At eleven o’clock, she changed into her walking boots and outerwear and descended to the entryway. Sir Andrew had already come down and wore a beaver-skin hat and a well-fitting jacket. He pulled on gray gloves and then turned as she approached.
“Miss Lucas! There you are. I could not find you when I returned from the kitchen this morning.” He smiled warmly and Charlotte returned it with a timid smile of her own.
“I spent the morning reading in my chamber,” she said.
“Poetry, no doubt. Wordsworth? No! Burns!” He leaned close to her and whispered,
“O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.”
Charlotte felt hot and cold all at once, frozen as his breath stirred the curls that hung down by her ears. His deep voice spoke the words of the poem, one of her favorites, as it were, and something stirred within her chest. She knew at that moment that there was no use guarding her heart. He had already stolen it.
As he finished, he moved away, fiddling with his gloves and not looking at her. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, unsure how to respond when he had behaved in such a manner.
“Here you are. How long have the pair of you been waiting on me?” Amelia came toward them, a footman following with a large basket. “Jones will attend us,” she said, gesturing to the man. “Are we ready? Then let us depart.”
The carriage waited outside to carry them to the park. The distance to their destination was not great, but too far for Amelia. The dear lady rambled on about her morning as the carriage trundled along, seemingly oblivious to the tension between her grandson and her guest. Charlotte made noncommittal noises when Amelia required a response, but otherwise remained silent.
When they arrived at the park, Jones took the basket ahead to a location described by his mistress. Sir Andrew offered his arms to his grandmother and to Charlotte, and they walked slowly down the path.
“I am very spoiled to have such lovely ladies on my arms,” Sir Andrew said, puffing up exaggeratingly. Amelia laughed and Charlotte shook her head at the display.
“You are a shameless flatterer, my dear.” Amelia nudged Sir Andrew with her elbow. “I am far too old to be considered lovely.”
“Say it is not so!” Sir Andrew shook his head. “Your beauty increases by the day. None could mistake the lines of wisdom on your countenance for anything less.”
“Flatterer,”Amelia repeated. “Though Miss Lucas is eminently deserving of the appellation.”
“Indeed, she is. A lovelier creature I have never beheld. Your beauty inspires me to write poetry of my own. Did you know Miss Lucas has an interest in the poets, Grandmother?” Sir Andrew smiled cheekily, and Charlotte’s cheeks burned at his mockery.
