Chapter Four #2
She blinked at him. “Apology accepted. However, I am still quite angry with you.” Meg nearly laughed.
Her anger had vanished the moment she realized why he had turned away.
His apology was perfectly appropriate, but she refused to let him off too easily.
“The Wishing Trout was on my hook. Your ill-considered action allowed him to escape. In addition, I have lost my best rod and reel,” she scolded.
“I suspect we’ll find your gear somewhere downstream. In fact, I’ll search for it now, since I’m still quite damp. In my saddlebags is food and a jug of cider, from Mrs. Brewster’s kitchen. Perhaps you’d care to eat while I search.”
“Thank you, I’m quite famished. I skipped my breakfast and came early in hope of capturing the Wishing Trout. I’ll save some of the repast for your return.”
He set off, and Meg lifted the hem of the cloak, walking to Copefort’s horse. She took the food and drink to the creek-side, where she found a clear spot with a broad rock for a seat.
She’d just begun to eat when Copefort returned triumphant, carrying her weed-decorated fishing rod.
The sun broke over the tree line while they devoured the food and cider.
Meg dusted crumbs from her fingers and the now quite damp wool cloak then cast a quick glance at her companion.
“Mr. Copefort, you’re shivering.”
“Only when the breeze kicks up. I’ve experienced much worse during the war.”
She pursed her lips. “My mother passed from an ague that went untreated and became consumption.”
“I promise to take proper care of myself as soon as I return to the inn.” A smile lightened his solemn expression. “George will physick me within an inch of my life. My valet can be a tyrant.”
“No doubt because he holds you in some affection. You treat George Brewster like a near equal.”
A slight flush colored Copefort’s neck.
“War’s a great leveler.”
“So, you were comrades in arms as well as employer and employee?” Copefort had captured her curiosity.
“Precisely, but enough of the past, I’m not the only one who suffered a dunking. We must get you home before you take a chill.”
She shrugged. Silly to be warmed by his concern. “My home’s a short mile directly east. I’ve walked it often. I’ll be perfectly safe.”
“Refusing my escort forces me to unaccustomed discourtesy. Besides, we’ll both be better off if you ride and I walk beside.” His tone was stern, but a glance at his eyes revealed genuine worry.
“Escorting me home will take you out of your way and considerably delay the care you need. Where good health is concerned, courtesy cannot be in question.” Having an escort home in her present condition would be quite pleasant.
However, she worried the servants might notice if she arrived in company with a man.
Sneaking in unnoticed would be difficult enough given how wet she was.
“Very practical. However, we seem to be at an impasse. You decline my assistance, and I refuse to abandon you.” The criticism was offered with a smile.
“An impasse indeed. We must compromise.” She nodded.
“My horse is well trained and possessed of great stamina. We could both ride.”
“You suggest I ride pillion.” Riding pillion wasn’t at all proper, and suddenly she very much wanted to.
“Yes. Doing so will get us both home with greater speed.”
“You are right.” She might never have another such scandalous opportunity. However, if handled well, no one need know—hence, no scandal.
“Good. Let us clean up our meal, load our gear, and be on our way.”
Riding pillion compelled Meg to hold on to Mr. Copefort, one hand on each side of his waist. She did her best to move with the horse but not use her legs for fear of confusing the animal.
She’d ridden pillion once or twice before.
While not the easiest or most comfortable means of riding, given the short distance to Sea Grange, pillion really was most practical.
Maintaining balance forced her to lean against Copefort’s back. Chilly with wet, it warmed beneath her touch. As they moved, his muscles shifted under the cloth that kept her cheek from contacting his skin. Despite his dunking, he still smelled of citrus and cloves.
At ease with the silence between them, her thoughts drifted.
Copefort resembled no gentleman in her experience.
Unlike Father, he seemed to have infinite patience and little concern for decorum.
She’d never seen Copefort put his needs above others, including those who served him.
How pleasant to have a companion with whom she needn’t watch her every word and action.
To hold someone’s hand, take comfort in his simple presence, perhaps… . Her face warmed.
She jerked upright.
I don’t want to live with Copefort or any man. I made that decision long ago. Still, if she must marry, she hoped for a spouse like Mr. Copefort.
“Miss Fenneman, the trees are thinning. I see a large space of lawn rising to a manor house.”
She leaned around him. “Yes, that’s Sea Grange.”
“We’ll have you home in a trice. However, I wish to once more offer my apologies. No one can regret the loss of that fish more than I. Nonetheless, I’m uncertain Brewster’d be best pleased to have Fenwick’s prize trout captured before he can establish his angling competition.”
Meg couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you for putting my loss in perspective. Though I’ve doubts that Brewster will ever succeed in establishing said competition.”
“Why?”
“It cannot have escaped you that some who live in Fenwick oppose the changes which would bring more people here.”
“Ah yes, your father’s one of those.”
“Indeed. Thus, I walk a fine line between him and those who oppose him, many of whom are my friends.”
“I am sorry you are placed in that position. Do you have any alternatives, or must you reside with your father?”
Her hands remained on his waist, but she put more distance between their bodies. “I love my father.” I do. I truly do. The war has ruined him. Pray heaven time would bring him back to himself. “Sea Grange’s my home. I manage quite well as things are, and I’ve no desire for an alternative.”
“Understandable. Forgive my presumption,” His voice lost some of its warmth.
“’Tis naught to forgive, as I believe you asked out of charitable, if misguided concern.”
“As you say, Miss Fenneman.”
The horse neared the manor’s buildings and Copefort aimed the steed toward the main entrance.
“Please don’t go that way, I’d prefer to enter through the kitchen garden.”
“Of course.” They changed direction. In moments she dismounted at the garden gate.
“Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Copefort,” she said looking up at him.
“It was my pleasure, Miss Fenneman, but please call me Kit.”
“I… I… yes. When no one else is about, please call me Meg.”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
She couldn’t fathom the strange look in his eyes.
“You’d best return to the inn. I’d not like for you to take a chill,” she said at last.
“Indeed. With your permission, I’ll call on you to see how you go on.”
She felt a blush rise. “I… I would like that, sir. Come for tea when you do.”
“As you wish.” He touched his hat brim and trotted away.
She stood there watching him disappear into the late morning light. The breeze cooling her face recalled her to the moment, and she realized she still wore his cloak.