7 A Runaway #3
“Is it not wonderful?” Violetta said on every page. “Is it not the most beautiful book you have ever seen?”
And Cora could not but agree with her.
“Ah, here are the men now,” Violetta said happily. “There is Uncle Cal! Does he not look so well in that coat? I made him borrow one from your son, for he must smarten himself up now he is part of a duke’s household.”
“I thought he looked well before,” Cora said mildly, who could not agree that he needed smartening up at all.
His natural appearance, so different from the overdressed aristocracy around him, was precisely what had drawn her to him in the first place.
That and his quiet confidence in himself…
and his masculine form, honed by physical work…
and his smile. Oh, especially his smile.
Cal came straight to them. “What do you think of the book, Mrs Merrington? Is it worth anyone risking her life to retrieve?”
“It would have been distressing to lose so beautiful a book,” she said, slowly turning the pages. “Miss Garth assures me that the risk was very slight. Oh! There is your Red Jenny.”
“You recognised it — well done! You only had a brief glimpse of it the other day, and those specimens have gone now.”
“I have seen it more recently than that. Ben Lovell brought some to the kitchen only today.”
Cal went very still, a frown on his face. “To cook?”
“No. He said they were not good eating.”
“Then why did he bring them here?”
“He meant them for a woman in the village. It was Timmy who tipped them onto the kitchen table with all the other mushrooms. Ben made him put them back into the bag. You said they are not poisonous, but there must be something odd about them.”
“They’re medicinal, rather than for eating,” Cal said, his face lightening slightly. “Midwives dry them, then crumble them up and make a tea with them. Now that one, the chanterelle, that’s very good to eat, although you won’t see it at this time of year.”
They talked for some time, she turning the pages of the book while he told her about the plants depicted there.
She could have sat there all night, listening to his voice, watching his hands as he pointed out a bud or leaf.
He had strong hands, somewhat calloused from hard work, not smooth like those of an idle gentleman.
She had known too many idle gentlemen. Cal was strikingly different, showing her the vainglory of her normal life.
He was a real man, one who worked for his living, who was humble and kind and expected nothing from her.
She was so tired of being the subject of men’s expectations.
“It’s getting dark,” he said eventually, and she chose to imagine there was some regret in his voice. “I’d like to get back to the hut before the light is quite gone.”
“May I walk with you? I should be glad to get some air before bed.”
“I’d like that.”
He fetched his greatcoat and she found a cloak, meeting again in the Marble Hall. Robert, who was on duty there, opened the front door for them.
“I shall come back in through the garden door, Robert. No need to wait for me.”
“Very good, madam,” he said woodenly, no doubt imagining… it hardly mattered what he was imagining. Let him think what he liked.
Cora and Cal walked side by side a short way down the drive, then took the path to the summer house and from there to the trees beside the lake.
The daylight was almost gone, but out in the open there was still enough light to see the way clearly, the lake darkly mysterious as they drew near.
Then they were in the sheltering trees which hid them from the house.
At the stepping stones, Cal stepped lightly from one to the next without a thought. Cora stood motionless on the bank, her arms wrapped around herself. Could she do it? Could she follow him? She could not.
He stopped, turned, saw her waiting. Straight away he came back to the first stone, and held out his hand to her, a soft smile on his face.
Could she take his hand? Not yet, not yet.
He jumped ashore and pointed down the lake. “The lower bridge, then.”
There was no reproach, no comment at all. They walked along the lakeside path in silence, across the bridge and then into the trees. At once they were in darkness, the failing twilight having no power to penetrate the leaf canopy.
Cora stopped, disoriented.
“Take a moment to let your eyes adjust,” Cal said.
“I… I think I can follow the path.”
“It’s quite narrow here, so stay close behind me. I’ll walk slowly.”
Cora had not taken ten steps when one slippered foot caught on a tree root, and with a little cry, down she went.
“My God! Cora! Are you all right?”
Before she had time to catch her breath, he was kneeling beside her, lifting her head up.
“Cora! Speak to me!”
She opened her eyes to find his face hovering anxiously only inches from hers. So close… so unbearably close! To a woman already struggling with her feelings, it was too much.
“Cal… I love you, Cal.”
Then she reached up one hand and pulled his head near enough to kiss him.
And then, overcome with embarrassment, she closed her eyes again and pretended to swoon.