Page 45 of Better Than a Duke
“Oh, ‘The Gallery of Adventurers,’” Edmund read aloud, andimmediately headed beneath the corresponding archway. “Do you think they’ll have Captain Cook?”
“I imagine so,” Beckett answered, thankfully giving Iris a moment to collect herself. “Columbus, as well. Who else, do you think?”
“Mungo Park,” Edmund answered promptly. “He explored Africa. Have you read his book?”
“I have.” The marquis gestured at him to proceed. “We’ll follow your lead.”
“Are there any lady adventurers?” Becks asked, wrapping her fingers around Iris’s hand.
“There are,” she replied. “Most of them traveled with their husbands, and all the credit went to the men.”
“Well, that’s discouraging.”
“Indeed, it is. TherewasJeanne Baret, a botanist who disguised herself as a man and traveled around the world as part of Louis-Antoine de Bougainville’s expedition.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Ooh. Disguised as a man? I could do that. I know I could learn to ride astride, and I’m certain I’m a crack shot.”
“Oh, good God,” Beckett muttered from behind them.
Iris grinned. “Don’t forget, you must also be able to belch loudly and smoke a pipe.”
Becks laughed. “Look at Papa. I wager a hundred pounds his face is turning red, and his eyes are bulging.”
Iris obligingly looked over her shoulder at the marquis. His handsome face wasn’t red, and his pretty gray eyes were amused rather than starting from their sockets, but she nodded. “You would win, Becks.”
“Ha! I knew it!”
Beckett crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. Not for his daughter’s benefit, because she’d scampered off after Edmund,but for hers. She did the same to him, and he laughed. Heavens, it was good to have a friend, someone with whom she could commiserate, someone who understood how frustrating and how delightful being a single parent could be.
At the same time, she’d never had dreams in which any of her other friends kissed her, or in which they’d waltzed together in a room with no other guests. Or of what had happened afterward, which still made her cheeks warm to think of it. In her dreams, Beckett Raines was a very accomplished lover.
That was all her, though, and she couldn’t blame any of it on him except for the part where he was kind and understanding and had a keen, dry sense of humor. She’d invented everything else—well, except for the kiss—and that was just foolish. Raising her son had been possible because she’d put everything else aside. No, not aside. Excised from her life. Thinking—or dreaming—anything else was just a foolish waste of sleep.
“Do you ride?” Beckett asked, offering his arm again.
She wrapped her fingers around his sleeve almost before she’d decided the unnecessary touching was to blame for her unrest. A viper. That was what he was, catching her unawares with his handsome appearance and kind, clever words. “Why?”
“Because I’m taking the children to St. James’s Park tomorrow to practice riding. I thought you might care to join us.”
“You didn’t ask me if Edmund could join you.” Now she sounded bitter and petty, but her footing had abruptly become very unsteady, and it was difficult to be charming while sliding headlong down a slope into a patch of brambles.
“Might Edmund join Rebecca and myself for a riding lesson tomorrow morning?” he asked, a wary look coming onto his face.
“Yes. He must be back by luncheon, though. He’s missed fartoo many lessons, to the point that I’m presently paying Mr. Fredericks to write bad poetry.”
“Thank you.” He took a quick breath. “Do you ride, Iris? I thought you might wish to join us. As it happens, I have a spare mount, a good-tempered mare.”
“She is a Biscuits, I presume?” There hadn’t been any mention of a mare previously, nor had she seen one in the Raines House stable yesterday.
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“I don’t have a riding habit.”
“I’ll send one over to Grove House this afternoon. It may need to be taken in and let out here and there, but the fit should be close.”
So now he was giving her his late wife’s clothing. “Why are you being so nice?” she demanded, stopping in her tracks.
Beckett faced her as another group of visitors moved around them. “Since Lydia died, I’ve been encouraged by… everyone, to send Rebecca away to a nursemaid, to a relation with children and a pair of parents, and to boarding school. Fathers don’t care for their children, evidently. I’ve told you things I’ve never told… anyone, Iris. I appreciate being able to do that. I happen to enjoy chatting with you.” He took a half step closer. “And perhaps sharing the occasional kiss. If it makes a difference, I do consider us friends.”
