"Her opinion about my... candor... is shared by many of our parents' set."
"Nonsense," he said, tipping his hat to the Marquess of Houghton, who was riding alongside the eldest daughter of Viscount Grosvenor. "Your candidness is charming and not at all off-putting. Our parents' friends adore you. You are... lively."
"Lively." Alex tested the word on her tongue. "That makes me sound like an unpredictable racing horse." A broad grin spread across Blackmoor's face and Alex resisted the urge to hit him. That would have been unpredictable. "Do you think me horselike, my lord?"
Realizing the threat to his personage, Blackmoor wiped the smile from his face and replied, "Not at all. I said I think you charming."
"A fine start."
"And I appreciate your exuberance." His eyes glittered with barely contained laughter.
"Like that of a child." Hers sparkled with irritation.
"And, of course, you are entertaining."
"Excellent. Like the aforementioned child's toy."
He couldn't hide a chuckle. "Not at all. You are a far better companion than any of the toys I had as a child."
"Oh, I am most flattered."
"You should be. I had some tremendous toys."
Eyes wide, she turned on him, catching his laughing gaze. "Oh! You are incorrigible! Between you and my brothers, it's no wonder I can't manage to be more of a delicate flower!"
Blackmoor stopped in the midst of acknowledging the Viscountess of Hawksmore, who, accompanied by her enormous black poodle, walked past. He turned back to Alex and answered with one eyebrow raised, "I beg your pardon? A delicate flower?"
Alex sat back in the curricle, quoting in a singsong voice, "A young lady should be as a delicate flower; a fragile bud, with care, will blossom by the hour."
Blackmoor's eyes widened. "Where on earth did you hear that rubbish?"
"My governess."
"I do not traditionally speak ill of women, but your governess is a cabbagehead." Alex laughed as Blackmoor continued in horror, "What a ridiculous sentiment. No one could actually take it seriously. It rhymes, for goodness sake."
She leaned out to take the hand of Lady Redding, greeting her as she rode past on a magnificent grey. Turning back to Blackmoor, she said, "Of course, it rhymes. It's supposed to be easily remembered."
"It should be forgotten. Promptly."
"Oh, and I imagine you're going to tell me that it is incorrect? That men don't want wives whom they can mold into the bloom of their choice? That we are not merely bulbs to be gardened by our husbands?"
"The flower metaphor is insulting in any number of ways. Primarily to our intelligence. I beg you to cease using it."
"Fine. But the point remains. Men refuse to consider the possibility that women have their own opinions, their own character. And women... well, we are as much to blame. We allow you to believe that we simply wait to be guided by your superior intellect and sense of right. You saw the letters I received this morning, Blackmoor. They want me because I am rich. Or perhaps because I am young. Or attractive enough. But do you truly believe that those men will continue to court me when they see that I joke and tease with my brothers? When they find that I am far more at home in the stables than in the sewing room? When they discover that I read the newspaper and enjoy discussing politics?"
"I think that if they don't want all those things, you're better off without them."
Alex rolled her eyes. "That's not the issue. I'm better off without the lot of you. Perhaps I would consider being married to someone who didn't mind all my 'unladylike' qualities... but I'm safe from the institution either way. The fact is, no man wants a woman who is his intellectual equal."
"Your generalizations wound me," he said wryly as he tipped his hat to the Duke of Nottingham, who raised his walking stick in response.
"They shouldn't. You can't be expected to feel differently from the rest of your sex."
"I most certainly feel differently." Alex snorted in disbelief. "You do not think me honest?"
"I think you believe that you are being honest. It's simply that I saw you last night."
"Last night?"
"Indeed. Penelope Grayson captured your interest. You've admitted as much. And I can only imagine she did it by being a delicate flower. Because I have serious doubts about her being your intellectual equal."
The words came flooding out of her mouth before she had thought about just how insulting they would be, to both Penelope and to Gavin. Feeling color flood her cheeks, she bit the inside of her cheek, not knowing how to escape from the mess she had so effortlessly created. Instead, she sat quietly, waiting for him to speak, periodically lifting one gloved hand in greeting to one of the hundreds of people who seemed, suddenly, to be crowding around them.
It really wasn't her business, how Blackmoor felt about Penelope. So why did the idea that he enjoyed her company bother her so very much? She pushed the niggling voice to the back of her mind and tried to convince herself that her outburst was only borne of concerned friendship. After all, she didn't want Blackmoor making a decision he could very well regret.
She was his friend. She was concerned. Hence, concerned friendship.
She wished he would say something.
The statement had been offensive, certainly. Well, more toward Penelope than to Blackmoor. She hadn't questioned his intelligence. No, I simply questioned the intelligence of the woman he was courting. She started at the thought. He wasn't courting her, was he? He couldn't be. If he were, he wouldn't have had the time to take Alex riding today. He certainly wouldn't have taken her here, to Rotten Row, where they were certain to be seen by anyone and everyone. Of course, no one here would actually believe that she and Blackmoor were a couple. She didn't even have a chaperone with her, for goodness sake. It was clear that they were more like siblings than anything else. All the more reason for her to have expressed her distaste for Penelope. Quite. She'd done the right thing. Even if it smarted a bit.
How was it that men could remain so stoically quiet when they wanted?
She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He was focused on the traffic around them, his jaw set firmly as he wielded the reins of the pair of lovely tan geldings pulling along the curricle. Gone was the teasing humor that had characterized their afternoon. He was not happy, this much was clear.
What remained to be seen was just how unhappy he was.
The silence was chipping away at her sanity. Truly.
And then, just when she thought he would never speak, he did.
"You do Penelope a discredit."
Of all the things he could have said, this was not the one she had wanted to hear. Guilt began to gnaw at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"You have not witnessed my interactions with Penelope. You have no grasp of her intellect and no understanding of our conversations. Have you?"
"I —" He held up a hand to stop her from speaking.
"Nay, Alexandra. No excuses. Have you any understanding of my relationship with Penelope?"
"No."
"Indeed. You have judged it — and her, I might add — wrongly. Were she here, you would owe her an apology."
Alex flushed, embarrassed, and blinked back the tears that had sprung to her eyes in response to his scolding. He was impassioned and filled with intense affront — all for Penelope's honor. She had no doubt that, were she anyone else, he would have delivered a scathing set-down. Instead, his tone revealed not anger with her opinions but disappointment in her voicing them. all at once, she was aware of his position, not as her friend but as a well-bred gentleman, defending a woman's honor. And, for a fleeting moment, she couldn't help but envy Penelope just a little. How would it feel to have Blackmoor defend her?