by Esther Hatch
He shrugged, his shoulder lifting from underneath the water. “All right, then.” He kept his eyes on hers as he stepped closer. Each tread exposed more of Lord Farnsworth. First his shoulders…had they been so broad in the solicitor’s office? They had, but she had assumed that was thanks to careful padding. The linen of his shirt clung to the rounded curves of his upper arms. Then his chest.
The weave of his shirt was not equal to the task of remaining opaque. Nothing about the baron’s physique had been falsified. Every bit of his upper body was real. How did a gentleman have such arms? Most of the men she was acquainted with only exerted themselves by riding, dancing, and perhaps some fencing. None of those activities led to the thickness Lord Farnsworth displayed. Her face, which at the mention of Lord Farnsworth being naked had remained mostly unaffected, now heated with the prospect of a certainly not naked and yet a not truly covered Lord Farnsworth removing himself from the pond and speaking with her in his saturated clothing on dry ground.
She threw a hand out in front of her. “Stop.” He stopped, looked down at his chest, now half-exposed, and had the audacity to smile. Insufferable. “You may remain in my pond.”
“Our pond,” he said again. She wouldn’t look at his shirt. She stared directly into his eyes, and when she couldn't handle that, she inspected the clouds in the distant sky behind him. It seemed there was a distinct chance of rain later in the day.
She cleared her throat. “I understand you are most likely not in the habit of selling property, but when one does, it generally belongs to the new owner. That is me. This is my pond. And after I leave, I trust you will remove yourself from it.”
He put both hands on his waist, the motion drawing her eyes. She jerked them back to his face. His grin was even broader than his shoulders. “It is true I don’t often sell property, but I am not wrong in calling this our pond. I still own this half of it, so in fact you are currently on my property. I, however, will not ask you to leave. You are welcome to visit my part of the land at any time. I would be happy to have you.”
Sally gritted her teeth. The man couldn't keep a smile off his face. And why didn’t he just take a step or two back in the water? She was certain she owned the pond. It was used to water the lawn and gardens if there was ever a dry spell.
“I’m quite certain the property line is the pond.”
“You are correct.”
“Then I own the pond.”
“A good portion of it, yes. When I stay at the hunting lodge, I use the pond for fishing and to water the horses. We both need the water from the pond, so the property line is the pond for each of our parcels of land. Meaning, the property line runs directly down the middle of the pond. I was swimming in my half of the pond, which, as Mrs. Hiddleson will tell you, I am prone to do, and which is completely within my rights.”
At least that solved the riddle of where he was staying. Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Are you telling me I cannot stop you from parading about in your shirtsleeves in full view of my balcony? How would you feel if I did the same on my half of the pond?”
Lord Farnsworth’s eyes slid down her figure and then back up to her face. “I would say, don’t limit yourself to your side of the pond. You would be welcome in mine as well.”
Oh, this was ridiculous! She hadn’t bargained on the baron staying on what was left of his property at all, let alone having him swim on his property in clear view of hers. She couldn’t handle this. Not now; not directly after taking possession of her new home. When she had investigated the property before agreeing to buy it, she had discovered that neither the lodge nor the manor had been in use for the past several years. If he hadn’t bothered to come in the past several years, why was he here now?
Whatever his reasons, she would not put up with the way he looked at her. Not only was this baron bad enough with money that he had to sell off property that had been in his mother’s family for generations, but he was obviously also some sort of a rake.
If they were to be neighbors at times, they would be neighbors. But she didn’t need to actually converse or spend time with such a man as this. She would simply warn him away, and then hopefully he would return to London and never be in her sight again.
Chapter 4
Jonathan’s lips curled into a smile. He hadn’t bargained on seeing Miss Duncan until tomorrow, but watching her blush had been a pleasure he was grateful he hadn’t had to wait another day for.
His future wife. She was at least as beautiful as he had remembered her. And it seemed she wasn’t completely unaware of his charms. His plan was already well underway. As neighbors, she would have to invite him to dinner or, at a minimum, tea.
He stood waist-deep in the pond, waiting expectantly for her invitation, but the offer didn’t come.
“Lord Farnsworth, I cannot command you to leave your own property. As I’m still not certain if what you say about the pond is true, I will look over the documents I was given. But I will say this.” She reached down and grabbed his waistcoat and jacket from the ground. She held them out in front of her as if accusing him of some sort of crime. “When you are in full view of my home you need to keep your waistcoat and jacket on. In a few days, my sister will be coming to live here. It is one thing for me to find you swimming in the pond; it would be quite another for my younger sister to—”
“I will give up swimming in the pond.”
“—discover...” She paused, her head slipped to one side, and her hand that had been shaking his clothes in demonstration dropped. “You will?”
Happily. That blasted Mrs. Hiddleson had surprised him two afternoons ago just after he had arrived. He had slipped into the pond trying to get a better look at the back of the manor. Mrs. Hiddleson had always chided him as a boy for the messes he made of himself, so he hadn't wanted to admit to not having grown up in the past ten years. Instead he had made up the ridiculous excuse that he enjoyed swimming and planned to often swim in the pond.
Once Jonathan committed to something, he didn’t turn away from it. If Mrs. Hiddleson expected him to swim in the pond, then swim in the pond he would...at least until given a reasonable excuse to stop. Miss Duncan asking him not to swim in it was perfectly reasonable.
The whole mess could have been avoided if he had simply made a point of visiting the manor before it was sold. Now when he had finally returned to the place of his fondest childhood memories, he could no longer enter it. He couldn’t regret the time he spent investigating Miss Duncan, though. She was a fascinating woman. Every business owner he visited had touted her fine taste and acumen at finding the best producers of silks and cottons. The younger businessmen seemed to be half in love with her and the older ones very protective. Every interaction had made him more certain he had made the right choice.
Fate was a funny thing indeed. Of all the ways he had thought about finding a wife, this had never been one. But if all went according to plan, he would have to suggest to others the same process.
He still wished he had a way to explore Greenwood Manor. It was so close, and yet so unattainable.
Unless, of course, he was invited to tea. Now that Miss Duncan was here, he most certainly would be.
She seemed to be waiting for an explanation as to why he was so accommodating of her wish to no longer swim in the pond. “I assure you I plan to be the best of neighbors. If you do not want me to swim here, then I won’t.”
The hand that wasn’t holding his clothing went to her waist. “Well, we can hardly call each other neighbors when you are rarely here.”
“In the past ten years I haven’t had the opportunity to visit Greenwood Manor.”
Miss Duncan nodded as if that statement satisfied her.
“So, I obviously plan to spend a bit more time here from now on…to make up for that.”
Miss Duncan blinked. Her eyes flashed to the waterline and everything above it before jerking back to his face. “You will spend more time here now? When you don’t even own the manor?”
“I suppose I didn’t realize how much I would miss it until it was gone.”
Miss Duncan muttered something under her breath but he was too far away to catch it. It was summer and a sunny day, but the water was starting to chill him, especially with the upper half of his chest exposed to the air. He could step back into the water, but he rather enjoyed the rose color of Miss Duncan’s cheeks. Besides, if she were to be his wife in only a few short months, she may as well grow accustomed to his form.
In London he had been the soul of propriety with women. He had considered himself too young to marry and had been careful with every interaction, as the last thing he had wanted was to raise the hopes of a young lady—or even worse, her mother—when he had no intention to wed as of yet.
But knowing the woman that stood before him was to be his wife? His need to make every interaction completely benign was lifted and the freedom of speaking his mind brought a lightness to every word he said to her. Familiarity, comfort, and ease; other than Oliver and his other Eton friends, he hadn’t had the pleasure of enjoying an openness of mind with someone since his mother had died.
Jonathan hadn’t really seen the point in a wife before. Even now he probably wouldn’t be considering the prospect if he hadn’t had to sell Greenwood Manor. But the idea of spending his evenings with Miss Duncan was surprisingly intriguing. What would they talk about? Would she open up to him about what it had been like for her taking over her grandfather’s business and making it flourish? Did she like to read? A vision of his head in her lap while she read to him in the library flashed through his mind. Once again the library could be a library of belonging and peace. But in the family he created with Miss Duncan, they would always stay together. There would be no need to weave fairy tales about happy families. They would be their own happy family. Would she be playful when they were reading in the library and none of the servants were around to watch them? He glanced at her face. Or would she always be as serious as she was now, with that line of disapproval forming between her eyebrows and her plump lips curved into a frown?
Either way...intriguing. He was going to quite enjoy getting to know his wife.
“I shall bid you farewell, Lord Farnsworth. Thank you for agreeing not to swim in the pond. I assume you are correct and we will make good neighbors.”
“I’m sure of it,” he answered back. And then throwing caution to the wind, he pushed his legs forward through the water. Before he could get more than his waist out of the water, she gave him a quick businesslike nod, her eyes only slipping downward for the briefest of seconds before she turned on her heel to leave.
“Miss Duncan,” he called. She paused, but then must have changed her mind, for after only a moment she strode forward again, this time at a faster pace. He was nearly out of the water now, only his calves and feet still slowing him down. He lifted his legs higher and splashed his way out of the pond. “Miss Duncan, you have my waistcoat and jacket.”
Miss Duncan once again murmured something under her breath, and even though he could not hear what she had said, he was quite certain from her tone it wasn’t language he was used to hearing from a young lady’s mouth.
He smiled. The mouth of a tradeswoman—he could get used to that as well.
Water dripped from his shirt and trousers in steady streams as he made his way to where Miss Duncan stood. She remained facing the manor with her shoulders back and her head held high. He smothered a chuckle. Something told him the future Lady Farnsworth would not like to be laughed at. “Don’t be alarmed. There is no need to turn around. I’m directly behind you.” He leaned forward and reached out to pluck the clothes from her grasp.
“I am not alarmed,” she said, and although he couldn't see her face he could practically hear her teeth grinding. “I simply do not want to embarrass you.” Her arm bent backward, awkwardly holding his clothes away from her. He took them, and made certain their hands only touched for the briefest of seconds—just a brush of his thumb against the outside edge of her smallest finger. Compared to his pond-chilled hands, hers were warm, dry, and soft in a way his hands would never be.
“I shall take my leave. You won’t find me in the pond again.”
“Thank you.”
“If you change your mind, though, simply say the word and I will return to my previous habits. I could even teach you to swim if you like. We could each stay on our own side of the pond, making it completely proper.”
She shook her head, making the few curls not tightly bound up on her head sway back and forth. “Nothing about that would be proper.”
Jonathan curled his lip. The knowledge that the woman who stood before him would one day be his wife brought down all his barriers of propriety. One day they would know everything about one another. “Well, then, I bid you good day. Welcome to Greenwood Manor.” That didn’t seem enough. The manor and the gardens spread out in front of Miss Duncan; her well-groomed figure still in her well-tailored traveling clothes blocked only the view of the east side of the house. Miss Duncan now belonged here, a fact that seemed to make his future settle into place. “Welcome home.”
He turned on his heel, content with their first interaction here in Dorset. If he stayed any longer, he might say something much too forward. The inevitability of what Miss Duncan would become to him was clear to Jonathan, but she would need at least a few more days of interactions before the subject could be breached. No matter how logical the relationship, women wanted to be wooed, after all. Or at least so he had heard.
It wasn’t until he was halfway back to the hunting lodge that he stopped and looked back at Greenwood Manor. Only the roof was visible above the trees that separated the pond from his lodge.
Miss Duncan had forgotten to invite him to tea. He had no idea how to see her again.
Chapter 5
What kind of neighbor didn’t invite a visiting baron over for tea? It had been three days and he hadn’t heard a word or even received a note from Miss Duncan. Jonathan paced outside the lodge. When he reached the front right edge of open space in front of the lodge there was a hill and he could just see the roofline of Greenwood Manor. He stopped and surveyed it. How could she be so close and not even think to invite him? His groom was a terrible cook and it seemed like she should at least guess at his less-than-fortunate cuisine choices.
True, she was a single young woman, but she had a companion and a house full of servants. He was stuck in the small hunting lodge with only his valet and a groom. It wasn’t as though he could invite her.
Something had to be done.
A neighbor didn’t need an invitation to visit. After all, Miss Duncan was new to the area; it would be customary for him to walk over and bring a gift of some sort. He had actually brought a gift for her from London, something he had picked up from one of the merchants when he had investigated her. But he wanted to save that for when he proposed. It would be much too intimate a gift to be considered only neighborly.
He looked around the lodge. There were a few books in the library, but most of them were either on hunting or some of his mother’s favorites—ones he had requested to be brought over from the manor before the sale, and he wasn’t ready to part with those. He needed all the pots and pans in the kitchen, and he doubted those would be an appropriate gift for a lady anyway.
“Howard,” Jonathan called.
A door shut upstairs and his valet’s footsteps plodded down the stairs. “Yes, sir?”
“Do you hunt?”
The corners of Howard’s lips turned down. “I’ve never had that opportunity.”
Blast. If his valet didn’t hunt, he was going to have to go shoot a pheasant himself. His father had always loved hunting, but that was one of many ways Jonathan didn’t resemble him. He had no dog to drive the pheasants out. He could try for a hare. Somehow a pheasant seemed a better gift. A deer would make for a larger target. He might be able to hit a deer. But it would be practically impossible for him to deliver it to her.
“Do yo
u know how to load a gun?”
“I do not, but I do know how to clean them, and since the guns have been here for over ten years without being used, I feel that should be the first step.”
“Yes, of course it should be.” Good thing he had Howard. Jonathan might have remembered to clean the guns once he had them in front of him, but he also was in a rush to visit Greenwood Manor. It had been torture being so close to the home and not having a chance to see the inside. “Do we have powder and shot?” It wasn’t as though he had never gone hunting. If Howard could clean the guns, he would be able to remember how to load them.
Howard nodded.
“Great, then we are all set. Let’s see if we can’t drum up some game.”
It took over an hour to get the guns ready, and two hours into hunting Jonathan was starting to question his plan. Perhaps a book on hunting would have been a better idea. She might not have much use for it, but at least it would be something, and by now he could have been enjoying her company for quite some time.
“By all rights, this land should be encompassed by game.” Jonathan ran a hand through his hair. “No one has hunted it for years.”
Howard cleared his throat and mumbled something under his breath. Howard wasn’t one to typically mumble. A tree branch whacked Jonathan in the face and he brushed off the dampness it left there. They were following what he hoped was a game trail, but he had no idea if he was correct. “What was that?”
Howard cleared his throat again. “To be fair…it isn’t as though we haven’t seen any game.”
Jonathan sniffed and brushed aside another branch before it hit his face. “I couldn’t have brought Miss Duncan one of those deer we saw.” Not that he hadn’t tried to shoot one; he had.
