Free June Calvin by The Jilting of Baron Pelham

“Very well. Forgive me if I’ve been precipitate in my lovemaking. I’ll woo you slowly and gently, as you deserve. Unless you wish me to desist entirely?”
    Davida dropped her glance and fiddled with her reticule. “No, of course not. I . . . just wish to be very sure . . .”
    “That does you credit, my dear. If you only knew how many young women have been so determined to wed my gold that no insult, no impropriety was serious enough to discourage them!”
    “So you have become accustomed to being able to behave toward my sex in an insulting, improper manner.” Davida frowned at him fiercely.
    “If I have, you have certainly given me a salutary set-down today! May we cry friends?”
    “Of course.” Davida answered his beguiling smile with a hesitant one.
    “Then let me give you a hint of what these blacks can do,
Miss
Gresham!” So saying, he flicked the pair into a spanking pace that fairly took her breath away. She lifted her face to the wind and laughed joyfully. A devilish grin lit his face as he observed her delight in their speed.
    When he pulled them into a cooling walk, Davida clapped her hands in delight. “They are marvelous. And you are an excellent whipster. I wonder . . .?”
    “Yes?” He was smiling broadly in obvious enjoyment of her excitement.
    “Pelham and Threlbourne spoke of having raced. They are planning a rematch, but I suspect these beauties could take either of their pair.”
    “I think they could, too. Perhaps we’ll put it to the touch at the picnic?”
    “Famous!” Davida’s eyes glowed with excitement. She rode home in perfect charity with Harrison Curzon, even agreeing to accompany him to a private viewing of the Royal Academy’s exhibition on the following morning. Still, she was determined that he would only kiss the tips of her fingers when he took her hand to bid her farewell.
    He smiled wickedly up at her as he bent over her stiff, unyielding little hand. “At least you are not unaware of me, my dear, and so sweetly proper,
Miss
Gresham.” He stepped away and waved jauntily as he dashed down the steps.
    Watching him go, Davida felt a little twinge of guilt over the way she had answered his questions. She had given him the impression that she hadn’t a
tendre
for anyone, but she knew that wasn’t true. However, her interest in Pelham was hopeless, so there was no reason to reject Curzon out of hand.
    He was eligible in every way, although, like her mother, she found him difficult to be comfortable with. But that might pass on better acquaintance. Truly eligible suitors were not so thick upon the ground as to be dismissed lightly. Yes, she would continue to see him, but after their brief contretemps in the park, she would take care not to encourage him too much until she knew her own mind better.

Chapter Seven
    A s they drove along the Strand toward the Royal Academy at Somerset house the following morning, Davida learned that just as Pelham was an amateur musician who took his music seriously, Curzon was an amateur painter who took painting very seriously indeed. He explained that he was a member of the Academy, one of a very few talented amateurs allowed to belong to the country’s foremost professional society for the training and promotion of artists. It was as a member that he was able to invite her to view the paintings privately.
    Finding that Davida was relatively ignorant about the Academy, for she was definitely not an artist, her escort proudly and knowledgeably gave her a thumbnail sketch of its origins and functions. “Oddly enough, it traces its beginnings to the Foundling Hospital chartered in 1739. Hogarth was one of many wealthy and influential people who joined the crown in supporting this worthy cause.”
    “You mean
the
Hogarth, who did the superb satirical cartoons?”
    “The same. He was one of the original governors. He began the practice of donating works to the hospital and encouraged other artists to do so.”
    “Like his