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Brock maneuvered his phaeton through the fashionable London ton currently promenading through Hyde Park, while he sought to drown out the whining voice beside him. Whatever had gotten in to him, agreeing to accompany Lord Galles’ daughter for a ride in the park? He’d only collected the girl from her father a handful of minutes before, but was already tempted to stop his horses and ask her to walk back. If it were not completely and unforgivably outside social norms to abandon a young lady in Hyde Park, he expected he would have.
“You do not say?” he responded when Lady Sophia went quiet.
“That was my response as well, my lord,” she began again. “Imagine the nerve of the girl, dancing the waltz without Almack’s permission.”
“The shame!” he faked interest while imagining himself shoving pointed quill pens in each ear, effectively putting a stop to the girl’s verbal volcano. It was a wonder she hadn’t picked up on his lack of enthusiasm in the conversation.
His eyes roamed the many unfamiliar faces in the sea of people taking their daily constitution in the park. It amazed him the amount of people London held. He could attend a ball every night for years, and still manage to meet new members of the ton at every turn. He nodded to a group of matrons, picking Lady Darlingiver and Mrs. St. Augustin out of the crowd. Their gazes took him in in surprise before both women lowered their chins in a return salute and increased their pace in the opposite direction.
Returning his attention to the girl beside him, Brock’s eyes suddenly caught a familiar face on the walking trail. His breath caught. Even with her dark hair captured under a fancy hat and gowned in a fashionable walking dress instead of the sturdy cotton he was used to seeing, Lady Viola stood out.
“My lord?” his carriage mate asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
“Pardon me, what was that?” Brock turned his eyes from Lady Viola and trained them on the screeching girl beside him.
“I asked if you would perhaps be willing to escort me to Gunther's for an ice one day.” The irritation vanished when his attention settled on his companion once more.
“I do believe that would be an enjoyable afternoon,” Brock responded, though he had no intention of calling on the girl again.
She smiled and greeted a woman in a carriage to Brock’s left.
When he gazed over Lady Sophia’s shoulder, Lady Viola had disappeared.
He would certainly see her again soon, he had no doubt. Together, they accounted for the worst scandal to hit London in the last decade. It was inconceivable that their paths would not cross.
He flicked the reins and his horse sped up as they exited the park. He could not wait to unburden himself of young Lady Galles’ company and return to his townhouse. The post should arrive shortly, and he had invitations to accept.
“My lord,” she said, and clasped onto his arm as the horses lifted their legs higher, increasing their sped. “It is time to return to my father’s already?”
He wiped the utterly bored expression from his face before answering her question. “Time does pass when two like-minded individuals gain acquaintance, does it not?” He bit his tongue before he added that it could also drag on and on. Before long, Brock’s fine carriage stock found their place among the swift-moving afternoon set as he headed back toward Lady Sophia’s townhouse.
“I do agree, my lord.” She did not release his arm. “I will be at the Viannate’s ball this evening, do you plan to attend?” Her voice came out a bit needy; Brock could only imagine the lecture she’d received before leaving with him. Her father most likely instructed her to make sure she confirmed another meeting with Brock.
He could not say whether or not he would be at any ball Lady Sophia planned to attend. The young girl probably didn’t know who Lady Viola was, and no doubt wouldn’t understand his need to see her. Attaining a list of functions she planned to attend, however, would prove difficult.
As his brothers before him, he was determined to get what he wanted. Except that instead of Lady Viola’s attention, Brock only wanted retribution.
Shunned No More Page 37
