‘Dearest Amelia, please do not cry, I beg you!’ Josephine exclaimed in an aghast tone. ‘Can I be of any assistance perhaps? Speak to Sir Francis and convey a message, or?—’
But before she could finish her thought Miss Amelia looked up, as though her heart hadn’t just been breaking at all. ‘Why, you are the kindest creature, Miss Fairfax!’ she replied in delight. ‘I thought you might be kind, I can just tell a good soul, and so I have already prepared a little something formy Francishere. Oh, and please do not think me forward if I call him that, it has forever been my habit to do so,’ she added with a beaming smile.
She pulled a lavender-scented letter from her reticule and waved it triumphantly. ‘Here it is!’ she announced, much in the manner of a magician producing a rabbit from a hat. ‘If you could give him this letter and whisper that I await his responselongingly, I would be most grateful!’ She sighed happily before standing up. ‘Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Miss Josephine. And now I must return before my Francis abandons all caution and comes looking for his Amelia!’
Then she was gone, together with the lantern, leaving Josephine in the gloom clutching the perfumed letter.
For a few moments, Josephine stared at the goggle-eyed fish and tried to rein in her own spiralling thoughts. She wasn’t in any way beholden to Sir Francis, so why would she feel anything about his secret understanding? Yet she did. Herchest thumped uncomfortably, and she had the most disconcerting feeling that she’d been woken, quite abruptly, from a delightful dream.
‘Am I disturbing you, Miss Fairfax?’
At this fresh intrusion, Josephine sat bolt upright, and nearly consigned Amelia’s lovelorn missive to the goggle-eyed fish. ‘Lord Huntingly?’ She swallowed as his distinctive person emerged from the gloom, starkly conscious this was the first time they’d been alone since the library. ‘Not at all,’ she replied. ‘I was merely getting some air before returning to the drawing room. In fact, I can recommend this seat, it is most… restful.’
She stood up swiftly, secreting the letter among her skirts.
‘Pray do not leave, Miss Josephine,’ he urged, moving forward. ‘I came to find you as I noticed you’d slipped out. I wondered if you were quite well.’
Josephine gazed at his tall, graceful figure, his chestnut eyes thoughtful, and a faint smile creasing his lips. He’d dressed with care again this evening, and while he could never be accused of dandyism, his Pomona-green evening coat fitted like a glove, his pantaloons accentuated his military gait, and his shoes shone with a gleam that even Thomas would have approved of– in truth, he looked every inch a respectable gentleman, and not wayward Lord Huntingly of Huntingly Manor.
‘That is kind, my lord, but unnecessary,’ she replied, unprepared for consideration, ‘for I am perfectly well.’
‘May I?’ he asked, indicating Amelia’s recently vacated seat as he closed the distance between them.
She nodded, conscious of a rush of warmth through her cheeks, and grateful for the cover of semi-gloom.
‘For you,’ he added with a small smile, proffering some of the citrus blossom she’d passed on the way in.
She stared briefly before accepting it, certain her cheeks were now brighter than any bloom in the orangery. Was he teasing her again? Should she be on her guard?
‘You do not like to perform,’ he observed softly, ‘and yet you play better than anyone I know. I was quite mesmerised by your performance, and there is little that truly distracts me these days. Thank you.’
Startled, Josephine began mumbling an awkward thank you of her own, just as he closed his scarred hand over hers. His touch was warm and unexpected, and she flinched, making him withdraw instantly.
‘My apologies,’ he muttered sincerely.
‘No… I’m sorry,’ she replied quickly. ‘I… I very much enjoyed your recital too. I haven’t studied theIliad, but Fred has told me many of the stories, and theBattle of the Godshas always fascinated me.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes!’ She nodded, conscious her flush was deepening. ‘Because despite it being a battle between gods, it really is a story about mortal vulnerability and heroism, isn’t it?’
Lord Huntingly gazed at her, a curious smile warming his face. ‘What a true and refreshing mind you possess, Miss Fairfax,’ he replied, his face relaxing so that for just a second, she glimpsed his younger self again. ‘It is indeed such a story. And it suggests that our mortality is both a blessing and a curse for, while it offers honour to those who are injured or fall in battle, there are many who do not deserve such acclaim.’
His voice trailed off as Josephine listened, wondering if he was alluding to his own story.
‘I would have thought anyone who is injured, or falls in battle, deserves some honour,’ she offered carefully.
‘Perhaps,’ he returned, before seeming to collect himself. ‘Of course, one should not need to succumb to injury or death in order to become a hero,’ he added, with a glint of mischief. ‘Take Sir Francis, for example. I’m sure he must have many heroic tales he could relate, should we ask him.’
Josephine smiled and lowered her gaze. It was true Sir Francis was full of such stories, but she’d not quite recovered enough from Miss Amelia’s confidence to chuckle.
‘Sir Francis is both knowledgeable and talented,’ she said fairly, ‘though I’m sure even he must know the difference between a literary hero and one who faces a pistol or sword in the hands of a sworn enemy.’
There was a sudden silence then, when the only noise was the gurgle of the water beside them.
‘As you did… in the army, my lord,’ she clarified swiftly.
‘Yes, I certainly faced many enemies with the army, though that wasn’t what you were thinking, was it?’ he replied brusquely. ‘How much have you been told about my past, Miss Fairfax?’
