Free Belle's Beau by Gayle Buck Page A

constantly reminded that I am in London and must harbor such humor to myself, for it is considered to be too forward by some."
    "No, do not apologize. I do not mind in the least being roasted," said Ashdon hastily.
    Belle smiled at him, grateful for his forbearance. "I can see that we are destined to be good friends, my lord."
    "So I hope," said Lord Ashdon with emphasis, dazzled by his good fortune. He turned his horse about also and rode beside her, admiring her excellent seat and handling of her mount. They had not had occasion to ride together in Bath, of course. He had been too unsteady even to think of straddling a horse. He was glad to see that Miss Weatherstone was an accomplished horsewoman, for he himself enjoyed riding. He nodded at the gelding. "Is he yours?"
    Belle nodded and reached down to pat her chestnut's glistening neck. "This is my Rolly. I brought him with me when I came up to London with my aunt and uncle, for I could not bear to be parted from him."
    "Are your aunt and uncle in residence, then? May I have their direction?” asked Lord Ashdon in a casual fashion, even though inside he was taut as wire. "I should like to call on Mr. and Mrs. Weatherstone one day, if you have no objection."
    Belle looked at him, surprise in her eyes. His lordship was moving swiftly indeed. "Why, certainly, my lord. What possible objection could I have?" She relayed the address to him and then pulled up her mount so that she could offer her gloved hand. She nodded toward the entrance to the park and then smiled up at the viscount. "I must go now. I am already late for breakfast, I suspect."
    Lord Ashdon held her fine-boned hand for an instant. There was warmth in his gaze. "I hope to further my acquaintance with you and your aunt and uncle very soon, Miss Weatherstone."
    "Pray do so," said Belle cordially. "Good-bye, my lord."
    Lord Ashdon watched her ride out of the park and merge into the early-morning traffic. The dispersing mists and rising sunlight created a strange effect, so that her silhouetted form appeared to be more phantasm than bone-and-blood woman. It was almost as though she was not real.
    But, no, she existed. His chance meeting with Miss Weatherstone was not a figment of his imagination. He had spoken with her, and she had recalled him with cordiality.
    Lord Ashdon felt much more like himself than when he had first come into the park. A smile curved his lips as he thought about their unexpected race across the green verge and their brief conversation.
    He reflected that if he had to wed, he would far rather marry someone whom he liked. He had hoped that his memory would not play him false, and it had not. Miss Weatherstone was just as lovely as he had remembered. In fact, his recollections had not done her justice. He had forgotten the liveliness of her countenance, the vivaciousness in her expressive eyes. Her eyes had actually sparkled with the joy of the moment. Her high, healthy color, whipped up by the wind, had lent a rosy tint to her beautiful oval face.
    Lord Ashdon turned out of the park and headed home to his own breakfast, his thoughts still lingering on his encounter with Miss Weatherstone. He was struck by the sudden realization that she had not been in the company of a groom. He recalled that at the Pump Room in Bath she had always been chaperoned either by her aunt or by a maid. But perhaps since coming to London, Mrs. Weatherstone had relaxed her vigilance slightly. London society was, after all, more permissive than the more insular society of Bath. In that popular watering place, one could scarcely nod to an acquaintance without the fact being observed and commented upon by a dozen people.
    How odd. He had quite thought that Miss Weatherstone's name was something other than "Belle." Perhaps it was a diminutive or a pet name. Lord Ashdon shrugged. No doubt he had simply been mistaken. They had not been on a first-name basis, after all. One's memory could play tricks, and certainly he had