Until then, he needed a hard ride. He went out to the stables and spent the day in the saddle with Firebrand.
Chapter 31
Four days later, Daniel went outside for a walk. The air was crisp with early chill, the dew thick on the long, overgrown grasses.
He entered the hunting wood. The beauty of the golden light angling through the trees and the birdsong still didn’t manage to lift his heart from its melancholy mood.
A rabbit startled and rushed away from him. A doe picked her delicate way through the mist in the trees.
He chided himself. How could he be so rotten as to not be lifted by the fresh beauty around him? It was spring, and he was married to the woman of his heart. If she had not yet given her heart to him in return, he ought not be despairing, but patient.
He had once known well how to be patient. He would again. Kindness, courtesy, and patience. That was all that was needed.
They were married. He had all the time in the world. He could wait—and would—on her. He would continue to keep his distance, give her the space and solitude she needed.
But he’d stayed away from her for almost ten days. Lonely days of riding, pistol shooting, long walks, sketching the landscape, and stilted dinners.
The music of her harpsichord haunted him. It reached him wherever he was in the house. Even on walks, it drifted over the breeze from the open windows of the drawing room. The music was both a comfort—that she was safe and well and doing what she enjoyed best—and a painful reminder of his exile from her.
Calm silence prevailed over the woods this morning. A flowering bluebell came into his view, delicately arching, petals curling, its lovely violet-blue flowers sweetly shaped. As he progressed through the woods, the bluebells became more common, until the ground was thick with them. Below trees of ash, silver birch, and beech, they spread out as a glorious, thick carpet of violet-blue and green.
He breathed in the sweet, lush scent. A bluebell wood. Enchanting.
He picked his way across the thin-tramped path he had been following, not wanting to crush any of the blossoms that crowded the woodland floor.
The sun broke through the thick branches overhead, a warm stream of light fell before him and rested on a still figure in white, haloing her dark hair, and illuminating the smoothness of her skin. Her eyes were closed, her face upturned to the sunlight, her bonnet dangling from its strings in her gloved hand.
He stopped, his breath caught and his heart arrested.
Eliza.
He had never seen her look so exquisitely beautiful as she did at that moment, clad in a simple white morning dress, standing under a cathedral of arching branches, bluebells spreading before her as if sprung up from her feet.
His heart squeezed.
Exquisite. Untouchable. Unreachable. An immortal Greek goddess, here to inspire, but not to be held by mortal man.
He must have made a noise, for her dark-lashed lids rose, and her mouth opened in surprise. She made a move as if she would start away from him.
He grabbed his hat from his head, pressed it between his hands.
“Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to disturb you. I didn’t know you were out and about this morning.”
She looked at him with clear-eyed composure. “It is a beautiful morning.” She acknowledged him like the queen she was.
“Yes, it is.” He forced himself to answer. His chest was tight. His heart ached with all the longing that it contained. He shifted his feet. “Well, I’ll leave you to your walk, my lady.”
He replaced his hat on his head, gave her a bow, and moved away, not wanting to torture himself any further.
“Oh,” she said.
He turned back, held his breath.
Her hand was up, as if to stop him. But her brows furled, and the hand dropped.
“A good morning to you, Daniel.” She gave a slight curtsey and departed.
He could not pull his gaze from her graceful figure as she walked away from him. He clenched his hand and went another direction, the peace he had gained lost.
* * *
Eliza had come for solitude, though she’d had plenty of that the last few days. She had hoped for a more calming seclusion by leaving the house, eliminating the chance of coming upon him at every stair or turn of a corridor, or in the drawing room. His distracting presence, his sad eyes whenever they met, reminded her of her failings and ingratitude.
The woods were peaceful, full of spring’s bounty of sweet growing things, the bluebells a glorious sweep of color.
But then Daniel was there, sadness and longing in his eyes, looking at her like she was a dream he would never be able to hold.
Her heart squeezed. She was not some untouchable lady from a chivalrous tale, nor did she wish for a knight to serve her with chaste devotion, ever to long after her, and never to touch her.
What a pitiable existence that would be.
She let out a huff of frustration. Daniel had been nothing but kind to her. Brash and encroaching, but kind.
The last eight days had been quiet, with music filling her day, but little conversation and much awkward silence in the evenings.
She had wanted the silence and solitude. She had needed it, yearned for it. But in the last two days, time had begun to drag, had gotten long and monotonous.
Lonely.
It seemed even she needed a break from music once in a while.
She turned and followed after Daniel, hastening her steps to catch up with him. “Daniel.”
He paused, turned back to her. “My lady.”
“Eliza, please.” She extended her hand. “Would you escort me back to the house?”
His eyes lit with cautious excitement. The side of his mouth hinted at the beginnings of a smile.
Her heart gave a thunk.
He stepped towards her, and she met him halfway, picking up her skirts, revealing the dirty, dew-wet hem, and her serviceable walking boots.
She took his arm and gave him a small smile. He gave her a wide one in return, the light in his eyes brightening to full force.
She inhaled a quick breath, faced the path, and walked beside him as they headed back to the house.
“I apologize, Daniel.” She kept her face forward, avoiding his eyes as she admitted her culpability. “The coldness that is between us, I realize it is all my doing. It was what I wanted, even. Thank you for giving me the space I desired.”
He had. He had stayed away. Had barely spoken to her. To the point even she began to wish for something different.
“But I don’t think it is how I wish to live my life.” She turned to him, nervous, but wanting to change. “May we start again, perhaps?” She looked up into his eyes, and her heart rate accelerated. But he had been kind and considerate. He would not mock her for asking. She forced herself to keep speaking. “From the beginning, like two people newly met?”
“How so?” He lifted his brows. “Newly met, as indifferent acquaintances first being introduced?”
“Yes.” That might work well. “As if first introduced. But . . . ” She had to force back a blush. “Not indifferent.”
“First introductions, with interest?” His voice had a hopeful, teasing edge.
“Could we start at innocent beginnings? And move through courtship, then engagement, and then . . .” Her face was growing hot. She willed it not to.
“Begin at the beginning, as innocent as babes?” He grinned. “Yes, let us do as you desire, lady of my heart.”
“You must go through the steps, Daniel!” she protested. “Not start with heart’s devotion already set. But merely with interest. As we get to know one another.”
“I see, I see. Then we must find the proper person to make our introduction.”
She raised a brow.
“Perhaps we are at a ball, and this stately ash tree is the distinguished Countess Ashleaf. She shall make the introduction.”
“Gracious, Daniel.” Eliza gave him an amused, incredulous look.
&n
bsp; “I am not Daniel, but an unfamiliar gentlemen who has spotted you across the ballroom, and wishes, with all his heart, to make your acquaintance, and is hoping beyond hope—”
“Can you do nothing with a reasonable amount of restraint?” Eliza asked, exasperated.
“No, madame, I cannot. But for your sake, I will attempt.” He gave her a rakish grin. Then he sidled up to the ash tree and bowed elaborately towards it.
“Countess! It is so pleasant to see you again. Do you, perchance, know that young lady across the way?” He gestured to Eliza, then shifted his stance, taking on a caricature of a feminine posture.
“Why yes, you young scamp! I know her. Quite ravishing, is she not?” he said in a high, affected voice.
Eliza’s eyes widened. Her lips threatened to upturn.
He lowered to his normal register, but still with an exaggerated affectation. “Though I blush so to say, I quite agree, Countess, she is the most ravishing creature I have ever beheld.”
“Yes, yes,” he answered in his false voice. “I suppose you are an honorable enough fellow to pass muster. I may find it in me to arrange an introduction.”
“I am so relieved to hear you say that, your ladyship. You must not have heard of the incidents at Astley’s Amphitheatre, or that lamentable episode at White’s, but I must blame my friend Thomas on those both. I am, in general, the very picture of decorum.” He raised himself to full military straightness and put on a solemn, long upper-lipped expression.
Eliza put her hand in front of her mouth to keep in a guffaw.
“Yes, you are quite lucky those tales have not passed my ears, boy. I can still in good conscience introduce you to this Season’s Diamond, Miss Moore.” He gave her a look accurately aping the suggestive, eye-brow raised expression of a calculating society matron. “Miss Moore, may I introduce to you Captain Lord Daniel Ashton, of the Kentworth Ashtons?”
Eliza forced back a smile but played along enough to curtsy to him. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” He bowed, hand over his heart. “Would you, perhaps, be amiable enough to take a turn with me, Miss Moore? We will stay in full view of all chaperones, of course.” He glanced at the ash tree.
“Gladly, my lord.” She kept having to force her lips back down.
“And would you dance with me? Two sets?”
“Two! That is asking much of a first acquaintance.”
“But you see, the interest is mutual, you said?”
“But I have restraint.”
“Curses on restraint.”
“Daniel!”
“Very well, one dance, and then flowers in the morning, where I ask you to come driving with me.” He smiled his half-raised grin. “And you say?” he prompted.
“Yes, I thank you.” She smiled and glanced away, feeling her cheeks blush, and her heart leap.
“After that drive, an invitation to the theater, to you and your chaperone.”
She made a noncommittal noise.
“Then, I go to your guardian, and ask permission to court you in earnest.”
“Oh.” She looked away, a blush raging on her cheeks. Then she turned to him, paused their forward progress. “But say I am of age, as I am now, and have no guardian?”
“Then I suppose I ask you.” His eyes peered down into hers, holding her captive. “May I court you, Eliza?”
“Yes.” Her heart was pounding.
“May I take your hand?”
“Yes.” She felt breathless.
He took her gloved hand into his.
“May I kiss your cheek?”
“Yes.” Her voice rasped. Her eyes were on his lips.
His half-smile became tender. He bent down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. His lips were soft and warm, and chills raced down from the point of contact through her neck and shoulder, down her back. He pulled away, waited for her response. Her mouth had fallen open, and her breaths were fast and shallow.
“You may as well.” He smiled roguishly.
“What?” She blinked, coming out of a haze.
“Hold my hand, kiss my cheek.” He pointed to his cheek. “You may kiss anything you wish.” He waved his hand before his face, indicating full availability with a crinkling smile.
She considered this, running her eyes over his face, above her from his great height. “You are tall, I cannot reach much.” A smile raised her cheeks.
“I’ll bend for you.” He bowed, lowering till his face was a breath away from hers. He was so close. Her heartbeat accelerated.
Her eyes lingered on his lips. He gave her a challenging look, one side of his mouth curved up in a mischievous smile.
She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose.
He let out a laugh. She turned away, smiling, her face hot.
Chapter 32
Eliza dressed for dinner that night, her maid Betsey giving her excited smiles and conspiratorial winks. The maid must have heard from the other servants that Eliza had come to the house on the arm of Lord Daniel. Eliza blushed and gave her a quelling look, but Betsey’s cheeks remained dimpled with suppressed smiles.
Eliza met Daniel in the dining room, and conversation flowed between them without force or strain. After they retired to the drawing room together, and Eliza had played a tune or two on the harpsichord, Daniel came up to her and bowed. “May I request the honor of this dance?”
She raised a brow, a smile threatening. “If I agree, there will be no one to play the music to dance to. I believe I am the only musician currently in residence at this establishment.”
“I’ll provide the music.”
“You will?”
“You have so little faith in me.” He gave her a laughing smirk.
She allowed him to raise her to her feet, and to draw her to a clear area of floor, enough space for a single couple to dance.
“What dance will we be performing?”
“A waltz.” He bowed, she curtsied, he drew her to him by her hand, and he began to sing, “Dum dum dum, dum dum dum.” He began the steps of the dance.
His singing struggled for tone and pitch.
She couldn’t keep in a giggle. She shook in his arms, trying to keep the laughter inside. He valiantly persevered past her giggles but lost the rhythm quickly.
She recognized the tune he was attempting so poorly, got control of her laughter, and took over, reestablishing the rhythm. Her voice was nothing of great beauty or power, but she could stay on pitch. It appeared her husband could not.
She smiled, and they moved in the drawing room, under the soft lights of candelabra, just the two of them, his strong hands leading her, her voice setting the pace.
She drew to the end of what she remembered of that tune, and they slowed until they were merely swaying in place. He gathered her close to him, cradled her in his arms, and rested his cheek on her temple.
She let out a breath and unexpected contentment filled her. They swayed together, merely breathing in each other’s arms.
She blinked rapidly, pushing back tears of amazement at how lovely it felt to be held by him, this kind man. She marvelled at the warm swelling that was happening in her heart.
Somehow, he seemed happy as well. Happy just holding her.
“It appears my singing leaves much to be desired.” His voice rumbled next to her ear.
“Much.” She laughed.
“Thank you for taking over, then.”
He looked down at her with a tender, admiring smile. Secret words seemed to speak through his gaze, but for once he didn’t say them aloud. Eliza was both thankful and inexplicably disappointed that he didn’t.
He escorted her to her door when she wished to retire.
“When is our drive to take place, Daniel?”
“Drive?”
“Your next action in our courtship. A ride through the park. I do believe we have a park of sorts just outside the door?”
His eyes lit. “You are quite right. I shall arrange it.
”
And he’d also promised flowers. She didn’t remind him of that. Perhaps it was petty of her, but she wanted him to remember on his own.
Her heart thrilled the next morning when he didn’t disappoint. As she sat to breakfast, he bowed and presented her with a bouquet of wildflowers: cornflower, primrose, and foxglove. The blooms were obviously hand-gathered, dew still clinging to the petals and to his boots.
He took her out in the carriage for a drive through the beautiful Cotswolds countryside, verdant with spring green. They paused atop a narrow stone bridge to admire the view.
“This is pleasant,” Daniel said, “but would you not enjoy a turn in the saddle with Maribel? She’s a most excellent lady’s horse.”
Eliza’s stomach tightened, as did her hands in her lap. “I have not ridden in years, and . . . I do not much enjoy it. I’m sorry Daniel, I know horses are your passion, but I—”
“Shh.” He rested a hand upon her clenched one. “It’s alright. If you do not like to ride, I will stop bringing it up. John will keep her exercised.”
“Thank you, I do prefer. I . . .” She hated admitting weakness, but she felt he deserved more of an explanation. She was sure the horse she was refusing was a fine one. “I was never that skilled of a rider, and they are so unpredictable . . .”
“Were you tossed off before?” He looked at her with concern.
“No, but it was a near thing. The mare reared and I almost lost my seat. I have avoided riding since. I dislike the lack of control. They have their own minds and wills, you see, and my person is vulnerable to their whims.”
“Don’t I know it.” He gave her a gentle half-smile. “It’s a challenge I enjoy. But don’t fear. Since you don’t, I won’t pressure you to ride.”
At the conclusion of their drive, he brought her back to Bredon Wold and helped her alight from the carriage with all the proper actions of a gentleman courting a lady.
That night he confessed to being at a loss on finding them a theatrical performance to attend while rusticating in the country.
“But look what I’ve discovered among the dusty shelves.” He brandished a thick book of Shakespeare’s plays. “Perhaps we could perform together? You could be Juliet and I Romeo?” He gave her a hopeful smile.
Beneath Spring's Rain (Ashton Brides Book 1) Page 19
