a sigh of relief, Ginny smiled. Her breathing calmed down and she wasn't as sweaty. “Thank you, my lord, for being so understanding and not making fun of me.”
As they continued on their way to the stables he said, “I would not make fun of you, Miss Hamilton. That would be very ungentlemanly, would it not?”
“Yes, but that doesn't always stop someone from doing something, does it?”
“No, it does not. I do try to be a gentleman most of the time.” Quirking his eyebrow and looking down into her eyes as they walked, he made her smile. He was full of simple gestures that spoke volumes. There weren't many people who could express so much with only their facial expressions.
Whitmore chose one of his most docile mares for her. After it was saddled, he assisted Ginny with mounting. Putting his hands on her waist, she put her foot in the stirrup and he lifted her with ease. As she was lifted, she still had to maneuver her other leg around the pummel and fix her skirts so they were decent. It all just seemed like too much work to be worth it.
Whitmore mounted his horse like a professional and they were soon on their way. Ginny had to use her crop to goad the horse forward, since she had trouble bumping its flanks with only one stirruped foot. She also didn't want to hit the horse too hard to send it galloping away. The two kept the leisurely pace Whitmore had promised. It turned out better for conversation.
Whitmore pointed out many landmarks and commented on some of his tenant's lands. He showed her the lake and trout stream, the mill, the outskirts of the closest village called Headley. Soon they were amongst nothing but the wilderness, so she finally had time to ask questions.
“So, what kind of trouble did you and Lord Clarendon get into?”
He laughed out loud, a boisterous sound that would make anyone smile. “I had hoped you would forget to ask me that, Miss Hamilton. It appears there is nothing amiss with your memory.”
“Like an elephant. Now, stop stalling and start spilling.”
Quirking his eyebrow, he said, “You do have the strangest vocabulary sometimes.”
“And you have a strangest tendency to stall.”
“Right you are.” He seemed to think about what stories he could tell her and those he definitely could not. The story about how they both pursued the milliner's daughter, only to find out later that they not only both caught her, but did so in the same day, seemed wholly inappropriate. He settled on a tale from when they first met, where they stole their Latin teacher's discipline stick and framed a rather tiresome schoolmate with the crime.
His face was so animated in the telling of the tale, Ginny could feel his enthusiasm. She laughed out loud at his description of the boy's face upon finding the stick in his possession at the same time their teacher found it.
“That is truly dreadful. Whatever happened to that poor boy?” she asked.
“Oh, he is married, with a dozen children and keeps his mistress well occupied.” As the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. How had it come that he forgot who he was with and instead treated a young, unmarried lady as if she were one of his male friends?
Before he could apologize, Ginny replied, “A dozen children and a mistress... one would wonder when the poor man sleeps.” Laughing at her own joke, she noticed that Whitmore looked appalled. Her laughter died and her smile faded. It was then that she realized what they had both said and knew the reason for his distress.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Hamilton. That was extremely inappropriate. I apologize for my remark.”
Stopping her horse, which at their speed wasn't that difficult, Ginny took a deep breath. By the time Whitmore noticed and turned his horse around to face her, she looked extremely vexed. Before he could say another word, she said, “Do I look so fragile, sir, that any words you say to me would have some kind of power to... disturb me?”
Whitmore bunched up
As they continued on their way to the stables he said, “I would not make fun of you, Miss Hamilton. That would be very ungentlemanly, would it not?”
“Yes, but that doesn't always stop someone from doing something, does it?”
“No, it does not. I do try to be a gentleman most of the time.” Quirking his eyebrow and looking down into her eyes as they walked, he made her smile. He was full of simple gestures that spoke volumes. There weren't many people who could express so much with only their facial expressions.
Whitmore chose one of his most docile mares for her. After it was saddled, he assisted Ginny with mounting. Putting his hands on her waist, she put her foot in the stirrup and he lifted her with ease. As she was lifted, she still had to maneuver her other leg around the pummel and fix her skirts so they were decent. It all just seemed like too much work to be worth it.
Whitmore mounted his horse like a professional and they were soon on their way. Ginny had to use her crop to goad the horse forward, since she had trouble bumping its flanks with only one stirruped foot. She also didn't want to hit the horse too hard to send it galloping away. The two kept the leisurely pace Whitmore had promised. It turned out better for conversation.
Whitmore pointed out many landmarks and commented on some of his tenant's lands. He showed her the lake and trout stream, the mill, the outskirts of the closest village called Headley. Soon they were amongst nothing but the wilderness, so she finally had time to ask questions.
“So, what kind of trouble did you and Lord Clarendon get into?”
He laughed out loud, a boisterous sound that would make anyone smile. “I had hoped you would forget to ask me that, Miss Hamilton. It appears there is nothing amiss with your memory.”
“Like an elephant. Now, stop stalling and start spilling.”
Quirking his eyebrow, he said, “You do have the strangest vocabulary sometimes.”
“And you have a strangest tendency to stall.”
“Right you are.” He seemed to think about what stories he could tell her and those he definitely could not. The story about how they both pursued the milliner's daughter, only to find out later that they not only both caught her, but did so in the same day, seemed wholly inappropriate. He settled on a tale from when they first met, where they stole their Latin teacher's discipline stick and framed a rather tiresome schoolmate with the crime.
His face was so animated in the telling of the tale, Ginny could feel his enthusiasm. She laughed out loud at his description of the boy's face upon finding the stick in his possession at the same time their teacher found it.
“That is truly dreadful. Whatever happened to that poor boy?” she asked.
“Oh, he is married, with a dozen children and keeps his mistress well occupied.” As the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. How had it come that he forgot who he was with and instead treated a young, unmarried lady as if she were one of his male friends?
Before he could apologize, Ginny replied, “A dozen children and a mistress... one would wonder when the poor man sleeps.” Laughing at her own joke, she noticed that Whitmore looked appalled. Her laughter died and her smile faded. It was then that she realized what they had both said and knew the reason for his distress.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Hamilton. That was extremely inappropriate. I apologize for my remark.”
Stopping her horse, which at their speed wasn't that difficult, Ginny took a deep breath. By the time Whitmore noticed and turned his horse around to face her, she looked extremely vexed. Before he could say another word, she said, “Do I look so fragile, sir, that any words you say to me would have some kind of power to... disturb me?”
Whitmore bunched up
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