by Ava Stone
Before she could turn away, Mr. Thorn snatched up her hand in his, and a tingling shot up her arm.
“You aren’t leaving me, are you?”
“After you’ve been tossed in the sea? That would not be very kind, now would it?”
“It would be extremely cruel. You must stay and see that I recover.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “I only wish to retrieve my painting supplies.”
“Let me. I don’t wish for you to injure yourself climbing up and down that ledge.”
Before Anna could respond, Mr. Thorn had already jumped up and was striding up the hill. Though it was highly improper, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his wet trousers plastered against his bum, or his muscular thighs. She had found her very own David. Now to convince him to pose without scandalizing the gentleman.
A moment later, he was coming back down the slight hill with her easel and canvas, which he passed down to her. Anna glimpsed at the sunrise. While the colors were brilliant and she couldn’t have been happier with how she’d captured the reflection off the water only a short time ago, it no longer held any appeal. Not when Mr. Thorn was here. She could paint the sea anytime, she might never get a chance to paint him again.
Drat, why did she only think to bring water colors? They would never do. Oils, rich luxurious oils were what she needed. But, as she had none with her, Anna would just have to make do.
A moment later, Mr. Thorn jumped back down and handed her the satchel and jug, still partially full of water.
“Thank you.”
“It’s a beautiful painting, by the way.”
Not as beautiful as you. “Thank you.”
“Now, let’s see about that breakfast.”
Anna spread the blanket before the fire, unable to believe her good fortune, while Thorn retrieved their meal. Thankfully they weren’t where anyone could see them or she’d be ruined. She’d just have to make sure nobody ever found out.
Mr. Thorn scooped his jacket and waistcoat off the sand. Anna took them from him and hung them on the small trees growing from the rocks. Hopefully his clothing would dry before he had to return to Torrington.
“Please, have a seat, Miss Southward.”
“Thank you.” She settled at the corner and he on the other side, placing the basket between them. With the small rock wall behind them and the fire between them and the sea before them, it was quite cozy. She and her David, practically alone in the world.
Matilda Southward, second daughter of the most righteous Vicar Southward, linked arms with her sister, Lila, as they set along the path toward the local ruins. It was quite a perfect autumn day, and Tilly was glad to finally be free of the Pugmire sisters, whom Father forced them to visit on a weekly basis. The sun beat down upon her bonnet while the cool winds kissed her cheeks. There was nothing but blue sky above, and brightly colored trees ahead of them, practically lighting their way toward town.
Seeing the trees made her think of their cousin, as she was prone to painting them quite often, especially in the fall when their leaves were ever-changing.
“I think Anna is keeping something from us,” she said to Lila, knitting her brow into a frown.
“Keeping something from us? What are you talking about?”
Tilly shrugged. “It’s just a feeling. There was something different about her at dinner last night. Didn’t you notice?”
Lila shook her head, so Tilly pressed.
“It’s like she has a secret of some sort. She had a sly little smile like there was something going on.”
“Could just be your imagination,” Lila replied, drawing her wrap up and over her free shoulder.
It wasn’t. Tilly was certain there was something afoot. Something that their cousin was trying to hide from them. “Why would I imagine Anna is keeping a secret from us?”
Lila shrugged. “To give you something to think about. Something other than visiting the Pugmires or sitting through Papa’s sermons.”
Tilly rolled her eyes. Though she despised both those things, this was an entirely different matter altogether. “It’s not my imagination. You just didn’t notice because you’re quite singularly focused on a certain lord who’s taken up residence in a certain haunted castle.”
Lila stopped suddenly, causing Tilly to stumble backward. “You don’t think anyone else noticed that, do you?”
Laughter bubbled inside of Tilly. “Papa would never notice something like that and, as I said, there was something different about Anna last night. I doubt she noticed anything at all.”
Lila’s shoulders relaxed and she once again linked arms with Tilly. “Poor Tilly,” she said. “The only one without her head somewhere in the clouds. Must be terribly lonely.”
Tilly laughed again. “Tell me again about Lord Quentin. I want to hear every last detail before meeting your paragon.”
A loud sigh escaped Lila’s pink lips. “He’s so charming, Tilly. The self-described ‘fun one’ in comparison to Lord Bradenham.” She gave a chuckle, her thoughts clearly far away from here. “He’s quick-witted, honest, gregarious, and…” she leaned in to whisper as they approached their destination, “…by far, the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”
Tilly looked up to see two gentlemen standing near a crumbling piece of castle. They were both quite handsome and, having never seen Lila’s Lord Quentin, she wasn’t sure which one she was supposed to be enamored of. “Truly worthy of a sonnet or two, isn’t he?” she said vaguely, knowing the statement could be true of either gentleman.
Lila nodded. “Or a dozen at least.”
“Oh!” A pretty blonde girl appeared in view, and she waved her hands about in the air. “Lila, you made it!”
It was then that one of the gentlemen—the one with the lighter hair—turned to them, his focus immediately homing in on Lila. So that was her Lord Quentin. Then who, Tilly wondered, was the other gentleman?
Sidney watched with great interest as the two Southward sisters approached. The eldest sister was quite familiar to him, as she’d been an integral part of last year’s events at the castle. The other, however…
Goodness. He’d seen her in passing a couple of times last year, but he’d been so caught up, he’d not really seen her. Or perhaps something had happened to her in the past twelve months…something exceedingly wonderful. Even from this distance, he could see her shimmering blue eyes, and that rich, dark hair, the color of molasses, and perhaps just as thick. What would it look like if she let it tumble about her shoulders?
“I suppose we ought to go and greet the ladies,” he said, gathering his wits about him, unlike his companion who seemed completely lost in a trance.
“Ah, Miss Southward.” Sidney stepped toward the sisters, attempting his usual charming smile, but feeling as if he might be failing somehow. “How lovely it is to see you again.” He lifted Miss Southward’s hand to his mouth and kissed the air just above it.
“Mr. Garrick, my sister Matilda Southward,” Miss Southward said softly, withdrawing her hand.
Sidney gladly shifted his gaze to the younger of the two sisters. His heart seized, and he suddenly found the air slightly oppressive. Yet he still managed to say, “Miss Matilda, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Miss Matilda,” Quent echoed, but then he turned back to the elder sister. “Miss Southward, I am so glad you were able to join us this morning.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the girl said in a breathy voice that told Sidney she was just as fond of Quent as Quent seemed of her.
“Oh!” One of the triplets ran toward them. “Lila, you’ll have to come sit with us, the men are being particularly unfriendly this morning.”
Miss Southward cast a helpless glance to Quent, so he leaned in to whisper, “Grace is in jonquil, Patience is in pink, and Hope is in green today.”
That would be helpful for Sidney, too. He’d never been able to keep those girls straight. And what did it matter, anyway? They were completely off limits to him, acc
ording to Quent and Braden. Apparently, his reputation with women had ruined his chances. Not that he cared. They were silly, frivolous girls. And while silly and frivolous came in handy at boring parties—he turned to look again at Miss Matilda—it was the more mysterious young ladies who drew his undivided attention.
“Lady Grace, surely you jest,” Miss Southward said. “I can’t imagine Lord Quentin ever being unfriendly.”
Grace laughed. “That just shows how well you must know him.” Then she turned to Miss Matilda, her hand outstretched. “I’m Grace,” she said. “I do hope you and your sister will join us for a stroll among the ruins.”
“I do hate to be called unfriendly,” Sidney said, not at all eager to let Miss Matilda out of his sight so soon. “Mind if I join you?”
Miss Matilda turned to him, and with a bat of her long, black lashes, said, “Please do.”
“This way, then!” Grace linked her arm with Miss Southward’s and then pulled at Miss Matilda’s hand, dragging them both toward Ladies Hope and Patience.
As they began walking, Quent shot him a sidelong scowl.
“What’s the matter with you?” Sidney asked. “Think one of those girls is your angel or something?”
Sidney looked to where Quent’s eyes were focused—on Miss Southward’s hind quarters. “Well, umm, that is…Lila Southward does appear to be the correct height, if my memory is accurate.”
“And Miss Matilda?”
There was a long pause, during which Quent was obviously trying to come up with something to say about Miss Matilda. “You know their father is the local vicar? That dour, priggish vicar who wed Braden and Callie last year.”
Sidney didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Those two lovely girls are his daughters?” Poor girls.
Quent nodded. “Aye.”
“Huh.” A grin spread Sidney’s lips. “I should think those girls should be rescued from such a dull existence then, don’t you agree?”
And then he left Quent in his dust as he hurried to catch up to the ladies, though he heard Quent on his heels only moments later.
“Never?” one of the triplets was saying as Sidney drew nearer.
Lila Southward shook her head. “I’ve been to the castle many times and I’ve never seen anything that seemed supernatural in nature…With the exception of Callie’s disappearance last year, of course.”
“We heard haunting laughter,” another of the girls said.
“Children’s laugher,” yet another clarified. Damn, it was confusing not being able to tell them apart. He’d already forgotten what Quent had said about which girl was wearing which color. “It was quite terrifying.”
“And then some little ghostly child stole my ribbon last night.” Ah, yes. That one was Patience, the most dramatic of them all, according to Quent and Braden.
“Mrs. Small said the thing would turn up,” Quent said, his heavy sigh giving away his exasperation. “And if it doesn’t, I’ll get you another one if you promise to stop talking about it.”
The triplet in jonquil looked to Miss Southward, and said, “See? Decidedly unfriendly this morning.”
Sidney stifled his laughter when he caught sight of Quent’s face.
“We haven’t yet opened the basket Cook prepared,” Quent said, deftly changing the subject, “if anyone is hungry.”
“Practically famished,” Sidney replied. “Let’s do have a bit of something before we explore further.” Then, eager to be nearer to Miss Matilda—and to irk Quent as much as possible—Sidney squeezed between the Southward sisters and offered his arms. “Shall we?”
“Thank you, Mr. Garrick.” Matilda Southward tilted her head up to look at him, a most peculiar smile on her face. Peculiar for a young, innocent miss, that was. Not so peculiar for a more experienced, worldly woman. It piqued Sidney’s interest even more than before, but he’d have to explore that later. For now, they had a picnic to devour.
He led the ladies to the large blanket laid out in the middle of the field, making small talk about the most recent horse races at Newmarket along the way, and promptly took the spot next to Miss Matilda.
Quent, clearly wanting to stake his claim, said to Lila Southward, “Might I join you?” At which Sidney stifled a laughed. It was great fun to tease his friend.
“Of course, my lord,” Miss Southward said as Quent lowered himself to the blanket beside her. “Mr. Garrick was just telling us how well you both did at Newmarket this last month.”
Sidney grinned. It wasn’t the entire truth. He had done quite well on the circuit, while Quent’s teams had struggled. But Sidney saw no need to embarrass his friend. The ladies would never know they hadn’t both done well at Newmarket.
Quent shot him a scathing look, however, and bit out, “How very kind of him. Such a wonderful friend Mr. Garrick is.”
The bloody prig. He thought Sidney meant to embarrass him, when his intentions were entirely honorable. “I am one of the best you could have,” Sidney bit back, annoyed that his friend didn’t appreciate his little white lie.
If Sidney weren’t so very interested in the younger of the sisters, he might actually contemplate torturing Quent by pursuing the elder Miss Southward, just to spite him.
“Miss Matilda,” he said, changing the subject. “Would you care to show me about the ruins? I would very much enjoy learning about the ancient Romans.”
There it was. That cunning little smile again. The one that sent his member jumping beneath his trousers, blast her.
She was on her feet without a word, and Sidney gladly followed, not bothering to spare even a backward glance for the rest of the party.
As Garrick led Miss Matilda out towards the ruins, Quent breathed a small sigh of relief. At least his friend hadn’t locked his sights on Lila, which was nothing short of a miracle. After all she put Venus de Milo, the Mona Lisa, and every Botticelli beauty quite to shame. She could distract a saint. And though Quent was far from a saint, he had to remind himself that no matter how distracting Lila Southward was, he hadn’t come back to Ravenglass for her. Still, he’d hate for Garrick to turn his charm on the girl. As things were, he probably should be worried about Miss Matil—
Why the devil were his sisters, all three of them, looking at him like that? Right across the blanket from Quent and Lila, the triplets were each eyeing him as though he was some foreign specimen they’d never seen before. “What’s wrong with you?” He frowned at the trio.
“Nothing,” Hope said cheerfully. “Just watching you.”
He could see that. It was unnerving. “Well, stop.”
Grace rolled her eyes as she pushed off the blanket back to her feet. “Decidedly unfriendly,” she muttered under her breath.
“Come on,” Patience began. “I’m not very hungry anyway. Let’s explore a bit more.”
Quent wasn’t very hungry either, but if everyone was going to explore the ruins and not sit across from him and Lila, he wasn’t going to stop them. And he certainly wasn’t going to join them.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with them all of a sudden.”
“They seem to adore you.”
“They seem to have lost their minds. Last night there was nearly a row over a ribbon.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “I don’t imagine you and Miss Matilda scream and rant over ribbons, do you?”
The prettiest smile stretched across her lips. “We barely whisper at home for fear of angering Papa.”
Was she serious? The vicar really was the worst sort of prig. “He won’t let you speak at normal levels?” What the devil was wrong with the man? As much as he hated to admit that Garrick was right, someone did need to rescue the Southward girls. If only…
“He needs it to be quiet so he can work on his sermon.” She shrugged slightly. “When there are many words, transgression is unavoidable. But he who restrains his lips is wise.”
He blinked at her. “I beg your pardon.”
“It’s from Proverbs. It’s one of Papa’s favorites.”
/> Quent couldn’t remember the last time he stepped foot in a church. He certainly didn’t have biblical verses committed to memory. Still…“I may have to learn that one for the next time there’s a row over hair ribbons.”
When she laughed, his heart expanded and Quent wished that he could be the one to rescue her.
Tilly wasn’t usually so daring or mysterious, but something about this man made her feel…well, both of those things. She’d always been the obedient one, the one who caused the least amount of trouble for Papa, while Lila was fending off suitors and Anna was running about the countryside doing “the Devil’s work,” or, as most people called it, art. If only she would sketch Jesus upon the cross, Papa would be much more amenable to her hobby. But she sketched nature, as if she worshipped it. Only being his niece and not his daughter, Papa was slightly more lenient with her.
“A lovely day, isn’t it?” Mr. Garrick asked, coming up beside her as they trekked across the vast green field. The wind picked up his golden locks, making them shimmer in the sunlight.
“I thought you wished to talk about the Romans, Mr. Garrick, not the weather,” she teased. Goodness, she wasn’t normally a flirt, but Mr. Garrick simply brought it out in her.
“All right then,” he said, gesturing ahead. “Tell me about this one.” They approached a cluster of crumbling walls, which Tilly had no clue about. Though in her current state of daring, she decided to make something up.
“This, if I remember correctly, was…a bedchamber.” Heat crept into her cheeks, and her heart raced, but a little thrill chased down her spine.
“A bedchamber?” Mr. Garrick’s sparkling green eyes widened in surprise as he turned to look at her. “How surprising. I thought bedchambers were typically…” He glanced toward the sky. “…higher up.”
Hmm. She hadn’t considered the logistics when she’d made up the lie. “Well,” she stuttered, “That’s only what I’ve been told, Mr. Garrick. Perhaps it was a servant’s chamber.”
“A young, impoverished miss, forced into a life of indentured servitude…”
