“I would love to take a turn around the garden with you. Would it be alright if Aunt Emily joined us? For propriety's sake, of course.”
Robin exchanged a secret smile with Miss Weaver. He hoped she remembered what his true intentions were, and he hoped she took him seriously. “I would be more than honoured by her company.”
Together, the three of them ventured into the garden. Emily stayed a step behind them, much to Robin's dismay.
“I've always been very fond of flowers,” Harriet said. She reached toward a patch of peonies, caressing their silken petals with her fingertips. “Perhaps I should impress you on my knowledge of them? For some time, I was obsessed with the language of flowers. The next time you give a flower to a lady, you will know exactly what they mean to say.”
“Enlighten me, Miss Dawson.” He quickly turned around, stealing a brief glimpse of the woman trailing behind them.
“A bluebell,” she began, motioning toward the flower in question, “is for constancy and steadfast love.”
“A pleasant sentiment.”
“A daisy is for gentleness and innocence. Oftentimes, different colors mean something different. For example, a white lilac is something you would give to your first love.” Harriet plucked a white lily and tucked it in her bonnet. “A white lily, of course, is for purity.”
“What about a red tulip?” Robin asked, remembering it was the flower he had presented to Miss Weaver.
“A red tulip? Hmm. I believe that would be a declaration of love, Mr. Cockburn.”
“I... see.”
“A sunflower is for devotion. A geranium is for friendship...”
Emily thought she heard something that sounded like a suppressed yawn from Mr. Cockburn, and for some reason, it pleased her.
“Your knowledge of flowers is indeed very impressive, Miss Dawson.”
“And my knowledge of gemstones is equally vast. Did you know every jewel has a meaning as well?”
Emily spoke up, “Perhaps, my dear, we could save it for another time?”
“Perhaps, Em, you should not speak on behalf of Mr.... eeeeep!” Suddenly, Harriet yelped and dashed away. “A bee! A bee is chasing me!”
“Oh, Harriet...” her aunt expelled an exasperated sigh. “I am sure it wasn't chasing you.”
“Did you see it? It was enormous! And I'm quite certain its pursuit of me was steeped in murderous intent!”
“Actually, Miss Dawson, the bee in question will only attack if it feels threatened,” Robin tried to assure her.
“I feel threatened!” Harriet tiptoed along the path, cautiously approaching her companions and the bee's last location. “I felt threatened the moment I heard buzzing! I am sorry for the unladylike display, but I am deathly afraid of anything that can sting.”
“Should we retire from the garden?” Emily asked. “There are many bees about, and I would not want my niece to suffer an apoplexy.”
“Perhaps we could go for a ride?” Robin suggested.
Though he directed the question at Emily, it was Harriet who answered first. “Hm. I think not. To be honest, my experience with horses hasn't been altogether favorable.”
“Then... perhaps another time?”
“Actually, Mr. Cockburn,” Emily spoke up, “I would be more than happy to join you on a short ride, if you would have my company.”
“And I will politely excuse myself.” As she walked away, Harriet wagged a finger at Robin. “As for you, Mr. Cockburn, remember to treat my aunt with the utmost kindness, or you will be forced to face my wrath!”
“I am always a gentleman, I assure you.” As soon as Harriet was gone, he turned to Emily. “Are you sure we should be alone? I would not want your reputation--”
She interrupted with a sharp snicker. “My reputation? Goodness... surely I don't need to worry about such a thing! Young ladies who intend to marry should mind their reputations. Seeing as I am not young nor will I ever marry, it is no longer a concern of mine.”
“So you say, Miss Weaver.”
Emily headed toward the stables and motioned for him to follow. “I should warn you... at present, we are without a groom. Our groom is quite old and he's recently taken ill.”
“I'm sorry to hear it.”
“So we have to saddle the horses ourselves.” As she approached her horse's stall, she said, “If you will, stand beside the door, Mr. Cockburn. That door is a bit of a nuisance. If it closes, it has a tendency to lock and latch from the outside.”
He caught the door with his foot. “Trapping you inside?”
She nodded.
“Has that happened to you before?”
“Once, my sister and I were trapped inside for several hours.”
“That sounds awful.”
Emily prepared two horses—a speckled gray and a bay—for riding. “It happened several years ago, so I can laugh about it now. It was quite the story to tell.” She handed him the reins to the handsome bay. “Nowadays, though it pains me to say it, my sister and I spend very little time together.”
“How unfortunate.” He led his horse outside and mounted it swiftly. His agility was a miracle, considering his usual propensity for clumsiness. “I, better than anyone, know the importance of a relationship with one's siblings.” When he saw her climbing into her sidesaddle, he gasped. “Oh! How thoughtless of me! I should have helped you onto your horse!”
“It's quite alright. I'm perfectly capable of mounting my horse on my own.”
“Still... I am a poor excuse for a gentleman.”
“Pray, do not be so hard on yourself, Mr. Cockburn. You are very much a gentleman. If you weren't a gentleman, I would not be riding with you right now. I am a wonderful judge of character, I assure you.”
They coaxed their horses into an identical trot and headed into the lush green fields beyond the country manor. Emily closed her eyes and filled her lungs with the freshness of the air. She felt invigorated, renewed.
“So...” Emily swiped a few black tendrils from her forehead as she turned in his direction, “I am sure you've wondered why I never married. Even if you've been too kind to ask, it is often the first question that lingers on one's mind.”
“I... I suppose I... b-but I don't want--”
His coyness made her chuckle. “I was waiting for a proposal from a childhood friend, but the proposal never came. He is still a bachelor, and I am now a spinster... but contentedly so. I am quite happy with my lot in life. However, I am sure my sister's husband would love to be rid of me. I have been living under their roof for ages.”
“I am sure Miss Dawson is happy to have you there.”
“True. My sister and I have grown apart, but Harriet has filled the void. Now she is like a sister to me, and I continue to act like a woman half my age.” Chuckling, Emily leaned forward and stroked her horse's mane. “I am a bit disappointed in her behavior, as of late.”
“How so?”
“Harriet has been very headstrong and opinionated... though I am not one to cast judgment. I have many faults of my own.”
You are perfect, Robin's thoughts countered hers. “Do you think you would ever marry... if such an opportunity presented itself?”
“Doubtful.” Emily's answer was so quickly given, and it made his heart sink. “As I said, I am content with my lot in life. So... the circumstances would have to be very special.”
Her last words gave him a small amount of hope. “You are a very pretty woman, Miss Weaver. Any man would be lucky to have you.” Robin's hands trembled as he delivered the compliment, so he gripped his horse's reins a bit tighter.
“Pretty? Oh, pish-posh.” She dismissed the compliment with an indolent flick of her hand. “I suppose that's disregarding the lines around my eyes and mouth? Wrinkles fare much better on a man's face, for they make him look wise and mature. On a woman's face, she simply looks ancient.”
“There are no wrinkles on your face, Miss Weaver,” Robin protested. “None that I can see.”
“Wel
l... you are too kind.”
They halted their horses near a stream, where Robin's bay dipped his head for a drink. Emily closed her eyes and breathed the air, filling her nostrils with the scent of fresh green grass and wildflowers.
When her eyes were closed, Robin took a moment to study her. He stared at her pink lips, which were plump and moist and supple. He studied her neck, milk-white and faultless, and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her there. His bespectacled gaze even trailed to her chest, albeit briefly, and he chided himself for letting them drift there.
After her moment of respite, Emily opened her eyes and asked, “Should we return? I wouldn't want to stay gone too long, or my sister might reprimand me for leaving on my own. Can you believe that? At my age? I need no chaperone, not when I am my own niece's chaperone.”
Robin turned his horse around and matched Emily's speed. Conversation was sparse, and when they reached the stables, he quickly dismounted and handed his horse to Emily. For some reason, he was blue-deviled. Was it her unwillingness to marry that had saddened him? Or was it her unending desire to believe the worst about herself?
He was so deep in thought, he forgot about the stable door.
It closed.
Latched. Locked.
When she realized what had happened, Emily deposited the horses in their appropriate stalls and ran to the door. She shoved it and shouldered it, but it would not budge. “Oh... dear,” she sighed, trying to keep the panic from her eyes as she turned to face him. “I believe we might be trapped.”
Chapter Five
“I am so, so sorry, Miss Weaver.” Robin apologized for the tenth time within the hour. “So, so very sorry.”
“It's... quite alright,” her tongue rebelled against the words. How could he be so careless?! “I only hope we are not trapped in here for the remainder of the night.”
“Do you think that could happen?”
“It's... possible, I suppose.”
“But wouldn't your family want to search for you?” Robin asked. “I am sure Harriet would wonder where you are?”
“Possibly... assuming she isn't too engrossed in writing her poetry to Mr. Turnbull.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Emily regretted them. “Oh, I... perhaps I shouldn't have told you that.”
“It doesn't bother me,” Robin said. “I believe I've made myself quite clear. I am more interested in you than Miss Dawson.”
Emily did not know what to say to that, so she simply sighed and shook her head.
Silence pervaded the room, and then--
“I am so terribly sorry, Miss Weaver.”
“Please, you needn't keep apologizing. It was an honest mistake.”
“Should we attempt to cry for help again?”
They had spent the first ten minutes of their imprisonment wailing for a savior, but the savior never came. “No. I don't think that would work. But... oh, I do hope we aren't trapped here overnight! I believe the sun has already started its descent.”
“Has it?” Robin frowned. “I feel awful. Being trapped overnight with a man would do irreparable damage to your reputation. I suppose we would have to marry.” In a way, he hoped such a scenario would come to pass, because he did not think she would accept a proposal for any reason but necessity.
“Surely it would not come to that.”
“Perhaps not.” Robin closed his eyes for a few seconds, imaging her as his wife. Her kisses would be for him. He would be free to embrace her, to hold her, to adore her. Her ebony hair would be splayed across a pillow, and he--
“Mr. Cockburn?”
Her voice promptly ended his reverie. “Hmm?”
“I was just thinking it could stand to smell more pleasant in here,” Emily said, frowning. “But I suppose nothing can be done to remedy that.”
“We are in a stable.”
“Indeed.”
“And horses, as delightful as they are... they are hardly the most fragrant of beasts.”
“No, they are certainly not!” Emily laughed. She wrapped her arms around her body, hugging herself. She wished she had a shawl, or a pelisse—something to protect her body from the impending chill of the night.
“Are you alright, Miss Weaver?”
She lifted her chin and lied. “Yes. Quite.”
“Are you sure? You're shivering.”
“Well, it has gotten a bit... cold, I suppose. But it's nothing to fuss about.”
“Oh no. And it's my fault! I'm so very sorry!” he apologized for the dozenth time. Robin shrugged off his greatcoat and took a step in her direction. “Here.”
“Oh, I--” He was in shirtsleeves, and that fact formed a lump in her throat. “I couldn't possibly...”
“But I insist.” He wagged the garment in front of her.
“But I... I'm not sure... would that be entirely proper?” As much as she wanted to wrap herself in a garment that had been pressed against the warmth of his body, she needed to protest—or, at the very least, make an attempt at protesting.
“Certain circumstances overrule propriety,” he insisted. “And I can't stand to see you trembling.”
“Oh... very well!” Emily accepted the coat with a wary half-smile. As soon as she had her arms through the sleeves, she immediately felt the difference. She was much warmer.
When Robin backed away from her, she caught herself staring at his body. He had a very boyish face, but the body of a man, and his waistcoat displayed it to perfection. He was tall and broad, with strong hands, impossibly long fingers, wide shoulders, a--
Good god, Emily! She chided herself. Why are you thinking these thoughts about a young man like Robin Cockburn? You should be utterly ashamed!
“My sister will worry.”
Emily was so lost in her scandalous thoughts, she didn't hear him. “Hm?”
“My sister,” he repeated. “If I don't return soon, I know she'll worry about me. I am all she has. And... well, she is all I have, which is why I'm so terrified of--”
Losing her, his mind finished the thought. I am terrified of losing her.
“Well, we mustn't give up hope of a rescue,” Emily said. “I am sure someone will search for us. Surely?”
“You hardly sound convinced.”
“I'm afraid I'm not often at the forefront of my family's thoughts,” Emily confessed. “At times, I believe they might forget my existence.”
“You are always at the forefront of my thoughts,” Robin boldly confessed. But she must have been woolgathering, for she failed to react to his words.
One of the horses was peering over his stall, so Emily went to him and scratched his head. “At least I have the horses for companions,” she said.
“And you have me for a companion. Though I daresay I do not compare to your hoofed friends.
She shook her head at him. “Don't be silly.”
“I'm being perfectly serious. I've always wondered why women seem to have such an aversion to me. My sister seems to think it is a lack of confidence... and I suppose that's plausible. I should also consider the fact that I'm not handsome in the slightest. Perhaps it could be that.”
Emily's mouth fell open as she stared at him. “Is that truly what you think?”
He bowed his head. “It is.”
“Then I cannot protest enough! I happen to think you are very handsome. Boyish, perhaps, but undoubtedly handsome.”
“And perhaps that boyishness is my undoing. I wanted to grow a mustache. I thought it would add some age to my face, but my sister adamantly protested.”
When Emily rested her head against the horse's, he thought she looked adorable. Painfully so.
“I am afraid I will have to agree with your sister. When I think of mustaches, I think of pompous old men.”
“I cannot fault you for being honest,” he said. “It seems as if you are always honest, and I appreciate that. I think you're absolutely delightful, Miss Weaver. I think--”
The door opened before he could finish his thought. At long
last, they were rescued.
“Emily!” Harriet rushed into the stables with her arms extended, “Emily, we were so worried! When you did not come for supper, I feared the worst! Then I remembered you were on a ride with Mr. Cockburn, and for some reason, it made me think of the stables and that horrid latching door!”
“And thank goodness you came to my rescue. I think I was seconds away from going mad!”
“Em?!” Harriet's eyes tripled in size. “What on earth are you wearing?”
“Oh.” Emily removed Robin's greatcoat and promptly handed it back to him. “I was catching a chill, and Mr. Cockburn was generous enough to--”
“We must get you out of here!” Harriet wailed. She wrapped an arm around her aunt's shoulders and proceeded to steer her out of the stables. “You require a change of clothes, a rest, a bath, and a meal.”
Emily glanced over her shoulder, keeping Robin in her gaze as long as she could. She barely had enough time to flash a smile before he disappeared from view.
She was glad the ordeal was over.
And she prayed she would not see messy blonde curls in her dreams that night.
Chapter Six
The very next day, those familiar words were spoken yet again.
“Miss Weaver,” the butler was careful to identify the woman he was addressing. “Mr. Cockburn is here to see you.”
“Oh lord...” Harriet rolled her eyes. “He comes so often, it's practically indecent! Why... he's almost harassing you, Em! After the ordeal he put you through, you should send him on his way!”
“I don't mind his company.”
“You seem to like him far more than I ever did!” Harriet noted. “I am amused by the idea that my former suitor could have such a tendre for my aunt.”
There was something mocking about Harriet's tone, so Emily left the room before her niece could enflame her. Then she went to meet Mr. Cockburn, who greeted her with a smile and an entire fistful of red tulips.
“Good day, Miss Weaver.” As he bowed to her, he held the flowers aloft, and peered at her over the crimson petals. “I hope your spirits have recovered from yesterday's trauma?”
The Spinster's Beau Page 3
