forgotten desires || anthony bridgerton

CHAPTER 8

The sun was scorching and the feeble wind did little to subdue its heat. Ayera itched to get out of the silk dress wrapping itself around her lean figure, let loose of all the pins in her hair and indulge herself in a long refreshing bath with cool water suppling against her skin. But all she did was nod politely and feign a genuine smile, well she tried to atleast as she walked alongside Lady Danbury at the Royal Races.

"Miss Blaic,"

Ayera turned around to see the words had belonged to the Lord from the night of the ball. On further introductions from Lady Danbury, she learned his name- Henry Hughes. Elegant enough.

"Would you wish to accompany me to the seats?"

"Just the seats? Not during the race then I assume?" Ayera quirked.

Lady Danbury raised her eyebrows that very subtly screamed her disapproval but Henry just smiled. 

"And if I may be so lucky to have your presence at the seats as well, Miss Blaic."

Ayera felt her lips twitch in a smile for a fleeting second before answering, "it would be my pleasure, my Lord." 

The chatter of the expectant crowd rang all around her as she sat patiently in her seat beside Henry, fanning herself with a fan futilely.

"The weather's quite humid this afternoon," Henry spoke.

"Is that your approach to start a conversation?"

"You have me there."

"Hm, pitiable," she tittered.

"So...er....well what are your interests?"

"Quite straightforward it seems, doesn't it?" She took her gaze off the track to look up at him, her hair fluttering under the fan's motion. This close she could see the blue of his eyes matching the scenic sky warping the grounds from everywhere.

"There is no winning with you, is there?" Henry sighed.

"I suppose not."

After a pause, Ayera spoke, "reading, writing, horse riding, and occasionally trying my hand at painting."

"That's..that's impressive."

Ayera chuckled softly. Apparently Henry was quite the painter and they began talking about their favourite art pieces and collections. She was ashamed about her initial judgement of Henry Hughes. 'A sagged plain man' was far from what he seemed like.

"Would you prefer any refreshments?"

"Oh no, thankyou, I wouldn't want to trouble you."

"That's kind of you but I assure you, it's no trouble at all."

"Ah. Then perhaps a cold lemonade might do, thankyou."

"I shall return in a moment."  

Henry is a nice chap, she thought to herself. Do you like him? her brain nudged at her. I mean he's a decent fellow and I like him but as something more than a friend? Why not, what's the problem? He is intellectual, kind, handsome. He is not Anthony. A part of her roared back the answer. And she had to physically shake her head to be rid of that voice. That's in the past. 
Footsteps shuffled across her, quieting when he sat down next to her.

"That was a remarkable pace." She whipped her head around and found Anthony sporting a sly grin. 

Her heart beat embarrassingly heightened and she chastised herself for being that affected by his mere presence.

"Ah I must apologise dear nobody told me that a day is a 'remarkable pace'."

Dear. She stared ahead, squinting her eyes in an attempt to shield them from the sunny brightness. "Funny."