Andromeda rolled her eyes and chewed her chicken rather aggressively.
Beatrice dismissed Lucy with a tiny flick of her chin, attention solely on Andromeda. After a brief exchange between the pair, one in which Lucy became convinced her friend might hit Beatrice with the chicken leg, Andromeda stood and excused herself, abandoning Lucy with an apologetic look, and marched into the long grass.
Beatrice huffed. Glared. Finally deciding she wouldn’t get much amusement from Lucy, she stood and strolled away. Which left her entirely alone when Mildred returned, Estwood at her side.
“Come, Miss Waterstone,” Mildred said. “Mr. Estwood has promised to explain the finer points of this burial site. He vows it will be interesting.”
“Miss Waterstone,” Estwood bowed to her. “I did indeed make such a ridiculous promise. More of what you heard on thecarriage ride here, I’m afraid. I’ll try not to bore you.” His eyes drifted over her face, lingering on Lucy’s mouth.
“Oh, I…” Lucy said in a whisper, forcing her tongue to behave. She didn’t want Estwood to hear it. The horrible lisp.
“You expressed an interest in the bits of pottery in Granby’s drawing room,” Mildred interrupted. “Don’t you want to see where it comes from? I certainly do. Come.” She waved Lucy up.
Mildred had caught her staringat Estwood, who had been studying the pottery Granby collected.
“It would be my pleasure,” he insisted politely, the rough accent only peeking through his words. He was good at hiding it. Nearly as well as Lucy hid her lisp. “Allow me.” He reached to help her up.
At the touch of his hand, Lucy’s entire form prickled, then melted into the warmth of molten chocolate. Father wouldn’t object to Lady Mildred, who was from an old, prestigious family. She’d say Mildred had begged her to go.
Lucy gave Estwood a shy smile, wrapping her slender fingers around his. Keeping her parasol tilted to hide her features from Lady Foxwood, she followed behind as Lady Mildred and Estwood took the lead. The path started just below the area reserved for the picnic, curving through the grass to circle the stones below.
Estwood explained the origin of the stones, or at least what scholars had discovered, speculating on what more might be excavated one day. She listened to the rolling sound of his words while shamefully admiring his backside, his cocky swagger, and those lovely shoulders, which shifted as he walked.
“Do you suppose,” Mildred said, halting, as they were halfway around, “that I might find an artifact of some sort?” She looked at Estwood. “A bit of bronze or pottery? My father would be thrilled to have such an item as a conversation piece.”
“Entirely possible,” he assured her. “Over there, at the base of that stone, scholars found an entire cache of weapons. You might try your luck.”
“Splendid.” Mildred released his arm. “I’ll catch up in a moment.”
Once she was out of earshot, Estwood turned to her. “Finally, I have you to myself, Miss Waterstone.”
Lucy took a deep breath, feeling a blush crawling up her cheeks. She forced her tongue away from her teeth. “Ith”—she winced, though the lisp could barely be heard—“there really anything to be found?”
Estwood shrugged. “I’ve no idea. But human sacrifices took place in this general area a thousand years ago. And this is a burial mound. So it stands to reason there might be something of value in the grass.”
“How do you know?” She kept her voice low, barely above a whisper, and didn’t dare look Estwood in the eye. Her heart hammered in her chest at being alone with him. She wished desperately that her speech wasn’t so flawed, and she could converse with him. Or that Father didn’t find him so objectionable. Estwood made her feel…quite unlike herself.
“You mean since I didn’t attend Harrow or Eton?” He winked at her.
Lucy pressed her lips together. She hadn’t meant that at all.
“Don’t worry, Miss Waterstone. I take no offense.” He placed her hand on his arm and started walking once more. “Once I learned to read…” He paused. “What I mean to say is that I adore books. Do you like books, Miss Waterstone?”
She nodded.
“Granby introduced me to ancient Rome, which started my love of archeology. Fossils. Weaponry is of particular interest.”
Lucy smiled at him, worried her tongue might stick to her teeth if she attempted a reply. The lisp became more pronounced when she was nervous.
“I can see you wish to hear more about human sacrifice, Miss Waterstone. Even after I bored you on the carriage ride. I would never have suspected you to be so bloodthirsty.”
“Haven’t you met my father?” she said, surprising herself, the words so soft it could have been the wind.
A rich, luxurious sound came from him, one that rippled over Lucy’s skin, warming her from the inside out. Amusement.
As he guided her around the site, Mildred wandering about looking for her own artifacts, Estwood explained the purpose of the stones, the barrows, and probably a dozen other things. But Lucy only heard the soft rolling of his voice as the patrician accent he usually affected slipped, sometimes disappearing altogether. Showing himself to her.
My heart will burst from this moment.
