19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

G regory had chosen to set off at precisely eight o'clock for the simple fact that there would likely be very little in the way of traffic along the country roads. That is to say, what little traffic one could expect from the farms outside of York, which was not particularly much. However, he did not want Miss Heart to feel overwhelmed her first time holding the reins; he also did not want her to become impatient, stuck behind an overloaded hay wagon or something.

Jolly walked energetically up the drive and passed through the gates to the big house easily enough. Gregory encouraged him to turn toward the right, heading westward toward York. When they were settled squarely in the middle of the road, Gregory passed over the reins to a reluctant Miss Heart.

"Now, you must hold firmly, but not tightly—a horse's mouth is quite tender," he instructed. "No, you cannot hold them like you are riding," he said, taking her fingers in his hands and arranging them so that she was holding the reins properly. "There," he said, satisfied at last. "You may find it useful to brace one foot against the front of the footboard, there," he said, pointing downward.

Despite her misgivings, Miss Heart proved to be an able student, listening with sharp ears and following his instructions with alacrity. She held the reins lightly, but the rest of her was so full of tension that it fairly radiated out from her.

"Are you ready?" Gregory asked, which Miss Heart answered with a single sharp nod. "Then you might tell Jolly to 'walk on'."

"Walk on, Jolly," Miss Heart repeated, and the horse set off at an energetic walk. She relaxed a small amount, her shoulders easing in their rigidity. They continued in silence for a few paces until Gregory noticed Beatrice frowning.

"What is the matter?"

"Should we not be to one side?" Miss Heart asked, looking dubiously at the lane as it stretched out in front of them.

Gregory could not help but bark out a laugh. "Perhaps if we were driving in London," he said, propping his own foot against the footboard and resting his arm on his knee. "Country roads are not so flat and well-ordered as the ones in the city; if we try that here, we'll likely tip over into the ditch."

Miss Heart tensed up at that, her whole body stiffening again. Warily, she eyed the dank ditch on either side. "What shall I do then if there is another horse on the road?"

"Pass the reins to me, and then take up your customary posture of clinging on for dear life," Gregory replied easily.

Miss Heart shot him a dark look, which only made him chuckle again. He did not know how it was, but he found himself relaxing and speaking in ways that he had thought long extinct from his life when he was in her company. She was infuriating and challenging, but she put a spark into his life that made him feel, well, a bit more alive.

"Just stay focused on the road ahead," he advised. "And perhaps snap one rein on Jolly's rump, see if we can't smarten our pace up to a trot."

Beatrice did as she was told, and the horse obligingly picked up his feet a bit quicker. This renewed pace, though sedate by most measures, apparently required all of Miss Heart's concentration, for she fell silent, her eyes riveted to the road. Gregory watched her for a few moments, contemplating.

Now is likely as good a time as ever to get a straight answer from her about anything, he mused. She's so focused on the road that she'll not have time for her usual pertly clever answers.

"Are you looking forward to seeing York again?" he asked, all casualness.

"Again?" she repeated. "I've not seen it in the first place."

"I thought that was where you disembarked the post coach?" Gregory asked.

"It was, but there was little to see. If you recall, I was rather more concerned with ascertaining how I would be making the trek out to your estate," she replied flintily.

"Ah. Right," Gregory winced. The sound of Jolly's hooves on the road filled the silence for a bit. "Well, surely you are looking forward to being in a city again."

"Mm," Miss Heart agreed. "That is true enough." Though her face was partly hidden behind her grey bonnet, Gregory could just see her cheeks lifting into a smile. "Strange that York should seem like a bustling metropolis to me these days."

"Have you never been outside London, then?"

"I did not say that," Miss Heart said, craning her neck a little to catch a better look at the road ahead.

"Then you are somewhat travelled?" Gregory asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

"One might say that, yes," she agreed, vaguely.

"Well," Gregory said, changing tack and pretending to brush some imaginary dirt from one of his sleeves, "that is a relief. I had half-worried you were a poor little homebody."

"I am certainly not some dowdy provincial, if that is what you are insinuating," Miss Heart retorted, tossing her head. "I can assure you, I have done my share of travelling, and am sufficiently cultured for your needs."

"That's all well and good," Gregory said blithely, "but you couldn't possibly be as well travelled as myself." He had to bite back a grin, knowing that he was deliberately goading her.

"Hah! I shouldn't be surprised if I were!"

"Oh, indeed? Let us see," Gregory said, ticking off places on his fingers. "You've certainly been to France—that Parisian snobbery and love of fashion must have suited you like a glove."

"Ah, Paris, she taught me many things," Miss Heart replied, her voice softening a little. "I fear that the Paris of my youth has gone away, never to be seen again. I was there before the Terror, you see."

"I know what you mean," Gregory agreed, also softening a little. "I saw it once as a boy, before the Revolution; next I saw it was when Robespierre was sending everyone up the scaffolding."

"Strange to think that we might have been there at the same time, seeing the same things," Miss Heart mused. "But as much as I enjoyed Paris, I preferred Rome and Venice."

"Did you?" Gregory asked nonchalantly. He doubted that she realised she had let such a little titbit of information slip out.

"Oh yes. The sun was absolutely divine," she sighed, clearly reminiscing. "There was something about the place, the drama and the motion of it... Even the paintings and statues looked as if they were constantly moving."

"I am rather fond of the region, myself," Gregory agreed. "Florence was named for the city, in fact."

"Was she really? That is charming," Miss Heart said, her cheeks visible as she smiled again.

"Yes, Jane had always wanted to see the city, and I had a posting—" Gregory stopped short, his mouth snapping shut with an audible click of his teeth. He had not said her name aloud for...well, far longer than he could really remember. He had not intended to let that slip out—he was meant to be learning more about Miss Heart, not letting her see his underbelly—but something in Miss Heart's manner tended to put him at ease.

Gregory fell silent, neither aware nor caring that his sudden cessation of conversation was not the most polite. Miss Heart did not seem to mind, or she was simply too distracted by driving. Gregory sank into a deep reverie, his memories of the past snatching at him and pulling him under.

He was so distracted that he was paying absolutely no mind to the road, and did not see the dip on the left side, a perpetual puddle in the lane that was deceptively deeper than it first appeared. He knew it was there, as it was an annual fixture of the springtime road into York, but he was unrooted from the present. It wasn't until they hit the dip with a thud and a creak that Gregory was shaken back to reality.

Miss Heart was unsettled from her seat, jolted as the wheel hit the dip. Instinctually, Gregory reached around her with one arm, pulling her closer to himself as he put his hands over hers on the reins. He held her tight as he coaxed Jolly forward, working the trap out gently.

It wasn't until they were back on terra firma that Gregory realised the position he had placed them into. Miss Heart was well and truly plastered against him, her shoulder into his chest as his arms were about her. He stared down at her, so near that the brim of his hat brushed against the edge of her bonnet. From this distance, he could see that her green eyes were flecked with brown.

It had not been a particularly perilous event, nothing more than the tribulations of driving on country roads, but his heart was pounding as if he had just ridden out across a battlefield. He felt as if he could not pull enough air into his lungs, though he was breathing hard. Miss Heart was very, very still, also staring up at him with a kind of softness that he had not seen on her waking face before.

It would be the easiest thing in the world to wrap my arm tighter about her waist, to pull her even closer, some forbidden part of his brain thought wildly. The strangest thing was that for a chaotic, unaccountable moment, Gregory really did think that he was simply going to do so.

The moment stretched between them, eyes locked together as much as their hands were. There were a scant few inches between their faces; all that Gregory would have to do is to dip his head to reach across that smallest of spaces, and then his lips would be pressed against hers...

"Clear the road!"

The voice, thick with a Yorkshire accent, called from behind them, loud enough to startle. It was punctuated by dogs barking, and underneath that, the lowing of cows. Gregory glanced over his shoulder and saw a farmer coming up the lane with a small herd of cows, a pair of dogs trotting around them to keep them all together. Jolly, hearing the sound of dogs, pinned his ears flat against his head and stamped a hoof.

The moment thoroughly broken, both Gregory and Miss Heart seemed to come to their senses at the same time. Wordlessly, they separated, subtly readjusting their respective coats and hats. Gregory took up the reins and called to Jolly, who was only too eager to be off again.

The silence continued, even as York came more fully into view, the spires of the great church towering over the rest of the town. Gregory began to have a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, like someone had lobbed a cannonball into him, that he had overstepped his bounds.

He glanced over to Miss Heart and was surprised by the expression on her face. It was neither cross nor offended, but some manner of introspective. Her eyes were distant, and she seemed to be contemplative more than anything. Gregory decided to let her be, resolving that he would provide an apology the instant it appeared that she was receptive to one.

As they crossed into the boundaries of the city proper, he could feel Miss Heart attempting to pull away. This was not easily done, as the seat of the trap was small, but she seemed determined to put space between them. Gregory obliged her, shifting over himself. The gap was miniscule, but it may as well have been a canyon for the way that it felt.