Chapter Four
Walter, Ram's tiger, gave an audible "harrumph" when Ram agreed to take Miss Reynolds to Brighton. Ram sent a message to his mother to explain his whereabouts, but Miss Reynolds insisted her aunt already thought her bound for Brighton. Off they went, leaving the city behind and heading into the countryside where the air was clear and the undulating hills were lush and green. In spite of himself Ram relaxed, savoring the warm sun and the pleasure of sitting next to the beautiful Diamond.
The blond hair peeking out of her white straw bonnet was like spun sunshine, and her eyes were as green as the fields. The fresh air put a bloom in her cheeks, and Ram thought he had never seen her so radiant.
Any man would be affected by her beauty, he told himself, even if she prized what he most disdained. Fashion. Popularity. Social success. Her values were the same as his uncle's had been, the uncle Ram had hated. He'd given Ram's father the vicarage at Bidenscourt, but little else, only as much as would avoid society's censure.
"It is lovely here," Miss Reynolds said in the same tone she used in drawing rooms.
He saw no need to respond.
She continued, "Have you been to Brighton, Captain?"
"Yes," he replied.
Her verdant eyes widened. "You have?"
He did not tell her it was to perform in full regimentals for the Prince Regent's entertainment.
She sighed. "I have never been there. Is it lovely?"
"Some would say so." He kept his eyes on the road, adding with sarcasm, "I suppose you go there in search of a husband."
"Indeed," she admitted in a tight voice.
Frivolous. He congratulated himself again for not falling under her spell, as so many others had done. Imagine marrying merely to be fashionable.
A moment passed, and he laughed out loud.
"What amuses you?" she asked.
He stole a glance at her, trying to control his outburst. "Nothing of consequence."
He could not tell her he'd suddenly realized just how thoroughly she had bewitched him. It was he, was it not, driving her to Brighton? Not some other besotted fool.
She sighed. "Tell me about Brighton."
Because he could not think of any other way to pass the time, he obliged her, talking about the blueness of the sea, the serenity of the Steyne, the opulence of the Marine Pavilion. She listened, asking questions more perceptive than he would have guessed of her. She smiled at him and held on to her bonnet with one hand, her shoulder bumping against his arm as the curricle swayed. Ram discovered he was quite enjoying himself, almost as if he escorted a sweetheart, instead of the Diamond of the ton.
The road curved, a copse of trees obscuring the view ahead. Ram heard the horn and rumble of an approaching coach and slowed his horses. As he rounded the bend, a mail coach headed straight toward them, a young buck at the reins, a current fashion for foolish young men.
Ram frantically pulled his team to the far left, keeping the ribbons taut to control the horses' panic. The curricle's wheels left the road, slipping on loose dirt. As the coach whizzed by, its back wheel clipped the edge of the curricle, tipping it nearly on its side. Amanda, her bonnet flying from her head, fell from her seat and tumbled down the embankment, rolling until she came to an abrupt stop at the bottom.
Lifeless.
13-05-07, 08:36 PM
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