She gave him a wry smile before turning back to the task at hand. One arm held out for balance, she quickly moved to the next rock. “It’s not something I was able to utilize while in London. I feared I’d forget it all. I’m glad to know such useless information is still rattling about in my brain.”
Hefting her art supplies more securely under his arm, he eyed her back as he moved behind her, his steps shadowing hers as she found the driest portion of the stone. “Why wouldn’t you need it in London?”
She was silent so long, he thought she would not answer. Finally they reached the opposite bank. She stopped in the middle of the path and turned to him.
“A gently bred woman is not expected to know such information, much less flaunt it,” she replied with a sad smile.
He frowned. “They don’t allow a woman to speak with an informed mind in London?”
Her lips quirked at the corners, a spark of real amusement seeming to take shape in her eyes before disappearing like mist. “No, they don’t, and any woman that dares would be labeled a bluestocking. Sir Alfred Hartley’s only daughter would never be labeled as such.”
His stomach clenched. That her own father would refuse to allow her to speak with any semblance of intelligence was a ridiculous notion. Yet he could see from the solemn surety on her face that it was only too true.
“Well,” he said, “you don’t have to worry about such antiquated ways of thinking with me.”
Her face lightened at that, the delicate features transforming. And he nearly lost his breath.
Blinking to break the spell her smile had cast on him, he cleared his throat and indicated the path. “Shall we?”
Her cheeks flushed with color. “Of course.”
They walked on together, following the meandering path up. “But you haven’t told me how you attained your knowledge,” he pressed, desperate to fill the silence and distract himself from his acute awareness of her at his side.
“You may have noticed that Lady Tesh has a deep interest in the history of the Isle.”
“One might even call it an obsession,” he muttered.
Miss Hartley chuckled. “She was born on the Isle, at Danesford, and moved to Seacliff after her marriage. She has spent her entire life here. In all that time, she’s managed to acquire an impressive collection of books on the histories that have helped shape the Isle. Among those are several on ancient Norse mythology.”
“You’ve read one?”
“No.” She grinned up at him. “I’ve read them all. I’m afraid Lady Tesh’s passion has proved to be contagious. I came here often as a girl, staying for months at a time. She would tell the most fantastic stories to Margery and me. I devoured all I could regarding the island’s history, Norse mythology, anything really that kept the magic of it alive.”
He stared down at her, transfixed by the sudden joy that illuminated her. It made her fairly glow, until he fancied for a moment that she was one of those elves of light she’d spoken of, come down from the elf world to bless him with her presence.
They crested the hill. He dragged his gaze from her, desperate to return to the ordinariness of the world once more. The sight that met his eyes, however, only pulled him further into the magical spell that had been cast over him.
“Mr. Ashford,” she murmured softly, “welcome to the Elven Pools.”
Chapter 13
Lenora couldn’t count the times she had visited the Elven Pools. There was a peace about the place that drew her time and again. It was here she had first found her passion for art, here she had strengthened the bonds of friendship with Margery over hundreds of picnics and imaginary battles and swims in the chill water.
And here she had found a friend in Hillram. Until he had gone and done the last thing she wanted and proposed to her.
Sighing, she started down the path that led to the base of the pools, only realizing after several seconds that Mr. Ashford didn’t follow. She peered back at him, still atop the rise. The wonder on his face struck her to her very core. Of course he would be overwhelmed by the beauty of it. Hadn’t she when first she’d clapped eyes on it, following like a duckling behind Lady Tesh, her hand clasped firmly in Margery’s? She returned to his side, looking down at the scenery, trying to see it through his eyes.
Like steps, the pools were staggered down the hillside, each one bigger than the last, fed from the one before it by meandering trails of water that bounced and gurgled merrily over the rock. As lush as the vegetation had been on the way here, the area around the pools was craggy, pure stone with a smattering of plant life, the bowls of the pools carved into the rock over millennia of rushing water. Yet despite its sparseness—or perhaps because of it—the pools were things of heart-wrenching beauty. Every stone and rock that lay slumbering beneath the translucent surface was visible, colored in vibrant shades of turquoise, azure, emerald, indigo. The tinkle of a dozen miniature waterfalls sounded in the air, lovelier than the finest music, more melodic than a symphony orchestra.
“I didn’t know anything like this existed in the world.”
Instead of shattering the moment, Mr. Ashford’s deep, rumbling baritone enhanced the magic of it.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“More lovely than I imagined.”
She smiled. Here was the Mr. Ashford she was coming to know, without all his bluster. He looked at her then, his eyes warm, full of an emotion she had never witnessed in him. She took a hesitant step closer, overcome by the sudden urge to reach out, to place her hand on his cheek…
