Page 4 of A Single Obsession

She shot him an encouraging smile, and Beau felt the knots in his stomach unwind a little. Perhaps she would engage in some undemanding conversation about his favourite subject.

He took the seat next to her on the sofa. “I was surprised not to see you this morning, Eliza. What was so pressing that you missed seeing the hunt off?”

She shot him a startled glance. Had he said something wrong?

“Darn it. Should I address you as Miss Merry now that Georgie’s married?” He gave her a pleading look. “Please say I can still call you Eliza. We’re almost family, after all. It would be so much easier if you gave me permission to use your name as I’ll probably forget and keep calling you Eliza regardless.”

“I’d like that.”

“So, did you have a pleasant day?”

To his surprise, two spots of colour appeared on her cheeks. Why had such an innocuous question made her blush?

“Yes, thank you. I did.”

When Beau realised she wasn’t going to expand on her answer, he tried again.

“It was a marvellous day for a hunt. There’s nothing quite like riding through the countryside on the back of a horse.”

“No, there’s not.”

Beau wondered whether he had made a mistake trying to talk to her. It was hard work conversing with someone who said so little. He was sure she had been livelier in the past, when he had visited the parsonage as a youth.

Could she be shy? Surely not. Why would she be shy with him when she had known him all her life?

“How is Romeo doing?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Beau’s lips broke into a wide smile. He had not expected her to remember their conversation at her sister’s wedding. Most people didn’t really listen when he enthused about his seedling stud, but Eliza had recalled the name of his prized bay colt.

His eyes glistened as he pictured his darling. “Romeo is doing well, thank you. My head groom, Jem, says he’s a real chip off the old block. Looks just like his father, complete to the white stocking on his back right leg. If you recall, he’s sired by Waxy, and that cost me a pretty penny, I can tell you. But you have to pay to get a good sire and Waxy’s a champion. I plan to race him in October. Who knows? Maybe one day he’ll win the Epsom Derby for me like his father did.”

Once talking about his preferred subject, he needed scant encouragement to continue. Eliza smiled and nodded from time to time, and seemed content to listen. To find someone who was prepared to indulge him in going on about his passion was a rare thing, and he took full advantage of his willing listener. She said little, but he could tell she was interested in what he was saying by the way her eyes shined up at him.

When he had exhausted his plans for expanding his stud, he returned to the subject of the hunt. Although she must have heard all the details over dinner, she encouraged him to give her a full account.

“I just can’t get over how lily-livered the other riders were, not jumping the wall. As for Whitlow—ugh!—he couldn’t stop going on about the risk I’d taken. You’d think the man was fifty, not twenty-five. So chicken-hearted—”

Beau stopped short and dropped his eyes, aware he had allowed himself to rattle on as if he had been talking to Ant. He could hear his mother’s voice in his head. You are a viscount, not a stable hand. If you cannot speak as befits your rank, do not speak at all.

“You are too harsh,” Eliza said. “Not everyone rides as well as you. Would you risk such a jump if you rode like Mr Whitlow?”

Beau glanced up at her words. When he saw the gleam in her eyes, his nose twitched with amusement. “No. I suppose you’re right. It’s a miracle he got through the day without falling off. But to lecture me as if he were my father—it was the outside of enough. He had the nerve to accuse me of setting a poor example for your brother and that young man riding with him.”

“I doubt Will needed any encouragement.”

“Your brother’s a fine rider, but it was his friend who caught my attention. You should have seen him—it was impressive that so slim a youth could control such a powerful mount. I think he would make a fabulous jockey. Do you know him? Would he be interested in such a career?”

“I’m afraid not,” Eliza said. “I believe his parents have other plans for him.”

Beau let out a heartfelt sigh. “Isn’t that always the way…”

Their conversation was interrupted by a request for music. At her mother’s bidding, Eliza got up from her seat, a resigned expression on her face. Moved by her obvious reluctance, Beau rose beside her, tucked her arm into his own, and walked her across the room to the pianoforte.

That, however, was as far as his gallantry extended. If music was on the menu, he couldn’t get away fast enough. After waiting while Eliza sat and selected a piece to play, he withdrew to the furthest end of the room. As soon as the opportunity arose, he intended to escape to the stables.

Whilst he had enjoyed their conversation, he would leave Anthony to admire her performance.

Eliza fixed her eyes on her music, willing her hands to produce the notes on the page. It would have been preferable to sing as well as play to distract her audience from her lack of expertise on the pianoforte, but her throat became parched at the prospect of singing in front of anyone outside of her family. Especially Beau.