The Peculiar Folly of Long Legged Meg

by Jayne Fresina

  Eventually she said, "How long will you be here then? It can't take too much time to dig a few holes, throw some muck about and make a general mess of the view. Moles manage it well enough and they're blind."

  "My master takes great care with his projects. I could be here for months." He snatched some lilac from her basket and sniffed it. "So there, you see. We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other. I'd like to call you by your name. If you'd permit it, of course."

  She pursed her lips and stared straight ahead, her profile defiant.

  "Otherwise I'll have to make up some other name to call you, shan't I?" he teased. "Sweet Lips or Blue Eyes or Buttercup." As he reached for another bloom, she moved her basket aside, tidying the contents as if they were in some special order he'd disturbed.

  "Call me whatever you like. I shan't have to answer to it, shall I?" She walked on.

  He leapt around in front of her and gave a little bow, one hand to his heart. "Well, my name is Joss, and I will always answer to your call. Very pleased to make your acquaintance. See? If I can do it, you can."

  She licked her bee-stung lips and surveyed him haughtily for a moment. Her long lashes wafted down and then up, languid as if they were heavy. Her eyes, like windows through which he could see an even more glorious spring sky, remained cool.

  "Oh, for pity's sake! Folk call me Persey." And as she gave a grandly mocking curtsey, he was suddenly rendered breathless by a teasing glimpse of rounded bosom, nestled within her muslin bodice and caressed by a transparent white fichu. Again he thought of sporting rabbits, their fluffy, bobbing tails, wide eyes, twitching noses on high alert, ears...pricked. The long, dew-speckled grass, glittering as they dashed through it, leaving a darker trail in their wake.

  "Have you worked for your master long?" she asked, setting off again at her brisk pace.

  "Many—" he caught a breath, as he ducked to avoid hitting his head on the low arch of a rose arbor, "many hard years."

  "Not that many surely. You're too young."

  He laughed. "I am eight and twenty."

  The light dimmed a little under her lashes as she shot him a sideways glance. "Then you are young. I thought so." She shook her head and recounted her flowers.

  "I'm old enough."

  "Old enough for what?" She laughed lightly, dismissively. "Solid foods?"

  Joss stopped her path again, squared his shoulders and rested his knuckles on both hips. "I'll have you know, Persey, I've been in gardens for ten years." That was what he preferred to call it: Being in gardens. Some used the term "landscaping", but he did not care for it. Sounded too grand, when it was really a case of helping nature do her work.

  "An entire ten years," she muttered, sounding amused. "A man of eighteen is barely out of the cradle." There went the lop-sided bend of her lips again.

  And suddenly, there, in the dancing jade shadows of the labyrinth, he knew he would kiss that smirk right off those skeptical lips. Soon. Yes, he was definitely feeling the warmth of Spring in his parts. It happened rarely that a woman caught his notice and never had one captured it quite so zealously.

  "Before that I was a sailor for six years," he said proudly, wanting to impress her.

  "A sailor?" Aha. New interest sparked in her eyes. "Then you've traveled."

  He nodded, sighed and folded his arms. "To many places." That was where he came by some of his ideas for gardens. "Spain, Italy, France, the Canaries, Jamaica—"

  "But you chose to come back and stay here in England. To become a laborer for this man Radcliffe?" She sounded bewildered by that, almost disbelieving.

  "Wanted sturdy, solid ground under my feet." In truth, had had a great many ideas spinning around in his brain and he needed a way to let them out, before he went mad. "A man can find just as much adventure at home as he can by traveling the seas, so I've found."

  Besides, there was no room for creativity in the navy. For some men it was enough to live that way; they liked structure and being under the command of other men. But Joss wanted to smell earth and feel it under his fingertips; he needed the satisfaction of seeing things grow, of planting new trees for birds to nest in, to make new life flourish with the seasons. He loved to see mist in the fields on an autumn morning, to hear dry leaves crackling under his feet and smell that crisp cool air. In the harvest, he relished the sight of great plow horses lumbering along, their big hooves thudding a soothing, steady rhythm across the ground, and men with scythes swinging through the wind-rustled golden wheat. And at night, to hear owls in the trees, was more comfort to him than the motion of a gently rocking ship. There were so many things he'd missed during those six years he spent in the navy.

  "Most men like the freedom of an escape to sea," she muttered, "leaving other responsibilities behind, breaking many a heart."

  "Known a lot of sailors, have you?"

  She said nothing, her lips tight, eyes hidden by another slow sweep of her lashes.

  He unfolded his arms. "Perhaps that's some men. Don't tar us all with the same brush." Did that account for the doubting smirk, he wondered.

  Abruptly she put out her hand and waved him aside so that she could walk on ahead. Her fingertips almost brushed his waistcoat and caused his heart to thump harder still. "And now you prefer to break your back for this garden designer, as he calls himself."

  "It's honest work and meaningful. I like the sense of accomplishment."

  They passed together under a bower of twisted ivy, trained into an arch between the hedges. Halting her steps, she turned her head to look at him. Stippled gold and emerald light painted her face as she considered him thoughtfully. It was a rather critical, demanding perusal that left him feeling ticklish in some interesting places. But he was pleased to see she had an interest in him too. That was encouraging, despite the fact that she didn't expect him to stay long and barely wanted to tell him her name.

  "I suppose you think I'm one of those fellows who takes up with a woman and then drops her company when he gets restless and goes off again. Or when he finishes a job somewhere and must go on to another."

  "I didn't think anything of the sort. We've only just met. Why should I care what you do or where you go next?"

  "Because I'd like us to be friends. Lifelong friends. We shall be. I feel it in my bones."

  "Really?"

  "A premonition, I suppose, you might call it."

  "I've never had one of those. How does that feel?"

  He thought about it for a minute. "It's an ache of sorts. A very...deep...ache."

  "Sounds like growing pains," she replied drily. "I thought you were young, but I didn't realize how young."

  He laughed.

  "I'm sure somebody could find you some horse liniment to rub on it," she added, "should it get worse."

  "I'd rather you did it for me." He grabbed her hand— the one that was not wearing a gauntlet— and turned it over, running a thumb across her warm palm. "Nice soft hands. Could do a tired man a world of good after a day's work in the grounds."

  Her lips wobbled between a smile and another rebuke. She snatched her hand back. "You are a forward and brazen fellow. You must be from London to be so bold with a lady you only just met."

  "I can't help myself," he replied ruefully. "There's something about you that draws me into misbehaving. Besides, a man has to ask or he'll never get. And you should know I don't ask often."

  "I could be taken already. You haven't asked that."

  "Do you have a sweetheart, then?"

  "If I say I do," she replied, "shall it stop your impertinence?"

  "I don't know, Persey. Sometimes I never know what I'll do until I do it." Quite true. At that moment he was utterly without a clue, lost in that labyrinth with her. "Nor can I know what's coming around the corner and likely to knock me off my feet, can I?"

  She looked up at him as the wind teased the leaves above her and blew a cloud across the sky, so that a thin shadow briefly darkened her face. Her eyes, previously blue as Wedgwood p
ottery, now turned clear green like bottle glass. Or a mixture of the two, all tiny broken pieces, stirred together in a mosaic "I have many sweethearts, young sir."

  "Ah."

  "More than I can keep up with, so I've been told. I don't need another."

  He tried to scowl, but looking at her face it was impossible to do anything but smile and hope. "What would they think of you, all alone, showing me this hidden garden, Persey? Would they be jealous?"

  "They'd think naught of it. You're too young to be a rival for my affections."

  "You're wrong about that." She couldn't be much older than him, but there was a saucy gleam in those eyes, a confident spark among the medley of shards, wisdom that came only with certain experience. Some of it sad. "Ought to give me a chance to prove it," he said.

  "Should I?"

  Again he fumbled for the loose end of his stock to wipe his face. "Offer me a kiss, Persey, and then you'll decide you don't need any others."

  "Here in Norfolk, young sir, we don't kiss men we've only just met."

  But her lips enticed with their shape, even when the words they formed tried to dissuade him.

  "Tell me more about your master," she said, walking onward and shaking her head to dispose of a warmer smile that had begun where she, apparently, didn't want it. "And what are these plans he has for Holbrooke?"

  He stepped in her way yet again, forcing her to halt, her basket between them. "Give me that kiss, Persey, and then I'll enlighten you." He yearned for it with a keen edge he'd never felt before.

  "Ha! I wager you don't know his plans. He would not tell you. You're merely an ox to pull his plow. Like all great men I suppose he cracks his whip and you must leap to his orders." She cast him a coy look before squeezing around his body, putting the basket behind her. "Or as far as an ox can leap."

  For that breathless moment her body passed close to his again, her spine arched as she held the basket of flowers behind her back.

  He shook his fingers out, resisting the almighty temptation she presented as she slid by in the tight space of another lattice arch.

  She walked on through the hedges, turning a corner, and after a breath to recover he followed again, watching her hair where it fell in natural waves from an untidy knot high on her head. Flashes of sunlight dotted the wheaten gold as she moved along, so that it seemed as if she was showered with those little sugared comfits he'd seen thrown once at an Italian festival. The pale, clean skin of her neck drew his gaze with thoughts of how it would taste.

  He didn't care about those other bucks; he'd soon chase them off to hunt their doe elsewhere. This one was his.

  Abruptly he laughed at himself. Out loud. Joss had never thought of a woman as a rabbit before. Never felt possessive. Something told him she wouldn't find it flattering. But she was just wary enough, sweet enough, canny enough and lively enough to warrant a good chase such as he'd never given.

  He'd been saving himself for something all these years. And now here she was.

  Chapter Six

  She turned to see what he was laughing at, but there was nothing apparent. Persey touched the back of her hair nervously, wondering if she had something stuck in it— a thistle or beetle.

  "I suppose you want me to ask a third time for a kiss," he said, eyes still smiling. "But I've got my pride. There, I've given up! You're safe from me."

  "Safe? Perhaps I'd believe it if I were born yesterday and naive as a basket of newly hatched chicks. But I, as you can see, am neither."

  She'd have to keep an eye on her two maids at the lodge, she thought with a crisp sigh. They were young and naive enough to be swept away by this roguish charmer. And he was just one of the new men hired. There would be more just like him, brought along to trample the peaceful grounds of Holbrooke with their big feet and...hands.

  Persey had hoped to lure some useful information out of this young man, but then quickly felt herself troubled by his closeness and his vitality. Something about him was not what it seemed at first glance, and she ought to know an imposter when she met one. Yet there was a certain fumbling awkwardness about the man that wouldn't let her simply dismiss him and walk away.

  He folded his arms again and squared his jaw. "I shan't beg you for a kiss, Persey."

  "So you already said."

  "Because I changed my mind about you. Reckon you'd be too much heartache and nuisance for an innocent lad like me."

  She finally let that laugh out then, because he had no idea how much nuisance she could be. Of course he didn't know what he and his master were up against yet.

  The meddlesome old goat.

  Oh, she would show him.

  "Well, this is the secret garden," she said walking briskly through a door in the hedge and into a graveled clearing with three stone benches. On all sides they were now surrounded by clusters of colorful hollyhocks, fox gloves and trained arbors of climbing roses that sought the sunlight above. "Many of these were planted by the second Marchioness of Holbrooke, the grandmother of the current marquess. She was a very keen gardener, so I've been told." She spun around to face him. "I hope your master does not intend to destroy all this hard work. It is, as you see, the work of generations."

  He gave a shrug. "How could I know what Radcliffe intends? As you said—" he gave her an arch look, "—I'm just a lusty great seed ox he hired. Good only for the hard and dirty work."

  "I didn't say you were lusty. Nor did I use the word seed." Nor had she said anything about hard and dirty, but her heart beat thumped away in a rhythm that could certainly be described as such.

  A slow grin teased the new work-hand's lips apart and he unfolded his arms. "It's no good! I cannot tell a lie. I fancied the look of you the moment you ran into me, and I'd like to know you better, Persey."

  It took her breath away for a moment. "Don't beat about the bushes, do you?"

  "Why should I? I'm an honest fellow with honest feelings. Never thought much of pretending."

  No, he'd probably never had need to pretend, she mused. "I think you're a man accustomed to getting your own way, young sir."

  "Well, now..." He stepped closer and raised his hand to her face, his rough fingertip slowly tracing the curve of her lips. "That'll be up to you, Persey, won't it?"

  It felt as if he'd kissed her. Flustered, she stepped away, pulled her hat from her pinafore pocket and stuffed it back on her head, hoping the tattered brim might help hide her heightened color and erect a barrier of sorts between them.

  Now, of course, would be the time to tell him who she was and put him in his place. Clearly she would not get any useful information out of him about his master's plans, so she wasted her time with this masquerade. If this young work-hand knew anything, he was too sly and slippery to tell her, and she had begun to feel distinctly unsettled in his presence. Disadvantaged. Giddier than she was after a few glasses of champagne.

  Oh, no, don't look at his tight, buckskin breeches. Don't, woman! Control yourself! Have you no decorum?

  Not only was he hired to work on the estate and therefore should not even speak to the dowager marchioness unless spoken to, he was also a member of the enemy camp. He had called her a meddlesome old goat. And he was eight years her junior.

  Persey was appalled at herself.

  But when she looked down, avoiding his steady gaze, there were his strong thighs and more. Much more. The hand with which he had dared touch her lips, now hung at his side, the fingers still but not to be mistaken for harmless. There was nowhere safe she could look.

  "I must go back to work," she said, tugging her brim further over her face. "I've stayed talking with you long enough."

  "'Tis a pity you must go so soon."

  "I showed you the hidden garden, as you asked, and now I'll...be in trouble if I stay." All sorts of trouble. "My flowers need water." Oh, didn't they just!

  He swung his hands at his sides and she saw again the chorded muscle of his forearms and that odd marking around his wrist. Persey swallowed hard, her pulse ra
cing.

  Surely it must have been too long since she was last fascinated by a man like this. Physically. Hotly. Suddenly she realized how parched she had become, like the earth after a long summer drought, cracked and brittle.

  "To where do you take the flowers?" he asked, delaying her escape again.

  Somehow she found a voice. "To the dower house."

  "And you leave me here to find my own way out, with not even a kiss?"

  She tipped her head back, one hand on the crown of her straw hat. "I thought you'd decided I'd be a nuisance."

  He looked at her with the deepest, warmest brown eyes she'd ever observed on a man. "I'm contemplating whether you might be worth it."

  It took him long enough, she mused. "While you're ruminating, young man, remember I have too many sweethearts already, as I told you."

  "That's nothing to me, Persey," he said slowly, examining his grimy fingernails and the lilac he'd stolen from her basket. "You'll soon send them off once you realize the truth." And then his gaze met hers again.

  "The truth? Do tell. I am all ears."

  "That I'm all you need. All you'd ever need, I reckon."

  She would have laughed, but he didn't say this in an arrogant way. He spoke quietly and almost shyly, looking from under his dark lashes. Assessing the possibilities. Weighing the danger. Wondering if he chanced his luck too far perhaps.

  "Because you, Persey, are all I want. And...I probably shouldn't tell you that, should I?" His smile was apologetic, uncertain again. "Too soon, I suppose. And now you'll take advantage of me."

  Persey suffered a sudden warm flood of emotion that made her want to run away suddenly— turn tail and flee like a foolish girl who'd burned her fingers while stealing cakes from the kitchen. She should run off and leave him to find his own way back through the maze. She could.

  It was all quite ridiculous that he made her feel this way. He spun her about now without even touching her.

  "I'll show you Radcliffe's plans, if you offer me a kiss, Persey."

  If she told him she was the dowager marchioness that would stop him flirting, to be sure. So why didn't she tell him? "Make up your mind! You said you didn't want one now."