Chapter Five

Boating on the River Thames, including instructions on how to dispose of an unwanted suitor without actually getting oneself wet.

"Har har har."

The obnoxious nasal laugh made Florinda wince as she stood on the banks of the Thames and watched as Sir Reginald Barking attempted to put a few items into the large punt moored in the water.

"Got to have cushions, of course, har har," he brayed.

"Of course." Florinda's voice was markedly devoid of expression.

One of the cushions apparently disagreed, since it slid from the pile he'd dropped into the punt and plopped overboard, where the current gently cradled it off on a voyage downstream.

"Bother." Sir Reginald shrugged. "Never mind. There will be enough to ensure your comfort, Miss Boothe."

"I'm sure."

Barely aware that she was speaking in two-word sentences, Florinda's mind was busily creating pithy and pointed comments which she would be directing at her Mama when she returned home from this less than auspicious outing.

Why the devil Lady Boothe had imagined this…this…clod might be a suitable candidate for her daughter's hand in marriage, she had no idea at all.

It pained her to accept that the enormous fortune he possessed could have been the overriding incentive, since she herself cared little for such things. Sir Reginald's financial situation, which was indeed impressive, came from his ownership of almost half of an entire southern county.

He did nothing himself, of course, but reaped the benefits of everyone who lived and worked on his lands. She wondered, as he continued to load the punt—adding several baskets of provisions—whether he actually knew what any of his tenants did.

She doubted he knew their names, since he hadn't been able to recall his London manservant's name this morning, passing it off as a mere moment of forgetfulness brought on by the sight of Florinda's beauty, which—he avowed—had driven all other thoughts from his head.

To which she had responded, "Ah."

Given that beginning, her two-word comments might actually be described as quite chatty.

"Right then, Miss Boothe. Your magnificent conveyance awaits only one thing before setting off on its journey to paradise." Sir Reginald grinned toothily. "And that, dear lady, is of course, your presence." He held out his arm. "May I assist you as you embark?"

Florinda looked at the loaded punt, then at the bank, then at the punt, and then at Sir Reginald.

"I believe I would be best served by your presence in the punt, Sir Reginald. You will be able to hold it steady whilst I step in from the bank."

"Oh, yes, har har har. Should've thought of that meself."

Suiting words to action, he stepped into the shallow vessel, making it rock quite violently.

"The pole, Sir Reginald. Pick up the pole and put it down in the water." The phrase "you idiot" was strongly implied.

Florinda sighed as he struggled to follow her directions. Vainly she sought a reason to walk away from this entire business, since it was shaping up to become a rather watery disaster. But that would have been the height of rudeness; after all, he'd gone to the trouble of ordering his servants to provide cushions and a picnic basket.

There was a young lad waiting on the bank as well, and she shot him a glance, only to see him trying his best to smother a laugh.

"You're going to be doing the poling, yes?"

He choked down his amusement. "If we ever gets that far, Ma'am, yes. But at the rate he's goin'…"

Florinda sighed in agreement. "Well, you never know…"

"All right, Miss Boothe. Har har har. Your turn." Sir Reginald extended his arm, his feet now balanced on the floor of the punt. "Quite safe, dear lady. Don't be nervous at all."

Since she had enjoyed punting for more than a few years, she could easily have reassured him in that regard. But having watched his inept performance, Florinda was no longer so certain that this was the safest thing she would do this month. She could swim, thank heavens, but would prefer not to. Especially not in the Thames after being dunked from a punt inexpertly handled by a ranting nodcock foisted on her by a mother desperate to see her daughter wed.

She sighed and stepped carefully into the vessel, ignoring Sir Reginald's arm, and trying not to be too uncomfortable with the fact that the only other person on the punt looked to be someone about twelve years old. Within moments she sat comfortably on the cushions and unfurled her parasol.

"Oh. Har har har. How gracefully you did that, Miss Boothe. And to see you so comfortable? I would say a swan sailing out into the river cannot be more graceful than you embarking on our journey." His eyes narrowed. "'Tis hard to believe you are unwed; such a beautiful prize unclaimed." Then he smiled. "Yet…"

Florinda discovered that she could actually manage a smile of sorts, even though her thoughts were not in the least bit amused, and her skin displayed a tendency to crawl at the look in his eyes. "How kind." She reverted to her preferred two-word sentence.

Sir Reginald, of course, had to ascertain that everything he'd required was, in fact, aboard. During his stock-taking, he had offered Florinda a glass of wine (she'd declined), a shrimp patty (also declined), and had made sure to taste the pies, in order (he said) to verify that they were up to the Barking standards.

Finally, they pushed away from the bank and out into the Thames.

The pole was being skillfully handled by the lad, whose name turned out to be Dickon, and who was clearly more comfortable with the punt than the man who had hired him. He had patiently listened to all the directions showered upon him by his temporary employer, and Florinda's respect for him grew, since she was quite ready to grab the pole and beat Sir Reginald over the head with it.

"If you would, sir," said Dickon respectfully, "try to keep yourself balanced? Reaching over the side to dabble your hands in the water is making for a bit of a rough go for the lady." He paused. "Sir."

Florinda could almost hear the implied "you idiot", and managed not to chuckle, since this was one of those rare times when she and a young lad from the other side of London were obviously thinking the identical thing.

Sir Reginald was indeed rocking the punt. He seemed unable to sit still for more than a moment or two; if not reaching behind him into the basket, he was turning from one side to the other and gesturing at things he thought might interest her.

Like a tree. Or a squirrel. Or a flower or two blooming amongst the weeds along the bank.

It soon became clear that the word silence meant nothing to Sir Reginald.

And right after that, it became even clearer that Florinda couldn't possibly survive an hour on the Thames with this ceaseless and meaningless prattle ruining what could have been quite a nice trip.

A few people were now appearing along the bank, since it was a popular path. Some rode, some drove carriages, and even more were walking; the walk here was broad and offered a lovely view of the river as it meandered on its way to the ocean beyond.

And Sir Reginald kept talking. And braying that laugh of his, which sent birds fluttering from trees and made her teeth clench.

Half an hour later, Florinda was approaching desperation, ready to push the man into the Thames, grab the pole from Dickon, and hold him underwater until he shut up.

Since that was not the sort of thing a lady did (although she might think about it a lot), she decided the simplest way to end the journey was to use Sir Reginald's faults against him.

"Oh, Sir Reginald," she said, interrupting his soliloquy on a dragonfly which had stupidly settled on his knee. "Wouldn't this be a delightful location to pause our voyage? I declare I am quite thirsty."

"Of course, of course, my dear." Sir Reginald turned to Dickon. "Stop the boat, boy."

Dickon, who looked as if he was about to roll his eyes or point out that boats don't stop on a sixpence, caught Florinda's meaningful glance, blinked, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

They slowed, and Florinda pointed to a spot just before the river turned again.

Dickon narrowed his eyes at her, then grinned. "I'll tie up then, sir, just for a bit, so's you and the lady can stretch your legs if you want."

"Yes, yes, go on then." Sir Reginald dismissed him with barely a shrug. "Miss Boothe, my dear, some wine? I'll wager the lad will give us some privacy, and I believe you'll enjoy this vintage." He puffed out his chest. "I had it delivered this morning, just in from France."

"Oh my." Florinda did her best to radiate interest.

Sir Reginald rocked the punt as he stood and reached for the basket, nearly tipping the dratted thing over as he tried to balance sufficiently to reach the wine.

"One moment," Florinda reached out and caught his arm, pulling him back to centre the punt. "I would love to stretch my legs, so why don't I walk on the bank for a minute or two, while you open the wine?" She managed a smile so patently false she was surprised he responded to it with one of his own.

"An excellent idea," he beamed. "You, lad, take yourself off until I call."

Dickon shot a quick look at Florinda, who gave him a tiny nod. "Very good, sir." He pulled the pole from the water as he looped the rope around a convenient root, securing the punt to the bank.

"Here you go, then Miss."

Florinda accepted his hand, stood, and stepped out onto dry land with a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Dickon." She moved a little closer, facing away from Sir Reginald, currently fussing with wine glasses in the basket.

"You know, it would be quite a shame were the rope to come loose just here, wouldn't it?" Looking around the river bend, she noticed with delight a swifter current.

"Indeed, Miss. Would be awful, I should think. Especially for someone not used to punting."

"They wouldn't drown, though, would they?"

"I doubt it," said Dickon quietly. "Not much more than five feet or so, and even shallower at the bend."

"Excellent."

They shared a mutual grin as Florinda began a slow stroll along the bank, allowing herself to actually enjoy the sunshine and the river, without the distraction of a prattling idiot. It was the kind of day that England could produce unexpectedly and reminded one of the beauties it offered at this time of year.

"I say…" Sir Reginald's voice intruded into her moment of pleasure, and she sighed, turning back.

"I do beg your pardon," she began. "Such a lovely day for a stroll. And a ride in a punt, of course…"

"Yes, but…" his voice was quite uncertain.

Florinda could see why. The vessel had, unfortunately, become disengaged from the root, and was now floating away from the bank into midstream, with only Sir Reginald aboard.

He stood with a wine bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, frowning and looking around him, as if unable to accept what was happening.

"You lad," he called. "Get back here with that pole."

Dickon moved to the edge of the bank. "Oh dear, sir. I'm sorry, sir, but I can't get to you now. You're too far out and I can't swim…I dunno how this could have happened. Did you touch the rope at all?"

"No, of course not, you stupid…" He paused. "Well, it was caught in the side of the basket. I suppose I might have just…"

The punt rocked and Sir Reginald sat down in a hurry, tipping it to one side and almost taking on water. "Oh. God, what…help…someone…"

"Never you fear, sir, we'll get someone to rescue you," called Dickon.

"Don't worry, Sir Reginald, we'll alert somebody further downstream." Florinda calmly watched as the punt pitched slightly, hitting the current as it swept around the bend. "I'm sure you'll be perfectly safe. And what a fine adventure you're having."

She really tried not to sound too amused, but knew on some level she'd failed.

"But what about you?" called Sir Reginald, to his credit. "How will you get home?"

Another voice answered that frantic question.

"Have no fear, sir. I will charge myself with the lady's safe return to wherever she needs to go."

"No wait…oh nooo…" the call sounded fainter as Sir Reginald's nautical adventure continued apace.

Florinda turned toward land, scarcely believing her ears, let alone her eyes. But sure enough, there he was, sitting on a horse, quietly watching her, an amused grin curving his lips.

"Good day, Miss Boothe."

"Mr Trease," she answered, pleased that her voice did not reflect the inner turmoil she was currently experiencing. "What a surprise."

"Sheer coincidence, Ma'am," he bowed slightly. "But I see we both found it a beautiful day, although our choices of enjoying it differ somewhat." He shot a quick glance down the river. "Should I rescue him?"

"God no." She couldn't help the words pop from her mouth, inappropriate though they were.

His choked laugh was quickly stifled. "In that case, would you allow me to escort you home?"

Florinda glanced at Dickon. "Will you be all right?"

"Of course, Ma'am. Thank you." He bowed. "I know everyone along the river, so don't you worry none." He leaned toward her, a wicked light in his eyes. "An' I'll see that Sir Puff a Lot doesn't come to any harm."

Florinda turned to Ashe. "Would you have a coin or two on you, Mr Trease?"

He narrowed his eyes, but nodded, fishing a crown from beneath his riding jacket. "Will this suffice?"

"Excellent. Thank you." She took it as he held it out, then turned to Dickon. "You've earned this, along with my profound thanks. And I hope Sir Reginald paid you?"

"He did, Miss. I knows better than to go out without my money first." He accepted the coin. "But this is most welcome. My Ma will be very happy."

Dickon touched his cap and grabbed the pole, heading off along the riverbank as Florinda turned to Ashe.

"Well now. I suppose I must once again find myself sitting on your horse," she began. "It's going to become a habit if we're not careful."

"Wouldn't that be nice?" Ashe jumped down, and before she knew it, she was in the saddle. This time, he sat behind her, lessening her discomfort.

And then they were on their way, a leisurely walk in the sunshine, his arms comfortable around her as he held the reins.

"So," he began, humour in his voice. "Having a nice morning, are we?"

Florinda sighed. "It wasn't…but it is now." She smiled, the truth of her idle words sinking in as she inhaled his fragrance and allowed herself the luxury of leaning against him.

Yes. This was indeed a very nice way to spend a morning.