“We’ll bring your maid along, if you wish. And besides,” he waggled his brows, “who is going to see us?” Objections were meant to be overcome, and problems were meant to be solved. Gabriel studied her closely. “If you were not needed here, you would like to go?” He’d be certain first.
She shrugged her frail shoulders. “Of course, but—“
“In that case, I will see you tomorrow around noon. Wear comfortable walking shoes.”
“Gabriel, did you not hear me?”
But he’d already risen from the bench and was headed toward the door. “Tomorrow, Olivia.” And before she could argue any further, he opened the door and made a hasty escape.
He wasn’t sure why it mattered that this young woman experienced some entertainment on occasion. Or why he determined himself the person to provide it.
He only knew he’d like to see her smile again.
And hear her laughter.
* * *
Olivia shookher head in disbelief as she strolled down the road back to her small house. Gabriel Fellowes, the Earl of Kingsley, considered himself her friend!
More than that, he’d said he wanted to help her. He’d said that he didn’t want her to make a decision she’d regret the rest of her life.
But why? Surely, the mine kept him busy enough, in Stanton’s absence. And Ashton Acres would abound with activities and entertainments.
Or had Stanton and Louella asked him to watch out for her? It was exactly the sort of thing her little sister would do.
Oh, good heavens! It wasn’t as though Olivia was a child! How pathetic she must seem to him.
She would not be going on a picnic tomorrow—to the mine or anywhere else. She most certainly did not require a keeper.
Tomorrow, like every other day the past few weeks, she’d be diligently caring for Luke Smith’s sons.
Again.
He’d taken hold of her hand while he’d implored her, sending an awareness through her she’d been unable to ignore. He was only being a friend; she’d had to remind herself. The same as Eliza, or… the vicar… or…
But she’d never had a friend quite like him. Not because he was an earl. In fact, she practically forgot his title most of the time. It was… him.
Experiencing all of the effects of his charismatic zest focused solely upon her… It made her feel… alive.
Arguing with him, merely being in his presence, made her happy.
She’d best not get used to it.
She’d do well to ignore the butterflies he sent dancing in her stomach whenever he teased her, his black-as-midnight eyes dancing flirtatiously. He was something of a rake and likely had half the debutantes in London tied around his little finger.
But he’d been serious with his warning.
You cannot continue making yourself available. You need to cease spending your days in the man’s home.Gabriel’s words echoed over and over in her head as she approached the sanctuary of her own small cottage.
Mr. Smith was a good man.
Why was this not enough for her?
When the idea of marrying him first presented itself, she’d not had all of these unsettling misgivings. What had changed? When hadshechanged?
Louella’s wedding.
Or had it been the ball?
