Page 96 of A Mismatch Made in London

The windows were open, and I watched the outside world pass by, the people and buildings and other carriages and horses. We made comments about the things we passed. We looked like two acquaintances calmly sharing a ride through Jeremy’s home village.

But I was thinking about what we would be doing right now if I had whispered something entirely different to him while we were waiting for the carriage.

For instance, if I had whispered, “I am in love with you, and I will marry you. I am ready to marry you tomorrow, if you have secured the license.”

Right now I could be snug in his arms, feeling his lips on mine.

Had I done the right thing in giving myself a little more time to decide? I told myself I had. Of course it was the right thing. If Jeremy Beaumont lost patience with me, if he became annoyed with my hesitation in marrying him, then I would see another side of him, and it could be the undoing of my good opinion of him, could it not?

I sighed. Why was I still unsure? Had I not spent a great deal more time with him than I had with Lord Gotthurst? I barely knew him, yet I would have quickly married him if he’d asked me. But I’d seen Jeremy react to a great many things, good and bad. He was patient, and he could tell me he loved me even when he was unsure of my love. That should prove something.

Leastways, while refraining from physical contact, I wouldn’t have to worry about my thoughts being scrambled and scattered from his intoxicating kisses. It was surely better this way. And could I be blamed for having thoughts of moving over to his side of the carriage and kissing him?

They were only thoughts, and thoughts were not actions.

At the British Museum two days before, every artifact fascinated me and I wanted to know more. In the carriage, we discussed Egyptian history and how it coincided with the Old Testament. Jeremy had done some reading about that, and he told me some things he remembered. We talked of the peoples who had inhabited England in the early years when Christianity was being introduced. We spoke of how different life must have been then, but I was thinking how handsome Jeremy was and how kind were his expressions—except when he was angry and vowing to duel with the man who had wronged his sister. But even when he was angry there was something admirable in his expression.

He was looking at me now. “You have such a thoughtful expression.”

“Oh, I was just ... thinking.”

“You are very pretty when you’re thinking. But you are always beautiful.”

He thinks I’m beautiful. It made a lump form in my throat so that I had to swallow past it. “Thank you.” Should I tell him he was handsome? He surely knew he was, and I was afraid of saying too much and embarrassing myself.

When Mr. Harper had said such things to me, they never affected me as Jeremy Beaumont’s words did. I suppose I was always suspicious of Mr. Harper’s sincerity.

“Are you comfortable?”

“I am well.”

“The road can get quite rough. There are some blankets under the seat. Sometimes Juliet will take a couple of blankets to pad the bench and the side of the carriage to soften the ride.”

“Thank you.” Would he suggest that I sit beside him? That would soften the ride for both of us. Perhaps I would suggest it later.

And that was how my thoughts kept flitting back to wanting to be near him, kissing him, and letting myself be in love with him.

And yet I said nothing, made no suggestions that we sit beside each other, and refrained from leaping across the carriage and into his arms.

Halfway through our journey, we stopped at an inn to change horses and to take a small repast. When we were back in the carriage and on our way again, we were silent for a few minutes.

“You are much quieter than Juliet,” he remarked.

“Too quiet?”

“No, not too quiet. Juliet is just ... very talkative. And loud. And she complains a lot.”

We both smiled. “Spending time with Juliet is never dull,” I said. “I suppose that is why we became friends so quickly and enjoyed each other so much. She always kept my mind off missing my family, and I think she enjoyed being with someone who was calmer than she was. But I have to warn you—I am not always calm.”

“Oh?” He raised his brows, his lips quirking up at the corners.

“I can get very angry at times.” I smirked. In truth, I was rarely angry, but it did happen.

“What kinds of things make you angry?”

“I get angry when my brothers fight and strike each other, especially when they hurt each other. I get angry when someone doesn’t say thank you, or when someone is inconsiderate or unjust to someone who is weaker than they are.”

“What do you do when you are angry?”