth do what he does? A longing for adventure, a thirst for new worlds—and, of course, the desire to thumb one’s nose at one’s parents.” He gallantly gave her a boost up into the carriage, his hand sturdy on the small of her back. “Not that you’d know anything about that, Miss Meadows, a paragon of virtue such as you are.”
For some reason, this irked her. “I was young once too,” she said sharply.
So painfully, painfully young. She had been such a fool back then, so convinced of her own innate wisdom and superiority.
She was still convinced of those things, but with a difference; now she’d earned it, through hard experience and grinding humiliation.
“You’re still young,” said Colonel Reid, settling himself into the seat behind her.
“I’d have you know that I count four decades to my credit—and a half!” Take that. One couldn’t quibble with forty-five. “I’m well on the way to my half century.”
“As I said,” said Colonel Reid, his lips twitching in a most unfair way, “a mere sprig of a girl. Now, I’ve my half century and a few years plus that.”
“And burnt brown for most of them,” said Gwen acidly.
“The sun in India will do that to a man,” said the Colonel amiably. “But I don’t see you as the sort to bundle under a bonnet and hide away from the sun.”
The man was too perceptive by half. A shrewd rogue, Jane had called him, and she was right. Not that it mattered. They would collect the girls and Colonel Reid would be well away out of her life again.
“The situation has never arisen,” said Gwen crushingly. “The climate of Shropshire is far from tropical.”
The tutor and his charge took their seats in the stage across from them, the schoolboy showing a lamentable tendency to squirm. The man with many chins considered the schoolboy and then made an ill-advised attempt to squeeze in next to Gwen instead, squashing her against the side of the Colonel.
“Impossible!” she fumed. “Sir, there is no room for you on this bench.”
“Na, there’s room right enough,” said the man, the lower sort of clerk by his accent, wiggling his ample backside in the space on
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