Chapter 12
The morning was warm, the lake still and dappled with sunlight.
The air carried the sweet scent of wildflowers drifting from the banks, and a few butterflies hovered lazily above the rippling surface.
Maryann dipped the oars into the water, her strokes steady and unhurried, guiding the small boat toward the heart of the lake.
Sarah sat opposite her, clutching a fishing rod that seemed far too large for her small hands.
“Remember what I told you,” Maryann said gently. “Patience is the key to fishing. We must wait for the fish to come to us.”
Sarah frowned, her tiny nose wrinkling. “But it is dreadfully boring, Maryann.”
A soft laugh escaped her sister. “It only feels that way now. The waiting makes the catch far more satisfying. Our father always said fishing teaches one the virtue of calm.”
Sarah’s brow smoothed, her voice quiet and thoughtful. “I can do it. Papa must miss us.”
The ache that always came when their father was mentioned tugged at Maryann’s heart, but she smiled through it. “I believe he does, my love.”
A dimple appeared in Sarah’s cheek, her small smile brightening the morning, and Maryann felt an answering warmth rise within her.
In the three weeks they had been at the viscount’s manor, Sarah had begun to flourish.
The hollowness in her cheeks had softened; her laughter came easily now.
She devoured her meals, adored her lessons, and spoke French phrases with surprising confidence.
Watching her, Maryann felt an almost painful swell of love.
She wanted to keep her sister safe forever—to shield her from the cruelty of a world that would one day judge her for being born outside the bounds of legitimacy.
She wanted to carve out a future for her, one filled with kindness and belonging, even if she herself had to remain on the margins to make it so.
They were not far from the bank when a familiar baritone carried across the water. “Perhaps I might be of some assistance in instructing Miss Sarah.”
Maryann’s heart lurched. She whipped her head around, nearly dropping her oar.
Viscount Ranford stood on the grassy embankment, his tall form bathed in sunlight, his dark brown hair wind-ruffled, his riding coat unbuttoned.
He looked strikingly masculine and out of place against the serene lake, like a painting come to life.
For one startled moment, she could not hide her delight, and she smiled, so very pleased to see him. But awareness rushed through her, and she schooled her expression into polite composure.
“Ah,” he said with quiet amusement, “too late. I already saw it.”
Maryann scowled, which only made him laugh.
“Come now,” he teased lightly, beckoning her closer with an elegant crook of his finger. “I shan’t bite.”
“Of that I am not entirely certain, my lord,” she returned tartly, but she guided the oars anyway, rowing toward him until the boat’s side brushed the grassy edge.
He stepped down lightly, boots sinking slightly into the earth before he climbed into the boat with easy grace. The vessel rocked beneath his weight, and she caught her breath as balance eluded her for a moment. His hand shot out, steadying her elbow.
“Careful,” he murmured, his voice warm and near her ear.
She withdrew her arm quickly, unnerved by how her pulse quickened. “Thank you.”
He smiled faintly, then crouched before Sarah. “Now then, young lady, allow me to see your technique.”
Sarah grinned and lifted her rod proudly. “I am trying to be patient, my lord, but there are no fish.”
“Ah, that is because you must learn the secret,” he said, settling beside her. “It isn’t patience alone that wins the fish. It is knowing how to tempt them.”
Maryann sat quietly, watching as Sebastian guided Sarah’s small hands, his tone gentle and teasing. He explained how to move the line with small flicks of the wrist, how to feel the weight of the water through the rod. Sarah was utterly enthralled, hanging on his every word.
“I shall make you a smaller rod,” he murmured, amusement softening his tone.
Sarah chortled. “My papa taught Maryann how to fish.”
Sebastian’s expression gentled. “Then he must have been a very good papa indeed.”
Maryann’s heart squeezed. The sight of him so at ease, smiling with such boyish warmth, was entirely too much. He did not belong to her, yet something in her chest yearned foolishly for what it might be like if he did.
When Sarah’s line finally tugged, Sebastian let out an exclamation of triumph. Together they reeled in a small, silver-scaled fish that flopped in the air before landing in the bucket.
Sarah squealed in delight. “I caught one! I really caught one!”
“You did indeed,” he said, laughing. “A fine catch, Miss Sarah. You’ve bested half the gentlemen in the county on your first attempt.”
She giggled and clapped her hands, her joy infectious.
Maryann could hardly breathe. The soft lilt of laughter, the sunlight glinting on the rippling water, the gentle creak of the oars, it all felt too perfect, too fleeting. A fragile dream borrowed from a life that could never be hers.
She watched him beside Sarah, patient and smiling, the sunlight burnishing his hair to a golden hue. Every kind word, every unguarded laugh, chipped away at the careful distance she wanted to exist between them.
And somewhere deep within her chest, something unfurled—warm and perilous.
He did not belong in her world. A man of his consequence, of his title, could never truly fit into hers. She was a guest in his life, a passing interlude. Yet as she looked at him now, with the water glimmering around them like molten silver, her heart refused to listen to reason.
Sebastian looked up at her then, and the laughter in his eyes softened into something that made her stomach flutter.
“You’ve been teaching her well,” he said quietly.
“She learns quickly,” Maryann replied, her voice low. “She always has.”
“And she adores you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with something that wasn’t quite amusement.
Maryann lowered her gaze to the rippling water. “She is my heart.”
He went still. When she glanced up, there was a question in his eyes—quiet but unmistakable. In that instant, she knew what he wondered, and the realization startled her.
He thought Sarah might be her child.
What astonished her more was that, even with that suspicion in his heart, he had never treated her as a woman of fallen virtue. There was no judgment in his gaze, no disdain—only warmth and unguarded kindness.
Something inside her trembled. If Sarah hadn’t been sitting a few feet away, if propriety hadn’t held her in its iron grip, Maryann thought she might have leaned forward, rested her head against his chest, cupped his jaw, and kissed him.
He must have seen the want in her gaze, for he drew in a sharp breath, his green eyes darkening with that same hunger she’d glimpsed before.
Maryann’s pulse fluttered wildly. She had known—oh, she had known—that he wanted her. But every time she saw the proof of it, it left her breathless. There was something forbidden and beautiful in that awareness, something that made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t in years.
It wasn’t surprise that shook her now, but the power of wanting him back. Of knowing he felt it too, and that they were both fighting the same battle in silence, pretending the air between them wasn’t heavy with the promise of what could never be.
The gentle lap of water against the boat was the only sound between them.
Maryann turned her gaze away, struggling to steady her breath and gather her composure.
When at last she dared to look up, he was still watching her with that same quiet intensity.
It unsettled her, for he should not look at her like that—no man should.
And yet, what truly frightened her was the way her body betrayed her resolve, for if he continued to look at her in that way, she feared she might never again remember how to breathe properly—or how to cling to virtue and propriety until marriage.
Sarah broke the moment with a delighted squeal as she examined her catch. “Maryann, look! Do you think cook will make it for supper?”
Maryann smiled, grateful for the interruption. “I am certain she will, my darling.”
Sebastian’s mouth curved in amusement. “Then we shall dine on Miss Sarah’s prize this evening. An excellent choice for a day’s reward.”
“We cannot all eat one fish,” Sarah giggled.
He looked at her again, his eyes glinting with warmth. “How right you are, Miss Sarah. Miss Winton, will you take your own turn at the line?”
“Yes,” she said, affecting a lightness she did not feel.
“I confess I am dreadful at fishing. My father used to say it was because I lacked patience—but I believe it was because, even as a lad, I felt sorry for the poor creatures and tossed them back.” His tone was low, teasing, threaded with quiet amusement.
As she reached for the rod he offered, her fingers brushed his—just barely—a fleeting touch that sent warmth rippling up her arm and stole her breath.
He smiled again, but there was something in it now, something unspoken, tender, and dangerous all at once.
And in that moment, Maryann realized she was no longer afraid of what she might feel if he continued to look at her that way.
Twilight draped the lake in shades of amber and violet.
The air smelled of smoke, wild thyme, and the faint sweetness of baked bread.
Sebastian turned the skewered fish over the fire, the skin crisping and curling with a hiss as the juices fell onto the glowing embers.
Across from him, Maryann sat cross-legged on the grass, her cheeks flushed from the heat, eyes bright as she laughed at something Sarah said.
It struck him how right this moment felt. No duties to tend to, nor any expectations of propriety or pretense. Just the soft crackle of fire, laughter, and the company he hadn’t known he’d been starving for.