Diane Gaston - Regency Improprieties

‘Something about that fellow,’ Tanner had said. ‘I have always detested the man. Damned natty, for one thing. Never a speck of dirt, or a wrinkle in his coat. Every hair in place. Devilish odd.’ Tanner had shuddered. ‘Something else, though. I shall endeavour to discover what it is.’

Tanner had insisted Flynn take his curricle and the matched chestnuts, which had cost him a fortune at Tattersalls.

Flynn brought the curricle to a halt in front of Rose’s building. He tossed a coin to a boy passing by, asking the lad to hold the horses. As he climbed the stairs to knock upon Rose’s door, his excitement grew, an excitement he had no right to feel.

The door opened and there she stood, green paisley shawl draped over the same dress she’d worn when he last visited these rooms, hat and gloves already on. If she could appear this beautiful in a plain dress, think of how she would look in all the finery Tanner could buy her.

He frowned as she turned to close the door. He must keep Tanner in mind. Wrest control over this tendency to be bewitched.

But his resolve frayed as his hands spanned her waist to lift her into the curricle. And frayed more when she smiled down at him.

He climbed up next to her, and the boy handed him the ribbons. ‘Hyde Park, is that correct?’ he asked her.

‘It does not have to be Hyde Park,’ she replied in a breathless voice.

‘Where then?’

The sun rendered her skin translucent, and he had the urge to pull off his gloves and touch her with the tip of his finger.

‘Anywhere you wish,’ she whispered.

They stared at each other.

‘Hyde Park, then,’ he said finally.

He flicked the ribbons and the horses started forward. He drove through the riders, wagons, carriages, and hacks on Long Acre towards Piccadilly. ‘Your father gave you permission for this outing, I trust.’

‘He and Letty are out,’ she responded. ‘So there was no objection.’

She had not really answered him, he realised. He thought of asking for an explanation. Why did she appear to be under her father’s control, yet also out in the world with the likes of her friend Katy Green?

‘It is a fine day,’ he said instead.

‘Yes, it is.’ She changed positions and her hand brushed his leg as she readjusted her skirt.

He felt her touch long after her hand closed upon the bench to steady herself.

Flynn mentally shook himself, and concentrated on what he intended to accomplish. He must give her Tanner’s gift, the finest emerald ring Flynn could find at Rundell and Bridge. He must offer her Tanner’s patronage and propose a time and place for her to meet Tanner.

And he must ensure she spurned Greythorne.

As the curricle reached the Hyde Park gate, Flynn felt back in form. ‘Have you driven through the park before, Rose?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she replied, with no elaboration.

He was again reminded that she was no green girl, but it only forced him to wonder who her former escorts had been.

The fine day had brought many others to the park. Governesses with young children, servants and shopworkers, all taking respite from their toil. Fine gentlemen drove carriages accompanied by gaily dressed female companions—their mistresses, no doubt. Flynn knew some of these men, though he knew better than to nod in greeting. Later in the day some of these same gentlemen would return to this same carriage path to drive their wives or some respectable miss they were courting.

It occurred to Flynn that, if he did his job successfully, Tanner would soon be sitting in his place in this same curricle with Rose beside him. He frowned.

‘What makes you unhappy?’ she asked.

He started and looked over to see Rose staring at him, her lips pursed with concern.

‘I am not unhappy, I assure you.’

One brow arched. ‘You looked unhappy, I was thinking.’

With effort he composed his features into their usual bland expression. ‘I am not unhappy. Merely concentrating on driving.’

She faced forward again to watch the few carriages approaching them at a leisurely pace. ‘Yes, it is so treacherous here.’

He ignored her teasing and changed the subject. ‘Do you enjoy carriage rides?’

‘I do,’ she replied, smiling again.

‘The marquess has several carriages,’ he said, dutifully promoting Tanner’s interest. ‘This one, of course, and a phaeton, a landaulet—’

‘How nice,’ she said without enthusiasm.

He persevered. ‘He also has been known to purchase carriages for special friends.’

‘Yes. Special friends.’ She showed no increased interest.

Flynn gave her a sideways glance. Most women would leap at the chance to receive this man’s regard. The advantages were inestimable. ‘He is a generous man, Rose. I can provide you many examples to prove it, if you wish.’

She gave him an imploring look. ‘Please do not.’

He frowned again, pretending to concentrate on the horses and the carriage path. Finally he asked, ‘What is it, Rose? Every time I mention the marquess, you put me off. Perhaps if you could explain why, I would proceed in a manner to please you.’

Two spots of colour dotted her cheeks. ‘Oh, I have nothing against the man …’

Flynn waited for her to say more. The horses waited, too, almost slowing to a stop. He flicked the ribbons and they moved again. The Serpentine came into view, its water glistening in the afternoon sun.

‘It is pretty here,’ she said after a time.

He forgot about Tanner. Against the green of the grass, lushness of the trees and blue of the Serpentine, she looked like a Gainsborough portrait. He wished he could capture her image, frame it and hang it upon a wall to gaze at for ever.

He closed his eyes. This was madness, coveting his employer’s intended conquest.

He drew a breath, steeling himself again to perform his task. ‘I should like to speak for Lord Tannerton, if you will permit me.’

Rose wiped an escaped tendril from her forehead. She’d been pretending Mr Flynn had called upon her like a suitor. A foolish notion. He merely wanted to talk of the marquess.

The rhythmic sound of the horses’ hooves on the gravel path seemed louder while she delayed her answer. How could she explain to him that she was not wanting a marquess’s money? She was wanting what every girl wanted.

Love.

She set her chin firmly. ‘Later perhaps we can speak of the marquess.’

‘But I ought—’ he began, but clamped his mouth shut. He blew out a long breath and continued in a resigned tone. ‘What do you wish to talk about, Rose?’

The knot inside her uncoiled. She could pretend a bit longer. ‘Oh, anything …’ She smiled at him, suddenly light hearted. ‘Things people talk about.’

Things she longed to know about him.

She took a breath. ‘Have … have you been in England long, Flynn?’

It took him a moment to respond. ‘Since I was eighteen.’

‘And how long is that, then?’ she persisted.

‘Ten years.’

She had discovered his age! Twenty-eight. ‘What brought you to England, then?’

‘I came to attend Oxford.’

‘Oxford? That is where gentlemen go, is it not? To become vicars and such?’

He laughed. ‘Yes, and other things.’

‘Your family was high enough for Oxford?’

He stiffened. ‘It was.’

She’d offended him. ‘I should not have spoken so.’ She blinked. ‘I hope you’ll forgive me.’

His expression softened. ‘My father is gentry, Rose, a fairly prosperous landowner. He was well able to send me to Oxford.’

Rose relaxed again. ‘And what after Oxford?’

‘I came to London in search of a position. Lord Tannerton took a risk hiring me.’

‘You must have impressed him.’