By the afternoon, the sky was devoid of any signs of downpour, and the sun was only peeking behind the puffy clouds. It was a promising weather for driving out, and Mr. Beaumont was extremely obliging by letting Caroline relish the distinction of riding on his magnificent curricle while engaging her in a most diverting conversation about his youthful follies and adventures that made her laugh several times more than one could count, and in return gave pleasure to the gentleman who appeared to be in an attempt to win a lady’s favour. This was indeed a propitious moment to form an attachment, and the scene Caroline and Mr. Beaumont depicted didn’t escape the notice of Miss Penningbrooke, who turned to her friend Lady Mathilda and remarked, “Famous! I daresay that young buck Beaumont is going to tie the knot with that black-haired nobody in no time. I wonder if Stokeford would ever squeak a word about the match!

“Dear me, yes, he would! And an affirmative, I’m certain of it!” returned Lady Mathilda confidently. “Why, that black-haired chit is a cousin of Miss Winscott, who, as you may well know, is currently receiving particular attentions from Stokeford himself!”

This piece of information made her companion taken aback, not because of the notion that Lord Stokeford was in the verge of declaring himself, but of the insignificant fact that she, a gossipmonger to a fault, had been quite ignorant of it until just now. “Oh, but I do not know that!” she exclaimed, a little dashed.

“No, indeed? How very unlikely! Well, I daresay Stokeford will be tying the knot as well soon. It only leaves us to wonder who will be the first.”

But whether or not Mr. Beaumont would follow suit of declaring himself was entirely too soon to contemplate, as he and Caroline were only relishing the friendship they gained in that particular moment. When their conversation had taken a turn into the inevitable subject about Stefan, Caroline became a little somber, and her mind was once again perturbed by his stormy expression and cool regard to her that night at Almack’s. Mr. Beaumont, unaware of his companion’s discomfort towards the subject, continued to talk with such obvious delight about his dear cousin, of how they were very inseparable during their entire childhood, and how often they secretly sneaked out to swim in the creek near the Stokeford Manor whenever Mama permitted him to sojourn in his Uncle’s abode for a couple of days, and that they had once contrived to put a pinch of pepper on the snuff box of a certain gentleman odious enough to be remembered by his name, and a dozen other things that made Caroline forget her blues.

The entire drive was altogether agreeable for the both of them, and when time had elapsed into hours it was beginning to dark when Mr. Beaumont deposited Caroline into her home.

“I had a jolly good time, Miss Davis,” confided Mr. Beaumont, smiling warmly at her. “I hope you’ll honor me your company again the next time I ride out.”

This invitation was too difficult for Caroline to resist, as she had an equally jolly good time being in his company, and thus graciously accepted this with eagerness. “Thank you, sir! That will be very lovely, indeed. I will certainly look forward to that.” Mr. Beaumont bid her good night, but not before long when their gazes momentarily met, and when she felt like melting then and there had Sophie but appeared from her behind, saying in loud and cheery tones which deliberately broke the spell, “Good evening, Mr. Beaumont! I see that you’ve both returned. Have you had a wonderful drive out?”

“Indeed, we had, and on the account of Miss Davis being an exceptional company, no doubt,” the gentleman replied appraisingly. “She confided her desire to learn how to drive the curricle, and I am happy to say that it will definitely be my pleasure to teach her.”

Caroline let out a gasp, her eyes like a pair of shining emeralds. “Oh, will you, truly, sir? That is so very kind of you!”

Her cousin smiled at her enthusiasm and said, “Indeed! I say, why don’t you come and join us for dinner, sir?”

“Thank you but no, I am expected at Stokeford House later tonight, but I hope I may join you in another time perhaps?”

“Why, certainly! And please relay my regards to Lord Stokeford and Lord March, will you?”

“Gladly, ma’am,” Mr. Beaumont bowed, said his good night again to the ladies, and left for Piccadilly to change into his evening clothes.

It came as no surprise, of course, that upon arriving at Stefan’s London townhouse it was Robert whom he first saw as he entered the Blue Saloon, and from whom he received the inescapable question of how did his drive with Miss Davies go.

“It was great, Robert. Very great, indeed. I thought I was hopeless of finding myself in a riveting female company, but this afternoon proved to be quite exceptional! Miss Davis is a very engaging young woman, I daresay,” he went for the brandy decanter and helped himself with it.

“Capital!” Robert exclaimed. “And where shall you go from here, might I ask?”

Laurie looked at him, his expression a little puzzled. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Come, don’t gammon me Laurie: not so becoming of you, I daresay! You know very well what I mean!”

“I confess that I am entirely clueless, Robert,” he shook his head slowly. “Pray enlighten me!”

“Clueless! Well, dash the deuce if you are! Why, I’ve just heard from my friend, Stanley, whom had been told by her sister, Lady Barnes, who, you know, is a friend of that bagpipe spinster Miss Penningbrooke, who had confided to her ears that “Mr. Beaumont is in the verge of declaring himself to a certain black-haired miss, as his attentions to her are too distinguished not to be ignored”, yes! Exactly the words Stanley said to me, and I daresay to a number of tattlers clamoring for some news in the marriage mart!”

“Oh!” he replied, and it never came to him to supply an explanation.

“Well, what say you to this?”

“Wrong impression, there could be no doubt of that!” replicated Mr. Beaumont, frowning a little. “At one point, isn’t it a bit too fast?”

“Exactly the very point, my boy!”

“I was only being gallant to Miss Davis, that’s all,” Mr. Beaumont began to explain. “We’ve become fast-friends; I’ve enjoyed her company, and she mine, if I may presume. She’s never tiresome, and she is definitely not a henwit; in fact I think her very clever,” at this point he let out a small smile, as if reminiscing the very delightful moment of their drive. “All the same, it is impossible not to like her—and I’ve just come to realize that I truly do.”

The Viscount peered at his young friend, and returned in surprised tones, “By Jove, yes, I can see it! Clear as day! A bit of advice, though, my dear chap: Caroline’s not the sort of… well, not up to snuff, I should say, so I suggest that you must be in no hurry of getting hitched, as you are a young ‘un yourself.”

“Egad, Robert!” Mr. Beaumont replied between chuckles. “I am not yet contemplating of matrimony, I assure you!”

“I see that you’re having an interesting conversation just now,” interrupted the cool voice from the doorway. The Earl, having just freed from the clutches of his dexterous valet, to whom his lordship credited the semblance of refinement on his person, wore dark green velvet coat made by none other than Weston, a pair fawn-hued breeches, and snowy white cravat tied elegantly in Mailcoach style.

“Interesting!” Lord March crackled. “Blimey, but I do not know how you just managed to describe the subject of matrimony interesting! Indeed I just don’t!”

“Unless the subject concerns with my cousin or you, Robert, it is anything but interesting at all,” Lord Stokeford turned to his cousin, saying, “So tell me, who’s the lucky girl?”

Mr. Beaumont laughed and replied, “Really, Stefan, you’re no better than him! Needling something out of me like that! As I said, I am not yet contemplating for matrimony—at least not now. I should say I am fairly on my way of knowing Miss Davis better.”

“Well, I am damned if I haven’t read that very line from a trashy novel. ‘Fairly on my way of knowing Miss Davis better!’ Why, I bet you’ve known almost all of her in just a few hours of carriage drive!”

None of the gentlemen noticed the change of expression in their friend’s countenance, which turned a little blank upon hearing Miss Davis’ name. “Caroline?”

“One and the same!”

The Earl replied in measured voice: “Am I to understand that there’s already a… mutual understanding between you and Caroline?”

This question prompted an evasive replication from Mr. Beaumont and merely advised him to pay no heed to what Lord March was saying. His cousin might not admit it, but Stefan knew then and there that he was nearly—if not already— besotted with Caroline. Oddly enough, the notion disturbed him a great deal, and eventually cast a pall on his mood during the entire dinner, while the two gentlemen were enjoying their repast. He could not help but think of Caroline and their fall out the other night. An apology was certainly due, but the rub was that how to make it up to her?

Suddenly, it dawned to him that no matter how much indifference he showed towards the vivacious Miss Davis, somehow, there could be no doubt that he also cared.