She studied me, searching my face for the answer to some unknown question. Whatever she found must have pleased her because she offered me a small smile. She tipped her head toward the book at her side. “I’ll serve. Would you read to me?”
“I must confess, I never thought you’d ask that of me.”
I could feel the wry grin as I took the proffered book. It was a pleasant, warm feeling, that she’d asked something of me, and I fulfilled that request.
I cleared my throat before beginning, “‘About thirty years ago, Miss Maria Ward, of Huntingdon, of only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park…’”
* * *
JULIET
I had shocked himwith my impertinent display, but I could not muster a care for it. The day was too beautiful, the location too enchanting, to stand on ceremony. He should have considered himself fortunate that I only removed my bonnet and gloves. I yearned to free my toes from the confines of shoes and stockings and dip them into the lazy creek below.
All my life, I toured perfectly cultivated and tamed gardens at great houses. Not a single one could touch the wild, natural beauty surrounding me. The only artificial touch in the clearing was the bridge supporting me. It was simple but well made, with no elaborate coverings or railings, merely two boards across with smaller boards atop. A little weatherbeaten, but it was not the weaker for it. The late-morning sun warmed the timber, seeping through the blanket. The familiar ache in my lower back that signaled my menses made its presence, and the heat was soothing against the pain.
The breeze brushed my curls against my skin, but I could not summon the irritation I usually felt at their misbehavior. They had an infuriating habit of coiling themselves into the straw of my favorite bonnet and pulling free from my coiffure the moment I removed it. No matter how I lined the thing, they still found a way. I thought the trimmings and shape of it favored my face and coloring. I had not anticipated removing it in his presence, so vanity defeated practicality when I dressed for the occasion. I could not regret it in the face of such a lovely setting. I luxuriated in the sun’s rays on my face before a thought that sounded remarkably like my father reminded me of my freckles.
With a sigh, I pressed myself back up to sit from my half-lounging position before turning my gaze on him. He gaped slightly. I had never seen anyone gape handsomely before, but he managed it. My first assumption was displeasure at my brash display. A moment’s further study revealed something akin to awe in his gaze. No one had ever looked at me with such wonder. The warmth that thought caused had nothing to do with the sun. At first, the consideration was discomfiting, but in short order, I found myself reveling in his attentions.
Unfortunately for my newfound desires, he recovered slightly and presented me the entire contents of his basket for the taking. His voice was rough with disuse. The sound warmed me deep in my chest. I was struck with a wholly impertinent request. Before considering the consequences, I asked him to read to me. It was an ideal solution to the issue I had been pondering, how to discuss the work with him when he had not read it.
With a sardonic comment and half smile, he began to read. A skilled orator, his raspy baritone rose and fell with the prose. His entire face was animated. Thick, dark brows rose skeptically at some comment or other. The wry, crooked grin made a frequent appearance. I was becoming rather fond of that grin. He had displayed a few others during our short acquaintance, but this one was most frequently directed toward me.
This was my first opportunity to observe him without interruption, and I made full use of it. His hair, thick and dark like burnt umber, was mussed from his long since removed hat. The typically immaculate locks still fell in their usual soft waves across his forehead, but they were flattened slightly at the sides. His eyes were warmer than I thought them previously. In the sun, they shone a bright caramel, and I noticed a shadowed hickory ring around the outside of the irises. The bruising from our first meeting was long healed, and his warm olive-toned complexion was clear and bright. His nose was slightly crooked, suggesting prior injury and lending interest. His lower lip was slightly fuller than his upper, and the pair seemed perpetually raised at the right corner. Contrasted with his frequently lifted left brow, it served to balance his face. His jaw was clean shaven, and strong. His smokey, graveled voice fit the masculine, dark features, and I lost myself in the music of his words and the expressions dancing across his face.
He read for some time, pausing only occasionally for a sip of wine or a bite of food before I realized I was completely adrift from the story. I was lost in his honeyed voice and dazed by his handsome features. The combination awakened a pleasant heat inside me sweet and new.
I was attracted to him. The thought was striking—new. Just as alarming was the understanding that I had never been attracted to a man before. His Grace was considered by all to be one of the most agreeable gentlemen of the ton. To me, he was an amalgamation of fine features. I saw and appreciated each distinctly from the other. Before this moment, I thought that was handsome. I knew better now. Michael was something different, something more.
Fourteen
THORNTON HALL, KENT - APRIL 2, 1814
JULIET
“How did you find the grounds?”Kate asked after my return.
“They’re quite lovely, Kate. If I were you, I would never leave for town. They are so well settled, and there is true natural beauty to be found.”
The drawing room was well situated with a dedicated view of a beautiful lake that Michael—Mr. Wayland—neglected on our tour. It was a clear blue green surrounded by reeds with an occasional break in the tall stalks.
Kate had made fewer changes to this house than to the London home. This room clearly reflected the dowager’s tastes; bright oranges and purples everywhere. The bones of the room were lovely, though. An oversized brick fireplace was positioned to the side of the massive windows. A mahogany writing desk overlooked the view in one corner. Quality furnishings with gaudy upholstery abounded. Though overwhelming, I was sure Kate would adapt this room to her preferences as well.
“How was Michael?” Kate asked, an unusual tone in that question I couldn’t quite read.
My response was cautious. “He was very attentive.” I sipped my tea, buying time to assess her response.
“He and Hugh have such a strained relationship. I thought simple weekly suppers would rebuild the broken bonds, but seems as though I’ve made little progress.”
“I’m certain that’s not the case.”
“As my dearest friend, you’re a rather biased source, and I adore you for it. I think perhaps they’ve reached a cease-fire. I’ve had less success with Agatha. Forced proximity doesn’t seem to have endeared me to her.”
Kate’s predecessor’s welcome was anything but warm. I knew it was a source of hurt and frustration from the early letters of her marriage, but I hoped time had eased the strain somewhat. It seemed that was not the case. I was unsure why she had not been moved to the dowager house. It must have been cloying to watch each day as Kate ran the household in a manner she disapproved of.
“Still, she is worse to Michael. It’s a wonder I can get him to attend our weekly engagements.”
“Why should she be rude to Mr. Wayland?”
