"I only got tipped in the river-and anyway, that was old Dobbins's fault."
Alathea held her tongue. The hackney rolled on, taking them back into the fashionable district. As they turned into Mount Street, she glanced again at Jeremy's face. He was still dreaming of the dangerous contraption; she knew he wouldn't let go of his dream until he'd experienced it, or something worse. He was adventurous, the sort who simply had to try things out. It was a compulsion she understood.
"Pedestrian curricles have been around for some years." Her musing comment had Jeremy turning, his eyes lighting. She met his bright gaze. "I'll ask your mama. Perhaps Folwell can find one-"
"Whoopee!"
"On one condition."
Jeremy stopped bouncing on the sea
t, but his eyes still glowed. "What condition?"
"That you promise not to use it in town at all, but only once we're back at Morwellan Park." Where the lawns were thick and cushioning.
Jeremy considered for only a moment. "All right. I promise."
Alathea nodded as the carriage rocked to a stop before Morwellan House. "Very well. I'll speak with your mama."
Propping up the wall at yet another ball, Alathea stifled a yawn. She blinked her eyes wide, struggling to keep them open; she'd spent the past two nights reading into the small hours after the rest of the household was abed. It was the only time she had to herself to wade through the tomes she'd found on Africa.
Central East Africa, however, continued to elude her. What little she could find on the region was largely speculative, and exceedingly scant on detail.
A familiar head of burnished chestnut hove into sight above the masses. The most peculiar thrill shot through her; she immediately looked for cover. There was not a palm or shadowy alcove anywhere near. Besides, that might not be wise. Getting trapped with him in the shadows was likely to scramble her wits.
Beneath her skirts, she bent her knees and sank just enough so that she was no longer so readily detected by her height. Through gaps in the horrendous crush, she caught glimpses of Gabriel as he prowled the room.
For some peculiar reason, at least viewing him from a distance, he seemed like a different man. She could see, appreciate, aspects of him she hadn't truly noticed before, like the perfection of his restrained elegance, and the subtle aura of leashed power that cloaked his tall frame. And his reserve, that distance, apparently unbreachable, that he maintained between himself and the world.
He was bored-truly bored. She could see why Celia and the ladies of the ton despaired. They were right in thinking he didn't see them at all; from the way his face was set, the steadiness of his gaze, she would have wagered Morwellan Park that he was thinking more of Central East Africa than of a glittering ballroom in Mayfair.
One lady braved his detachment and put her hand on his sleeve. He smiled, urbanely charming; gracefully, he lifted her hand and bowed over it. Straightening, he exchanged a light word, some quip to set the lady laughing, hoping… only to be disappointed as with no more than that superficiality, he smoothly moved on.
He was a master at sliding through a crowd, refusing to be anchored, ineffably polite, arrogantly assured, and utterly impossible.
"Alathea! Good gracious, my dear-what peculiar fetish do you have with walls?"
Abruptly straightening, Alathea looked around-into Celia Cynster's startled eyes. "I was… just easing my legs."
Celia gave her a hard, inherently maternal stare, but was distracted by a glimpse of her firstborn through the crowd. "There he is! I made him promise to attend-he's been to hardly any balls this entire Season-well, only family affairs. How on earth does he expect to find a wife?"
"I don't think securing a wife is uppermost in his mind."
Celia nearly pouted. "Well, he had better get started on the matter-he's not getting any younger."
Alathea kept her lips sealed.
"Lady Hendricks has been dropping hints that her daughter Emily might suit."
An image of the lovely Miss Hendricks popped into Alathea's mind. The young lady was sweet, modest, and excessively quiet. "Don't you think she's a little too timid?"
"Of course she's too timid! Rupert wouldn't know what to do with her-and she certainly wouldn't know what to do with him."
Alathea hid a smile. "Are you really entertaining any hope that some lady will be able to influence Rupert? He's the least easy to influence person I know."
Celia sighed. "Believe me, my dear, the right lady could do a great deal with Rupert, because, you see, he'd let her."
"Lady Alathea!"