by Carol Arens
‘Were they rescued?’
‘Fortunately, yes. The problem is that the damage to the bridge was done maliciously. The estate manager is worried because such behaviour is uncommon in the area.’ His expression grew sober. ‘It might as easily have been children falling in. I really must attend to the problem.’
As alarming as that was, it did not mean she could set her life aside and flit merrily away. What would that mean to Victor?
All right, her son would be delirious with joy over the trip.
‘I would take it as a great kindness if you would come along—to keep me on my studies.’
He reached across the table, cupped her hand in his, then winked.
‘Dance as though you will never trip and fall,’ a small voice in her mind suggested. If the voice was in her mind it would know that she had not adopted the adage, only considered it.
‘Can we not study when you return?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m a slow learner.’
‘Only when you do not wish to do something. Otherwise you are quite accomplished.’
Oh! Her hand! It was still lying quite contently in the cowboy’s rough fingers.
Something was very wrong. She had certainly not chosen to leave it there. She did, however, choose to yank it back.
‘Think of Roselina. She needs for me to present a good face.’
He tipped back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest while regarding her with a teasing quirk tugging the corners of his mouth. She was glad to see it, given how, under his brave face, she knew him to be deeply mourning.
And that right there, the enticing expression, was reason enough she should not go with him. The man was as tempting as a second helping of cake. Worse—as tempting as a kiss in the rain.
If she were not careful, she would actually adopt her new adage. Possibly his adage, too.
Before she knew it she would be looking for the good while in the act of tripping and falling.
‘I’ve no doubt you will behave no matter where I am.’
He plunked the chair legs down on the floor. The humorous cajoling of his expression sobered.
‘You must come with me, Olivia. Everything else aside, I will not leave you here to deal with Waverly on your own.’
‘I am capable of fending him off, quite capable.’
Although, looking back, she had not been doing a great job of it in the Duchess’s garden.
Indeed, every time the man had given up pursuit of her it was because Joe had been present to scare him away. Her sharp tongue was not much of a weapon against one such as the Marquess.
No, from all she could tell, it only increased his desire to have her.
When she thought about it, she would be much safer going to Haversmere. Which in turn meant that Victor would be safer.
So then—her choice seemed to be to instruct a handsome cowboy in the art of courtly behaviour or to fend off a drooling lecher.
She considered her potential adage. Whatever she did she risked falling. All things considered, she would rather fall into Joe’s arms than into the Marquess’s clutches.
‘Will you come?’ he asked, leaning across the small table, resting his weight on his elbows.
He wanted to kiss her. She felt it humming in the air between them. She wanted it, too.
She stood up suddenly because if any time was right to learn to resist this man, it was this one.
If she could not, then she had no hope of it, no matter where he went or she did not.
‘I’m sorry, Joe. I cannot possibly.’
He caught her hand when she would have walked away.
‘Olivia?’ His voice was a kiss—to her ears, to her heart.
His gaze held her while she took a step back, freeing her fingers. Oh, but she was not free. How could she be when he continued to kiss her with those exquisitely tender green-brown eyes?
‘Come, Olivia, I need you.’
* * *
Sitting in her mother’s chair, Olivia poked her needle into the embroidered petal of a flower and listened to wind rattle the shutter outside the window. It was a lucky thing she did not stab her finger for all the attention she was paying to the task.
‘What were you thinking?’ she said, to the chamber apparently, since she was the only one sitting here in the soft glow of lamplight.
Certainly, she was not thinking anything she ought to have been. And they were not thoughts as much as images in her mind. They flashed behind her eyes one after another like a penny slide show.
Oh, there she was taking a lovely stroll with Joe along the banks of Grasmere Lake. And there they were walking hand in hand on a vigorous hike in the fells. No matter what happened, she was not going to kiss him while standing on the peak, gazing at the majestic view below—probably not at least.
From all she had heard, the Lake District was among the most beautiful places in all of England.
Although, it was also very rainy.
Olivia had no intention of finding out for herself, but if she did change her mind, she would need to bring Miss Hopp.
What was to say Miss Hopp would be willing?
Joe had been correct in saying he needed to learn to behave. Although it was not behave as much as repress the wild charm that made her—oh, for goodness sake, he really did need to learn to withhold that wink.
For Roselina’s sake.
The sweet girl needed the boon of a dozen beaux to select a husband from. It would not do for her to fall into the false embrace of the first dandy to—ah, but it was not Roselina’s folly on her mind, it was her own.
No doubt she ought to go north if only to guide Roselina in her decision. She had her mother, of course, but the lady was as new to society as her daughter was.
For their sakes, she ought to give the offer serious thought.
But then, perhaps Miss Hopp did not enjoy rain.
Indeed, would she not be endlessly drying out Victor’s shoes and stockings? And they would be wet since he would find endless pleasure attempting to ride grazing sheep no matter the weather.
‘Ouch!’ Poking a needle in her finger could be a sign that she should not go—a warning of—
Of finding pleasure in a man’s arms—in Joe Steton’s arms to be precise?
Everything going on in her mind was second to this.
Joe had spoken of becoming bitter—that he was choosing not to. In spite of all that had happened to him, he was able to smile.
For a very long time after her husband’s death and the discovery of his faithlessness, she had not smiled at anyone, with the exception of her baby.
Setting her handiwork aside, she sucked on her pricked finger while looking down at the garden.
Perhaps the warning of the needle had been about closing herself off, allowing her heart to decay.
Bushes lashed about below, making the shadows appear eerie. There was a gate at each end of the garden, but neither one of them was locked.
Joe had been correct to caution her about the Marquess. The fact that she had thwarted his advances did make him all the more eager to press them. While it was true that he had not accosted her recently, he would. It was how he pursued his prey—attack and retreat—time and time again. She had seen him do it to other widows.
Were she to take Victor to Haversmere she would not need to be constantly looking over her shoulder. Perhaps by the time they returned, the cad’s attentions would be settled on some other widow.
She took her finger out of her mouth, the prick only a small red dot on the tip of her finger.
A movement that was not a thrashing shrub caught her attention.
Sir Bristle dashed across the garden, following what appeared to be a ball. Joe walked after the dog. Even from here she could see his slumped shoulders. He must be struggling to walk his hopeful path.<
br />
It was late for a game of fetch, but not, she decided, too late to join them in the game.
She caught her coat off the rack and hurried downstairs.
Joe stood at the fountain with his back to her, staring at the blowing spray of water. The moan of wind over the stone path muffled the tread of her steps.
Sir Bristle noticed her and bounded forward with the ball in his mouth, his great tail wagging joyfully.
When Joe turned he was smiling, although she was certain he had not been doing it a second ago.
‘It’s awfully dark and windy to be outside,’ he commented.
‘And yet here you are.’
He took the ball from Sir Bristle and threw it. ‘Dog needed exercise.’
And Joe needed time to think, to deal with his heartache.
What an admirable man he was, to stand there and smile at her—to follow a path he did not want to travel and yet do it with such courage.
Olivia had not been courageous in her trial. She had folded up on herself, stuffed away life’s joy as if she were packing a trunk which she then slammed and locked.
What she was beginning to suspect was that Victor’s cowboy had the key to her trunk and was prying at the lock.
All of a sudden she wanted to push the lid open and burst out of her trunk, to laugh out loud, to twirl and sing.
To dance as if she had no fear of falling.
‘I’ve come out into the dark and the wind because I want to ask you a question.’
‘Shall we sit?’ He indicated a bench with a sweep of his hand.
She shook her head. The temperature was falling quickly and she had only brought her light coat.
‘Joe, do you know how to dance?’
‘Does a frog know how to fly?’
She laughed out loud and it felt so very good.
‘Truly? You do not know any dances?’
He shook his head, his lustrous hair tossed madly in the wind.
‘All I do is stomp about. Roselina says ladies hide when they see me coming.’
‘This is a problem, a severe one. Did you know it is required of a gentleman, to be proficient at dancing? Why, it is bad mannered to attend a ball not having the skill.’
‘I’m afraid then that my sister and my mother will be put to utter shame.’ He shrugged, tossing the ball to the dog again. ‘Unless someone teaches me before the Duchess’s gala I will appear a disgrace.’
He was smiling when he said it so she could not help but return the warmth. And it was warmth—delightful and very wonderful.
‘It appears that I must go north with you, then. I would not see your sister’s suitors scattered to the wind on your account. When shall I be ready to travel?’
‘Will the day after tomorrow be too soon?’
‘No. I’ll make arrangements.’
Now that she had made her decision she felt good about it. But more than good, really—she felt giddy, all bubbly inside with anticipation.
She could not recall the last time she had felt this way. It had certainly been before her marriage.
‘Goodnight, then,’ she said to Joe because he just stood there, coat lapels flapping nosily against his shirt while he stared at her.
She turned to go back inside, but he caught her hand. It felt so very solid and warm wrapped around hers.
‘Thank you.’ Rather than letting go of her, he drew her in, slowly, giving her time to resist the coming kiss if she chose to.
Well, she did not choose to—not this time.
He placed their joined hands behind her back, drew her so close that there was not even a breath between them.
‘You will not be sorry, I promise.’ His mouth lowered, but she rose up on her toes to meet him.
Wind tugged them, snapped her skirt and his coat. The thud of Sir Bristle’s ball hit the stones near her skirt.
Cowboy Joe gave her a fever, a chill—an assurance that no matter what, as long as she stood here in the circle of his arm she would not fall.
His mouth left her, but slowly. ‘I look forward to learning everything you have to teach me.’
‘About dancing?’
He nodded, released her hand, let his arms fall away from her.
‘The most important thing is to not step on your partner’s skirt. It would not do to let her trip and fall.’
‘Better get back inside, darlin’. You are starting to shiver.’
She was. But it was not caused by the cold wind alone.
Nodding, she turned away and hurried back towards the house.
‘Olivia?’
She stopped, glanced back over her shoulder.
‘I won’t let you fall.’
‘I know,’ she murmured, then hurried on her way.
Going through the dark garden room, she found that she was excited to tell Victor of their coming adventure.
No doubt, in his joy, he would dash about whooping like a cowboy.
But what she hoped above all things was that she would not whoop about with him—as eager for a spot of fun as he was.
Just because she had unpacked her miserable old emotional trunk did not mean she could leap about laughing.
She was a mother, a woman of great responsibility. And yet, there was that young girl inside her, tentatively swishing her skirts and feeling free for the first time in years.
What harm could it do to let her frolic for a bit? Tomorrow would be soon enough to pick up her mantle of responsibility.
Tonight she was going to visit the girl she used to be.
Chapter Eleven
Haversmere
It had been full dark when Haversmere Manor came into view. From a distance, moonlight reflecting off the aged stones had made it stand out against the dark surrounds. To Joe it had seemed like a soft grey pearl shimmering in night.
Rising, swirling mist gave it an enchanted feel.
Everyone had been asleep except for Joe, Olivia and the driver.
Not wishing to awake the rest of the party, he had not said anything. Olivia nodded at the house and smiled at him. Although, after enduring such a long trip, she might smile at any place offering a bed.
The housekeeper and the butler must have heard the carriage wheels on the driveway because they had hurried down the manor steps and ushered everyone inside.
Naturally, they had been expecting Pa. It was a hard thing to have to give them the news, to listen to their quiet weeping.
It brought back his own tears and Roselina’s—even Ma’s—although he had not seen her shed many.
Grief was not something one got over all at once. He thought maybe you never did get over it completely, not until you were reunited with your loved one on the other side of life.
It was that thought which gave him the courage to smile and think forward rather than behind.
Coming inside the house last night, he had hoped to feel some sense of home. It had been at one time. No doubt he had been happy here.
All he had felt was relief to get a bite to eat and then to fall on the bed in the master’s chamber.
Surprisingly, he’d slept well, then risen before dawn eager to explore Haversmere.
On his way outside he’d heard a bit of noise coming from what must be the kitchen, but other than that the house was silent.
It wasn’t light enough yet to see things as more than the dark blurs of trees and the lighter shade of the path that led from the house to—he did not know where to—but he was about to find out.
He heard rushing water. River Rothay, Pa had said. It sounded cold and fast. Not at all like the slow meander of the Cheyenne River that cut through the property back—not back home—not any longer.
Pa used to talk about this river, how he loved the fresh sound of it and how many large brown trout he had fished from it.
Joe wondered if it was so different from fishing on the ranch. No doubt it was since everything about Great Britain was different than Wyoming.
Please, let something feel familiar. He was pretty sure that had been a prayer.
If he could recall the smallest thing, it might make it easier to call this place home. In order to best serve the people living and working here, he needed find a bond with the land.
He wanted a sense of belonging to a place. That it was his to care for in a way more than simply what his new title required of him. He’d had that feel for the land in Wyoming, perhaps he could have it here as well.
The closer he got to the river the more clearly he heard the flow of swift water. It was the only sound at this time of morning. Whatever night creatures lived here were already abed for the day and the birds had not yet risen.
He crossed a stone bridge, watching the dark water rush under it, then away towards Grasmere. Some niggling feeling of familiarity poked at his heart, but not so strongly as to call it a memory.
If he could summon a memory or two, it might make it easier to settle in.
Only a flash of something from his very young life might make him feel like he belonged here.
Since he had been only three years old when he left he did not expect to remember much—but anything would help him.
Stepping off the bridge, he spotted a large red structure with sunlight beginning to graze the peak of the roof.
The shearing barn! Somehow he knew what it was. Beside it, only a hundred yards to the east, was the barn that housed the estate horses.
That was a start, he supposed. Perhaps memory would build upon memory and Haversmere would come to feel like home.
Walking past the sheep barn, then across the meadow, he looked forward to visiting the horses on the way back.
Far in the distance he spotted a few campfires. Shepherds keeping warm in the early morning chill, he guessed. While he walked along through fresh-smelling grass, the campfires went out one by one. Sunshine rose over land more green and lush looking than any he had ever seen.
All of a sudden he had a sensation of rolling in the meadow, of grass tickling his nose. It might be a memory, but then it was so vague, it might also be something he longed to do in the here and now.
