“Are you sure this is the spot?”
“Yes, Papa. I’m sure. And should you inquire in the future, I much prefer the park to the torturous task of tea with Lady Christina Sykes and her mother.” Jordana shot him a mutinous glare from across the carriage. “I hope taking her riding the other day will keep her from feeling the need to call again.”
Trent stepped out of the carriage and held out his hand. “It was one time, Jordana. I thought it lovely she and Lady Stanton called on us. Perhaps you’d like to join us next time we ride in the park?”
Jordana made a face of abject horror at the mere mention of spending time with Lady Christina. “Please tell me you aren’t seriously considering her, Papa. As a wife. I thought you said you’d never remarry.”
His daughter detested everything about London but especially pouring tea and making small talk with a young lady of Lady Christina Sykes’s ilk. Jordana’s interests lay more in the direction of following about Dr. Choate, the local physician. Or helping the village midwife. When she was nine, he’d found Jordana assisting the head groom with the birth of a foal.
“Lady Christina is a lovely girl,” Trent said, intentionally not denying her claim he was considering her as a wife.
“The Haddon Hellions will devour her in a matter of moments, Papa. She wouldn’t survive a fortnight.” Jordana hopped out of the carriage.
Trent smiled at Jordana’s show of arrogance, though she was probably right. He adored his girls and never regretted leaving the lifestyle he’d cultivated for so many years to raise them himself. But it was possible he’d overindulged them, mostly out of survival.
Trent knew when he was outnumbered.
“May we go to Thrumbadge’s tomorrow?” Jordana asked, taking his arm.
The only other place in all of London his daughter remotely cared about, besides the park, was Thrumbadge’s book sellers. Not for the rows of romantic novels, where most young ladies tended to linger, but for Thrumbadge’s vast selection of medical books. Anatomy was currently a particular favorite of hers. The bookseller possessed a small collection of tomes for sale regarding how to treat female maladies. And childbirth. Something Jordana insisted most physicians cared nothing about.
“I believe we can manage a trip, though I’m not sure where these interests are leading you, Jordana.”
But Trent did know when the curiosity and desire to help had taken root. Jordana had witnessed firsthand the agony her mother had gone through to bring Delphine into the world. Not long after, she’d assisted the midwife when the wife of one of Trent’s tenants had bled to death giving birth, weeping for days because she hadn’t been able to help the woman.
Another mutinous look shot from the pair of silver eyes so like Trent’s own. “To my future.”
Jordana was highly intelligent, brilliant, if he were being honest. But despite the aptitude she displayed, Trent knew of no medical school in all of England that would admit her. The most she might be able to accomplish would be learning the skills of a midwife. But even so, such an occupation for a girl of her station would be frowned upon.
“How do you know your future isn’t in London?”
“It isn’t,” she said with certainty, sounding years older than she was.
They strolled in the direction of the river, passing a pair of young ladies who peered at Trent from beneath their lashes, giggling the entire time.
“I have nothing in common with these nitwits,” Jordana hissed beneath her breath. “And I find it appalling I must watch my father be mooned over. You simply aren’t that handsome.” Two bright spots of red stood out on her cheeks. “It is humiliating, Papa.”
“I apologize for any embarrassment.” Trent tried not to laugh at Jordana as the wind ruffled through his coat. The morning was pleasant but cool, the sun struggling mightily to peek through the gray clouds littering the sky. The air smelled of grass and a hint of rain, along with mud. The river was just over the rise. As they turned and strolled between two large oak trees, neatly sidestepping a gentleman and his dog, Trent finally saw Marissa.
She was sitting in a handsome, horribly expensive carriage, drawn by perfectly matched ebony horses, their coats shining in the muted sunlight. The oval of her face peered through the window of the vehicle, sapphire eyes widening as she caught sight of Trent.
Her driver, a large mountain of a man, watched them approach before nodding and jumping down from his seat.
A ripple stretched across Trent’s heart. It was the same every time he saw her.
Assisted by the driver, Marissa stepped out of the carriage, the indigo skirts floating above her ankles revealing fine calfskin half-boots. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight chignon at the base of her neck, only a few strands left to dangle against her temples. A small hat, festooned with an ornate twist of ribbon and flowers and tilted at a saucy angle, sat atop her head. She inclined her chin in his direction, as regal as any queen.
If I had any sense at all, I’d abscond with her and bed her until she surrenders.
“Lord Haddon.” A girlish voice twittered from behind him. “Is that you?”
Jordana’s displeasure was evident by the way her fingers twisted into his arm.
Marissa paused beside her carriage, a frown darkening her lovely features as her gaze focused on something beyond Trent’s shoulder.
“Lady Christina.” He turned and bowed smoothly as Jordana slipped her arm free. She spared a silent but polite greeting to Lady Christina before walking to greet Marissa who had moved several paces in Trent’s direction.
Lady Christina watched Jordana’s retreat, the smile gracing her rosebud mouth faltering
