They immediately fell silent, and glowered at one another.
Weston bent down and scooped his golden-haired girl into his arms. As they three trudged through the snow-covered grounds of Hyde Park, he reflected upon his encounter with the Lady Patrina Tidemore.
He’d been gruff and blustery where the young lady was concerned. After all, he didn’t tolerate unkindness toward his children. If he were being completely honest with himself, he could acknowledge some merits to Lady Patrina’s charges about his children. They were ill-behaved and angry—with good cause. A treacherous mother tended to have that effect on children. And since he was being honest—even with just himself—he acknowledged it also made for an oft-times too lenient father.
What was the diminutive dark-haired lady doing out on a blustery, winter day un-chaperoned? On the heel of that question was a niggling of guilt at having left the young woman unattended. Weston cursed.
Charlotte’s eyes went wide. “Papa cursed,” she whispered.
“Ballocks isn’t a curse,” Daniel said with all the indignation of an eight-year-old boy who thought himself more adult than child.
Weston spun back around and scanned the area for sight of Lady Patrina Tidemore. Where had she gone off to? He supposed the gentlemanly thing to have done was to ensure the young lady had not been in need of assistance. After the ten years he’d been married to his now deceased, deceitful wife, Lady Cordelia, he’d lost most remnants of the gentleman he’d once been.
His daughter pulled at his earlobe. “Is ballocks a curse?”
“Hmm?” he murmured absently, and started heading back to the edge of the Serpentine.
“Where are we going now?” Daniel groused, and all but dragging his heels, fell into step alongside Weston.
Young ladies had no right being out on such a day, un-chaperoned, no less.
“Ballocks,” Charlotte muttered.
Weston frowned. “What did you say?”
“I said—”
“I heard what you said.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. Reprehensible and ill-behaved. “Why did you—?”
Charlotte took his face between her little gloved hands and forced him to look her in the eyes. “You said it’s not a curse.”
“I said no such thing, Char.” Reprehensible. Ill-behaved. “It’s a curse,” he said curtly when she opened her mouth to speak further on it.
She promptly closed her lips. “Hmph.”
Christ, he detested when other people were right, particularly tart-mouthed misses who called him back to inform him of the proper form of address. He paused and surveyed the distance through the increasing snowfall. It appeared she had already…
He cursed. She hovered at the edge of that blasted shorefront, her back presented to him, and something in the set of her shoulders, he recognized. Forlornness. An unspoken sadness that required no words. Sentiments he saw and recognized because he himself had felt those very same things. Back when he’d felt something. “Wait here,” he ordered Daniel. He set Charlotte down and she immediately grabbed her brother’s hand.
“But I want to leave,” his son whined. “I…” He fell silent at the hard stare Weston fixed on him.
Weston trudged through the fresh-fallen snow, back to the young lady. “You there,” he barked, knowing he should at least attempt to feign gentlemanly politeness.
The woman spun so quickly, the heel of her boot slid in the patch of snow and she landed in a fluttering, red, muslin heap in the snow around her. She slapped a hand to her chest, and glared at him. “You terrified me. What are you about, my lord?”
“What are you doing here?”
Seated upon the fresh blanket of snow, Lady Patrina tilted her head back and looked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Without a chaperone.” He supposed he should really help her up.
Her mouth set at a mutinous line, but she made no attempt to stand. “That is none of your affair, my lord.”
Well, for the love of God, he couldn’t simply leave her on her backside in the midst of Hyde Park. He took another step closer, and held out a hand. “Surely you have sense to realize the perils of a young lady being out alone without escort?”
She eyed his hand the way she might a slithering serpent, and for a moment he thought the prideful young lady intended to reject his offer of help. But then, she placed her fingers in his.
He tugged her to her feet.
“I come here every day, my lord, but thank you. I’m touched by your concern,” she said drolly.
Weston narrowed his eyes at those insolently delivered words. On the heel of his immediate annoyance was an unexpected curiosity as to what had a young lady visiting Hyde Park in the cold of winter, alone, unchaperoned. “May I offer the assistance of my escort home?”
“No.” Her response was instantaneous.
Odd, through the years, before he’d wed Cordelia, and even after their marriage, young ladies had clamored for his attention. He didn’t think he’d ever been the recipient of such a curt, immediate ‘no’ in the course of his thirty-two years.
“Are we going, Papa? I’m ever so hungry,” Charlotte called from beyond his shoulder.
He ignored her. “I came back to apologize.” He normally didn’t make apologies, largely because he was usually in the right.
Lady Patrina’s mouth fell slightly ajar, as if she sought to process his unexpected statement.
“About my children. They shouldn’t have been throwing snowballs at you.”
She closed her mouth, but still said nothing.
He bristled. The lady really should say something. An acknowledgement. A ‘thank you’, an ‘it’s-entirely-fine-don’t-worry-any-further’. None of this absolute silence.
“Papa, we want to go.”
As did he, but not before the silent miss said something. He spun back to face Charlotte and Daniel. “In a moment,” he snapped. His children fell immediately silent. He faced Lady Patrina and a dull heat climbed up his neck. With their every word, his recalcitrant children proved her earlier statements correct—yet again. Weston bowed. “If you’ll excuse me?” He took his leave. What had possessed him to come trotting back in search of…what? Understanding? From this woman. She couldn’t be more than twenty-years if she was a day. No, she couldn’t know the ugliness in life that turned smiling gentlemen into bitter, angry heartless men, or made innocent children become—reprehensible misbehavers.
“It is fine.” Her words echoed through the still of the park, drawing him to a stop.
“Not again,” Daniel grumbled at his side.
Weston ignored him and looked yet again toward Lady Patrina.
“And I thank you for your offer to escort me, but my maid and carriage are waiting for me.”
The oddest disappointment filled him, which made so very little sense. He should be grateful to be relieved of the gentlemanly sense of obligation to see that she made it home without a need of his assistance. He nodded.
Lady Patrina seemed to dismiss him from her thoughts, before the final words had left her mouth. She looked to the iced river and presented him her back.
Weston lingered a moment more, unable to resist the urge to know why a lady so young should carry such a remarkable sadness.