Lord Braybrook's Penniless Bride

‘I cannot but think that Miss Trentham will find riding with me in attendance somewhat boring, my lord,’ she said a few moments later.

‘Probably,’ he said.

She flushed, suddenly aware that he too must be finding the restricted pace a bore. ‘I am sure if you wish to catch up with the children, that I will be perfectly safe. Merlin seems very quiet.’

His brow rose. ‘Certainly not, Miss Daventry. Whatever my shortcomings, I have a little more consideration than that.’

Christy subsided. Surreptitiously she patted Merlin’s neck, finding it warm and silken. Despite still feeling like a bug perched on top of him, she found that she rather liked Merlin. She liked the friendly way he occasionally swung his head and blew at Lord Braybrook’s mount. And once or twice lipped at Lord Braybrook’s breeches. At least, she assumed he was only using his lips.

It would be nice to ride him again.

She flinched away from the thought. Becoming fond of Merlin would be as foolish as becoming fond of Lady Braybrook’s cat. Or feeling herself to be part of the family. This was not her place. The landing—that was her place; no matter how kind and considerate the family might be, she was not one of them. She would do far better to take her cue from his lordship’s hauteur and remember that she was not riding for her own pleasure. That was incidental. His lordship had insisted because it made her more useful to him.

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