Reforming the Rake. Sarah Barnwell Elliott

       Chapter Seven

       N early a week had passed without Beatrice seeing Charles. Of course, this wasn’t to say that she hadn’t been thinking about him; no, she’d been doing that to excess. She could even admit to some mutinous feelings of disappointment because he hadn’t sought her out—she’d flattered herself, she supposed, in thinking that he meant to pursue her. If that had ever been his intention, he’d clearly settled his attentions on some other hapless girl. By the time of his mother’s party, he’d have quite forgotten her. She certainly had nothing to worry about.

      If it hadn’t been impolite, Beatrice would have whistled. It was a warm and glorious Saturday morning. The ground was still damp from the recent bad weather, but she didn’t care. Louisa wasn’t out of bed yet to tell her to stay indoors, so she put on sturdy boots, clipped a lead onto Louisa’s English setter, Edward, and headed for Hyde Park.

      The park was located right across the street and Beatrice set off briskly. These early morning walks were her only opportunity for exercise in the day; they were also one of the only times she had to herself.

      As they entered a quiet, canopied path, Edward began pulling on the lead, eager to inspect the bushes.

      “What is it, Eddie? Do you see something?” Beatrice gave Edward his head and he buried his nose in the bushes, snorting excitedly till he pulled out a ball. Edward dropped it on the ground watching her expectantly.

      “Do you want me to throw it for you?” Beatrice glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was alone, then crouched down to pick up the ball. She unclipped Edward’s lead. “Okay. I’ll throw it, but you must bring it back, all right? Here goes.” She threw the ball with all her might. He promptly retrieved the saliva-coated ball and deposited it at her feet.

      Beatrice looked at the object in distaste. Edward looked at it with adoration. She sighed. “All right, then, I suppose I have no choice.”

      She stooped down to pick up the ball, pinching it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger, then threw it again, this time with more spectacular results. With a splash, the ball landed in a puddle, where it promptly disappeared.

      Beatrice sighed. Edward stood at the edge of the puddle, whining and looking confused.

      “You’re supposed to go after it, Edward,” she pleaded. He merely looked back at her with a long face. “Fetch, Eddie!”

      He didn’t budge, and she walked toward the puddle, contemplating the best way to save the ball without ruining her gown.

      Beatrice was crouched down, gauging the depth of the puddle, when she heard the quiet clearing of a masculine throat behind her. She rose quickly and turned around.

      “Might I be of assistance?”

      She stared for a moment before answering, “Hello.”

      Charles walked forward nonchalantly. “Hello yourself.”

      Beatrice didn’t know what further to say. She nodded and turned around once more. Then, a suspicious thought flashing into her mind, she asked, “You didn’t follow me, did you?” She immediately blushed.

      Charles looked offended. “I’ve walked my dogs along this path since I was a boy—I only even noticed you because of the ghastly way you threw that ball.”

      She ignored his comment, only then noticing that he wasn’t alone. Attached to a lead was perhaps the smallest, fluffiest dog she’d ever seen. It was entirely white, and its long hair obscured its eyes. All Beatrice could see of its face was a shiny black nose and the tip of its pink tongue.

      “That’s your dog?” she asked doubtfully. It certainly was an odd pairing.

      Charles looked down at the dog, as well, somewhat disconcerted. “Er, no. This is actually my sister’s dog, Egremont.”

      “Egremont?”

      “Yes. It is a family name. Eggy for short.”

      Beatrice nodded, not knowing what else to do. She looked around. “Well, Edward and I ought to get going….”

      “You’re not going to get that ball for him? After being the one to put it there?”

      She looked doubtfully at the puddle. “Well, it seems to be very deep.”

      “It does, although Edward looks disappointed. Perhaps I can help you?” Charles was feeling particularly gallant that morning, and was thankful for it. He’d practiced a great deal of patience that week by not seeking her out, and he didn’t want to send her running in the opposite direction.

      Beatrice weighed his offer. She didn’t want to risk spending any more time in his company than necessary, but it was a kind offer. She nodded reluctantly. “I suppose…. How do you propose to do it?”

      “It’ll be easy,” Charles said, placing Egremont’s lead into her palm. “That’s why gentlemen carry canes, you know. For helping damsels in distress.” He fished around in the puddle for a moment with his cane, and rolled Edward’s ball out.

      The dog barked in appreciation, and Beatrice couldn’t help but applaud briefly. “Bravo,” she said, laughing.

      He grinned roguishly and bowed with exaggerated chivalry. “May I demonstrate a proper throw, my lady?”

      She smiled back and curtsied. “Indeed, my lord.”

      “All right, Miss Sinclair. Observe,” Charles said confidently, before sending the ball flying off in a smooth arc. Beatrice watched as Edward galloped after it, swooping low to the ground to retrieve it. They waited in silence a moment for him to come trotting back.

      He did not. With ball in mouth, Edward kept on running and disappeared into the park.

      After about ten seconds of silence, Beatrice began to grow concerned. “Oh, dear. He’s always come back before.”

      Charles smiled reassuringly, although the thought of having lost Louisa’s beloved Edward chilled his heart to the core. “I’m sure he will…. Perhaps we had best follow him a bit, though. Just in case.”

      Beatrice nodded. “I think so.”

      She, Charles and Egremont started off, the former two keeping apace and the latter one lagging slightly behind on his little legs.

      Beatrice looked back at Egremont with a sigh.

      Charles noticed. “In Eggy’s defense, my dear Miss Sinclair, he would have retrieved that ball himself.”

      She knew when to be quiet. Instead she turned around to pick him up and carry him.

      “Here, let me,” Charles offered gruffly, reaching out to take the dog from her arms.

      He immediately wished he hadn’t. It brought him too close to her. He could smell her hair, and the way his arm brushed against hers was enough to awaken his less honorable feelings. Charles suppressed them hard. For the moment, he wanted to enjoy the simple pleasure of her company.

      She felt it, too. He could tell by the way her lips parted slightly in shock, her eyes widened and she instantly picked up her pace and began calling the dog’s name.

      “Edward!”

      Charles followed suit.

      As they neared Rotten Row, Beatrice began to worry even more. On a brilliant morning like this one, there were always many people about. Being seen with Charles could be disastrous. She halted.

      “Problem?” he asked.

      She blushed. “No…I just prefer to avoid this part of the park days. I only hope Edward hasn’t gotten into too much trouble.”

      Suddenly, she saw him. She should have been relieved, but she was not. He had paused for breath at the foot of a park bench and had laid his head lovingly in the nearest empty lap. That lap belonged to Lady Barbara Markham. Although a luxurious mink pelisse enveloped