“Quite well, I am both relieved and dismayed to report. Sycamore Dorning has a quality I lack, of charming and commiserating with the patrons, celebrating their wins, recalling which of them has a daughter to fire off or an auntie with gout. Ash has taken on the finances and management of the staff. He sees to the building proper, the inventories, and the collection of debts. He has a natural grasp of numbers, as I do. They are the epitome of the adage that two heads are better than one, and the club is profiting accordingly.”
The tea tray arrived, the clock advanced at the pace of a glacier in winter, and Della began to fret that Ash would stand her up.
“If Ash and Sycamore Dorning are such an effective team,” Della said, “why does Ash Dorning spend some of the winter at the family seat each year?”
Jonathan took an inordinate time stirring his tea, tasting it, and setting down his cup and saucer.“Homesickness, I suppose. London in winter is a dreary, smelly place, and Sycamore likes to travel in the summer. He’s taken to Paris like an apprentice seamstress turned loose in a mercer’s warehouse. Will you attend the Dickson’s Venetian breakfast on Monday?”
Two things had just happened. Jonathan had prevaricated regarding Ash Dorning’s winter journeys, and then he’d changed the subject. The little niggle of worry Della felt about Ash possibly forgetting their appointment acquired sharp edges. Was Ash well? Was he hiding a mistress and family in the shires? Was he too fond of the poppy or—
A knock on the door cut short her flight of imagination.
“Come in,” she said.
Ash strode through the door, resplendent in riding attire. “My lady, good day. Tresham, stop making a pig of yourself with the biscuits.”
Like a wave receding into the sea, Della’s anxiety eased. “Mr. Dorning, greetings. Will you share a cup of tea before we depart?”
“I’ll have a biscuit,” he said, taking the place beside Della on the sofa. “Tresh, what brings you here besides free food and the company of a lovely lady?”
Ash Dorning was so confident, so at ease with himself, and so blasted good-looking. Every time Della beheld him, she fell prey to yearning, and this occasion was no different.
“I came to congratulate Della on weathering the first volley,” Jonathan said. “You made a lovely couple for last night’s supper waltz.”
Ash popped a tea cake into his mouth. “Of course we did. That was the point, also entirely my pleasure. Now we will make a sedate circuit of the park, bold as you please, and doubtless encounter a few sniffy dowagers and malicious gossips. We will ignore them all, won’t we, my lady?”
When Ash Dorning smiled that conspiratorial, playful smile, Della could ignore the flames of hell burning beneath her feet.
“We will have a very pleasant time,” she said. “We might even go for an ice at Gunter’s, seeing as the weather is so mild.”
Ash tucked a tea cake into his pocket. “Excellent notion.”
Jonathan rose and bowed over Della’s hand. “Enjoy the fine weather while it lasts, then.” He nodded at Ash. “Winter will arrive all too soon. I’ll see myself out.”
Della finished her tea. “What was that about?”
“What was what about?”
“‘Enjoy the fine weather…’ I know Tresham the least well of all my brothers, but he often acts the most obnoxiously fraternal.”
Ash rose and extended his hand to her. “He worries. It’s hard to worry for somebody and be unable to show that you care for them.”
Della put her hand in his. “To the park, Mr. Dorning. I have a skirmish to endure, and you are right. To care for somebody without being allowed to show that caring is a very difficult challenge indeed.”
She rose and walked past him, pleased with herself for firing the first cannonade of the day—straight at Ash Dorning’s heart.
Ash handed Della up into his curricle—Sycamore’s curricle, truth be told—and mentally kicked himself for stumbling into her gun sights. To care for somebody without being allowed to show that caring is a very difficult challenge indeed.
He had hurt her with his show of indifference. He had protected her, but he had hurt her too. The presence of the tiger riding at the back of the vehicle spared Ash from further salvos, but not from the guilt Della’s observation engendered.
“Would you like to drive?” he asked.
“I would,” she said, taking the reins. “What is your horse’s name?”
“This is Sycamore’s gelding. His name is Denmark, and he’s as sensible as he is handsome.”
“Like you,” Della said, clucking to the horse.
“You flatter me, my lady.”
She smiled, her expression probably for show. They bantered their way to Park Lane and then into Hyde Park itself, where autumn was advancing despite the mild weather. Leaves drifted down from the towering maples and twirled onto the surface of the Serpentine, and a solitary common blue butterfly hovered over the water.
“I love this season,” Della said when they’d exchanged nods—terse, chilly nods, but nods—with three other vehicles. “Everything is relaxing into winter’s quiet. All of nature breathes a sigh of relief.”
Ash certainly wasn’t breathing any sighs of relief. “But everything is dying as well. The days grow short, the nights chilly. Animals with any sense take to their burrows, and the growing season ends. It’s a sad time of year.”
Della steered the horse around a bend in the path. “But a sweet melancholy, wouldn’t you agree?”
“There is no such thing. Shall we walk a bit?”
Della signaled Denmark to stand. “No time like the present, I suppose. If I’m given the cut direct, at least only a few people are on hand to see it.”
The tiger stood at Denmark’s head, not that such a well-trained equine needed that much supervision, and Ash helped Della down from the curricle.
He loved—loved—her physical form. She was small but well curved, feminine perfection on a compact scale. Her energy was palpable, and he loved that too. Della Haddonfield would never spend days in a dark room, silently begging heaven for the motivation to wash.
And she would have a hearty disgust for a man who did.
“This way,” she said, twining her arm through Ash’s. “The water has a particular scent when the banks are muddy. I prefer the quieter paths.”
“You prefer privacy if you’re to be given the cut direct, but, Della, I won’t allow that to happen.”
She tipped her chin up and marched forth. He loved that about her too. What she lacked in stature, she made up for in dignity, so why the hell had she fallen in with Chastain’s most undignified scheme?
“Will you tell me why you pretended to elope with Chastain?” Ash asked.
“Will you tell me why you never answer my letters?”
“Fair enough.” He walked along while sorting through credible prevarications. “As a younger son, my means until recently have been limited. I did not deserve to engage your affections when such sentiments could lead nowhere.”
It took Della all of six paces to return fire. “I have ample settlements, and your prospects have improved dramatically. Your dear brother Valerian has less means than you do, and he married an heiress. Oak has married a well-situated widow. Men without means marry all the time, Mr. Dorning. Besides, a short note informing me that you are still alive and the weather in Dorset has been nasty isn’t likely to provoke me to a wild passion. You are an impressive specimen, but not even your allure is that strong.”