A rusted blade of bitterness cut through him. He hadn’t been prepared for the sight of that woman. Though he should have been. After all, he was a guest beneath her son’s roof. But really, nothing could have prepared him.
One instant he’d been thinking how lovely Artemis looked beside the large bow window, illuminated by soft afternoon light, and the next, his gaze was staggering to a stop. He’d blinked, but it was no use. The Dowager Duchess of Rakesley was taking tea with Artemis and Gwyneth and looking so cool and collected and perfect and arrogant. The blinding fury that had streaked through him had been immediate.
He entered the wing where Little Lady was housed and saw a trio of figures at the end of the aisle—a three-legged dog, a chestnut bay, and a lady dressed in a voluminous royal blue riding habit, a jaunty pheasant feather in her cap.
Artemis.
It took Bran the split of a second to realize she was here to see about Little Lady.Of course.But what took him by surprise was the timing. She was here at dawn.
Little Lady’s head extended over the gate, and Artemis ran her kidskin-gloved hand across the velvety muzzle. The donkey’s eyes drifted half-closed with bliss. Bathsheba noticed Bran and let out a bark of greeting. Artemis’s gaze cut over to meet his. Not a hint of surprise registered in those warm brown depths as her mouth twitched into a smile. Bran felt his mouth curving in response.
Perhaps she wasn’t only here to check on Little Lady.
Perhaps she was here forhim.
“She’s doing well,” said Artemis. “Maybe she can be let loose in a field this afternoon.”
How in her element Artemis looked, and the sunshine she exuded … One couldn’t help but want to bask in it.
He managed to spare a glance for the donkey. “She’s looking content.”
“Oh, you’re going to have a wonderfully happy life here,” said Artemis. “Aren’t you, Little Lady?”
The donkey answered with a waggle of tall, tufted ears.
“Milady?” came a male voice behind them. They turned to find a lad holding a bucket and a sheepish look. “I’m here to muck out Little Lady’s stall.”
Artemis smiled at the lad, then said to Bran, “That’s us turfed out, isn’t it?” She gave Little Lady a parting stroke of the muzzle. “There’s a place I want to show you.”
Bran felt his eyebrows lift. “Oh?”
“On the estate.” She hesitated, uncertainty hanging about her. “It’s a bit of a ramble. Will you ride?”
Instant panic flared through him, and “No,” was issuing from his mouth before he could consider the proposition.
But even as his heart lurched into a gallop, a part of him wanted to sayyes.
Because it was Artemis who asked.
A vertical line between her eyebrows, she nodded. “We can walk.” A click of her tongue signaled to both Bathsheba and her hunter that they were setting out. “In fact, it’ll be a lovely walk.”
As they passed through the paddock and into the open fields of Somerton, the topmost golden arc of the sun just broke across the horizon and the truth of her words bore out as the dusting of morning mist began to dissipate and give way to daylight.
“England at its best,” said Bran.
In the wide sprawling expanse of sky, the sun had reached that exquisite point in its rise when it turned lonely scrags of clouds into pink gems for a breathtaking minute.
“Doesn’t it make you feel like one of God’s chosen creatures?”
“Aye,” he said. “Every sky has its own character, but dawn always feels like this.”
He felt Artemis’s curious gaze on the side of his face. “Isn’t it all one sky?”
“In theory, yes,” he said. “But I’ve found the skies have differences from place to place.”
“How so?”
“The sky of England contrasts greatly from that of Africa, for example,” he said. “England’s sky likes its clouds and can be stingy with its warmth.”
