Chapter 5
“Wherein the fates toy with the future.”
It was five days before he saw her again.
The day after meeting his little firebrand in the cave the weather closed in and no one in their right mind would have set foot outside the door.
Ruefully, Sebastian had to wonder if the witch had been right and he was unhinged, for it was all he could do not to make the attempt no matter what the vagaries of this strange summer’s weather could throw at him.
The day after that was stormy and threatening but he went out nonetheless, returning to the cave, though he’d have been almost disappointed if she had been there, and then spending hours scouring every inch of the countryside.
He repeated the exercise every following day and had to bite his tongue to stop himself asking for her by name in case he caused her trouble.
He well knew his own, or rather Beau’s reputation, and he wouldn’t have her ruined for nothing but an enquiry.
But the vision of the stunning red head with her sharp tongue and pretty brown eyes plagued him every moment that followed that stormy afternoon.
So, it was with an inward crow of triumph that he caught a flash of fox-coloured hair out of the corner of his eye as he rode out, uncharacteristically early, on a sunny autumn morning.
He paused for a moment, admiring the bucolic scene before him.
She sat on a picnic blanket on a high ledge of rock at the edge of a meadow, with a sketch book and pencil in hand.
Her bonnet had been laid aside and her hair was all askew, tumbling in glorious red swathes down her back.
Dismounting and leaving his mount to crop grass, he stole quietly closer to see more.
The indomitable Conrad lay dozing beside her and Sebastian could see an endearing frown of concentration on her face as she struggled with the scenery laid out before her.
He crept closer behind her, noticing the hopeless dog didn’t so much as blink, looked over her shoulder and tried to smother his laughter.
Taking a breath once he’d righted himself, he asked gravely, “Is that a cow or a horse?”
“Oh!” Squealing in shock she dropped her pad and looked up at him in horror, while Conrad awoke and began to jump up at him with excitement. “You!” she uttered, managing to infuse the word with such fury he couldn’t help but grin.
“I told you I would find you, Miss Bomford.”
“How dare you?” she hissed, looking around her in alarm.
“Oh, don’t worry, we are quite alone,” he added, grinning at her. “No one for miles, as I’m sure you know. Oh, and how dare I? Well, as I kissed you last time we met I don’t see why you should think me incapable of a little excitement.”
“Abominable creature!”
He laughed and sat down beside her, shaking his head.
“Pax, Miss Bomford. Please, I beg you, let us at least try to be civil. I swear I will if you do. Surely we can speak a few words without insulting each other at every turn?”
“I sincerely doubt it,” she remarked, those brown, no they were green eyes, flashing.
She reached to pick up her pad again, but he was too fast for her and snatched it up.
Frowning he looked out at the scenery and back at the pad and then at Georgiana, one eyebrow raised.
She huffed, her pale skin flushing in the most becoming manner.
“I know I can’t draw,” she replied, sounding miffed and intensely embarrassed. “I never have been able to, only ...”
He smiled at her, hoping his expression was as warm and friendly as he wanted it to be. He didn’t want her to run away again. “Only?” he repeated.
She huffed and tried to snatch the pad back. “Only I enjoy trying. It never looks how it should but ... but I find it absorbing.”
He tugged the pad from her reluctant grasp once again, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth? “Is that a cow?” he asked, unable to keep the laughter from his voice.
“You know very well it’s a horse, my lord,” she replied with dignity, though he held onto a suspicion that there was mirth in her eyes, lurking just out of sight.
“What else do you enjoy?” he asked, curious now, allowing her to tug the pad from his grasp.
Frowning at him he watched as she warred with herself, wondering whether she would be as brave as he suspected she was.
“I-I like to read,” she said, and her eyes drifted, he suspected unwillingly, to the wicker basket.
“What do you like to read?” he asked, wondering if she would admit to a love of novels or imply she read something far worthier and dull.
It was frowned upon by most for young ladies of quality to rot their mind with such nonsense, though he himself could never fathom why, having been just as diverted himself.
He had been accustomed to being given a list of far more serious titles while strongly suspecting the lady in question was more inclined to read a sensational romance, though none would ever admit it to him.
He was surprised then when she reached into the basket and withdrew a tattered copy of A Sicilian Romance.
“Mrs Radcliffe,” he said, his tone approving.
“You’ve read her?” She looked so astonished that he had to chuckle.
“Did you think I would scold you and tell you to apply yourself to something more serious?” He turned the well-loved copy in his hands, smiling. “I suppose I’ve been cast as the Duke de Luovo?”
He saw the corner of her mouth twitch though she managed to repress the smile that threatened. He determined he would make her smile yet.
“Perhaps,” she admitted, her green ... no they were brown eyes glimmering. “I’m not sure yet.”
“You mean I still have a chance at being the heroic Hippolitus?” he demanded.
“Certainly not!” she replied, holding out her hand in an imperious manner. He handed the book back to her and was charmed when she cast him a shy look, adding, “Though I have to say, I think Hippolitus is the most ridiculous name for a hero.”
He nodded, picking a strand of grass that was bobbing in the breeze beside him. “Quite unsuitable,” he agreed with all seriousness.
Silence stretched between them while he found himself lost in deciding exactly what colour her eyes were. She coughed and looked discomforted by his scrutiny and he pulled himself up, startled to discover he’d been staring like a fool.
“It’s nice to finally have a little sun, isn’t it?” he said, hurrying to fill the gap.
One, delicate, red tinted eyebrow quirked upward. “Oh dear. Really? The weather?” She tutted at him and began to pack her pencils and pad back into the basket.
“I’m sorry, that was shocking wasn’t it?” he said, his expression rueful. “But I suspect if I’d told you the truth, you’d be even more disgusted.”
“Oh?” He was delighted to see curiosity in her expression, a slight frown over her eyes, and she paused with Mrs Radcliff’s novel suspended over the basket.
“I can’t stop looking at your eyes,” he admitted, quite truthfully this time. “I can’t decide if they’re green or brown.”
She snorted in amusement and dropped her novel into the basket. “Neither,” she said, a prosaic tone to her voice. “They’re hazel, and please, I beg of you. Don’t go writing an ode or some such nonsense.”
“Why ever not?” he retorted, taking the basket from her hands and placing it behind him so she couldn’t reach it. “No, don’t go, not yet,” he begged, giving her his most charming smile. “Tell me why I shouldn’t write you a poem. You deserve a poem, I think.”
She flushed and shook her head. “I will go if you keep speaking in such a ridiculous manner. You have no business flirting with me and well you know it, so please stop.”
He sighed and stretched out on his side, looking up at her. “Very well. If I promise not to flirt will you stay and talk to me?”
She hesitated, but for such a short time he was relieved of the idea that she still found him as obnoxious as she’d first thought. “For just a little while then,” she said, and he saw the first real glimmer of the smile he had been hoping for. His breath caught and he let out a huff of laughter.
“My God,” he whispered, staring at her. Frowning, she began to get to her feet. “No!” he exclaimed. “That was involuntary, I swear. I didn’t mean to,” he said, half laughing, half pleading as he discovered he would be bitterly disappointed if she ran now.
“Last chance,” she said, her tone fierce as she wagged a finger at him.
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he replied, making the cross over his heart as he spoke.
Apparently satisfied, she sat down again, and he began to draw her out.
He didn’t ask her all the usual inane questions about her family and where she was born, but they spoke about books and poetry and music and horses - she loved to ride, he discovered, and had ambitions to drive a phaeton which he secretly hoped to help her with.
They talked through lunch and the remainder of the afternoon.
She insisted on sharing her picnic with him and made encouraging noises as he climbed an apple tree in the hedgerow after she discovered the biggest and shiniest red one was right at the top.
So, it was with an exclamation of alarm that she looked up some hours later to discover the sky was growing dim.
“Oh, my word!” she said, gathering up her belongings as she got to her feet. “It’s so late, wherever has the afternoon gone?”
“It has been spent in the most delightful fashion,” he said, with complete sincerity, finding himself truly disappointed that it had come to an end.
He reached out and took her hand, enclosing it within his much larger ones.
“Say you’ll come back again tomorrow.” She opened her mouth and began to shake her head.
“Please?” he said, quite alarmed to hear the pleading note in his voice.
“I-I shouldn’t. You know I shouldn’t,” she said, avoiding his eyes and trying to pull her hand free.
“I’ll be here,” he said, smiling at her. “I’ll wait all day, and all day the next and the day after ...”
“Oh, stop, you absurd creature!” she said, laughing, though her expression was troubled. “I-I don’t know if ... if ...”
“Yes, you can, I know you can, if you try.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be here,” he repeated. “Until tomorrow, Miss Bomford.”
She gave a little huff of exasperation and curtsied to him. “Your grace,” she said, with a smirk as Sebastian jolted in shock. Had she guessed who he was?
Then he remembered. He’d been cast as the Duke of Luovo
He dashed his hand to his heart with a wounded cry. “Oh, infamy! After all we have been to each other.”
He watched as she scurried away, her cheeks flushed and her red hair escaping her bonnet as she ran, laughing at him with the dog gambolling at her feet.
He let out a breath, feeling that he had been holding it all afternoon in case she decided to change her mind and run away from him. But she hadn’t run, she had stayed, and he had never been gladder of anything in all his life.
He made his way back to the castle, quite unable to shake the ridiculous smile from his face, a fact that was remarked on by Jeffries as he handed his horse back into his care.
“A good day, I take it, your grace?” he asked, a quizzical expression fixed on his master from under his thick, grizzled eyebrows.
“I should say so,” Sebastian replied, grinning at him.
His smile dimmed a little as he remembered that Lord Gower’s entertainments awaited him for the night.
He wondered if he could find a way to excuse himself without being thought inexcusably dull.
He had a reasonable idea that the truth, that he had a pressing urge to go to bed early with a copy of Mrs Radcliffe’s - A Sicilian Romance, would not be met with approval.
The idea amused him so much that he couldn’t help but grin and it was with a contented air he entered the castle, whistling as he went.