He grinned. Having made her point, she looked far too satisfied. “Sense is not jumping your horse over high hedges.”
She sighed. “Oh, must we go over that again?”
He sighed heavily, but a grin hovered on his lips. “No. I can see it’s quite useless.”
“Quite tiresome, in fact.”
“You will be careful, though, won’t you, Lady Madeline?” he said suddenly, disconcerting her.
She frowned. “Of course. Why the concern?”
He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d said it. The sense of unease persisted. “No particular reason.”
“Because you think me reckless?”
“I suspect you have an adventurous nature,” he said, attempting to be tactful but apparently failing woefully, as she frowned at him.
“And what is wrong with that?” she asked indignantly. “Is it only men who can enjoy an adventure, Lord Montford?”
“The world is safer for men. Regrettable, but true, unfortunately.”
She nodded her head, acknowledging the fact.
“As we are neighbors, will you call me Hart?” It surprised him he’d asked it and wondered if he’d be rebuffed.
She tilted her head and observed him. “Hart? A nice name, although I cannot call you that in company, you understand.” She hesitated, adjusting the reins in her hands. “My parents and friends called me Maddie.”
Was he now a good friend? Pleased at the prospect, he smiled. “Maddie,” he echoed, glancing at her curls escaping her black riding hat, more red than chestnut, with paler streaks, making it a color all of its own. “It suits you.”An unusual name for an unusual lady. And a very pretty one.
Blaze pawed the ground. “Alas, I must take leave of you,” Hart said, conscious of the hour as he steadied his mount.
“Enjoy your time in London.”
She sounded wistful.
“It’s business mostly,” he said, which was not quite true.
“The metropolis offers many wonderful entertainments during the Season,” she said longingly. “I trust you will make the most of it.”
“I shall endeavor to. Goodbye…Maddie.”
“Goodbye, Hart.”
Black braid and toggles decorated her military-style gray gown. Still in half-mourning, and even when she smiled, there was a hint of sadness in her brown eyes. She should be among friends and bright company to lighten her grief. It wasn’t his business, but he had a powerful urge to make it so, if in some way he could help her. Wakeham wasn’t her father’s heir. What sort of control did he have over Maddie? Surely she would cease to be his ward once she came of age? Hart heartily disliked what he suspected was going on here. It was obvious Maddie was not reclusive by nature. She was filled with fire. No girl who rode with such passion wished to let life slip by. She would not have been left without money of her own. He didn’t know the circumstances, but her father, the earl, had been a wealthy man and would have ensured she was well placed should he die. Perhaps it was just as well Hart was leaving, or his temper could get the better of him. He might stir up more trouble for Maddie with that difficult uncle of hers. She was such an independent young woman, he doubted she would turn to him for help in any event. And he could just be jumping at shadows. But while in London, he’d make it his business to find out more about Wakeham.
It was full dark by the time he reached Mayfair and left his curricle in the mews stables, his grays in the care of a groom. Mixed feelings assailed him as he approached the double front doors of the family’s London mansion. When he was alive, his father had not felt obliged to keep the house open for Hart, renting out the furnished property for two years, with most of their servants.
Even after his death, his father’s disfavor remained a sore point with Hart. The animosity began between them when Hart, a young lad, had stood up for his mother, resenting his father’s harsh treatment of her. But long after she was gone, he still visited Pembury without complaint whenever his father requested it, even though those visits were inexorably painful. What hurt him deeply was why, despite a litany of complaints about his aches and pains, his father had never asked for Hart’s advice or confessed to being incapable of running his estate. Their relationship remained stiff and formal, and he kept Hart at arm’s length. When his mother was alive, she moderated his father’s difficult moods, but after she was gone, his tempers worsened, and he seemed to plunge into misery. Hart wondered now if his father felt some guilt and anguish over his behavior in the past. But it was impossible to say. His grandfather had been the same: an abrupt, cold man. Such things were often perpetuated each generation. But such behavior would end with Hart. He was his mother’s son, not his father’s. She had guided him through his childhood. It was her wise words that stayed with him. He tightened his jaw. Would she have approved of his London lifestyle? Perhaps not. Well, that was about to end, although he still worried about the new role he was about to adopt. Marriage.
With the lease at an end, Montford Court was Hart’s to rattle around in. It seemed a cold place after his mother died and didn’t fill him with joy.
A footman opened the door.
“Welcome home, milord.” The butler, Crispin’s, voice echoed in the lofty hall as he hurried with a slight limp to welcome him. He had served the family for thirty years and looked older and balder than Hart remembered.
“It is good to see you again, Crispin.” He shook the man’s hand, feeling a tremble in his fingers. Perhaps he would welcome retirement and a pension, but Hart wasn’t about to suggest it until he was sure.
“Your suite has been made ready, milord.” Crispin snapped his fingers, his authority apparently undimmed. Two footmen scurried to take Hart’s luggage. Hart piled his hat, gloves, and greatcoat into one footman’s arms. “Your valet awaits you in your chambers. Should you require anything, the housekeeper, Mrs. Hatton, will deal with it.”