“You’re a nuisance.”
His eyes caught mine, warm as amber honey and full of mirth. He knew of my observations. His crooked grin confirmed it. “What do you think, Duchess? Am I a nuisance? Or brilliant?”
“A brilliant nuisance? And I’m not a duchess.”
Our path took us beside a field of wildflowers, similar to the ones by the bridge. There was a thick carpet of pinks, purples, blues, and yellows. He bent down at the waist. I had never appreciated a man’s backside before Michael, but I rather thought he had a nice one.
Michael plucked one then two flowers from the field. He handed a yellow one to Kate with an overly formal bow.
“A truce, milady?”
“Temporary only.”
“Agreed,” he answered.
He stepped toward me. Rather than handing me the flower with another ridiculous bow, he tucked it behind my ear in a loose curl. The gesture made my stomach flip pleasantly, and I had never been so glad to have my bonnet fisted in my hand, rather than on my head.
“Lovely, Your Grace.”
“I am still not a duchess, Michael.”
“So you say.”
Ahead on the left was a well cared for wooden cottage. Michael slipped my hand into the crook his arm, steering me toward the path. Kate stepped forward, and knocked on the door.
It popped open to reveal a kindly looking woman of perhaps fifty years with warm brown eyes, graying hair, and a delighted smile. She was familiar, but I could not place her in this context.
“Oh, Kate! It’s so good of you to visit. Do come in, all of you… Michael Wayland? Is that you?”
She ushered us into the room, grabbing the basket from Michael and our bonnets.
“Mrs. Hughes, you look well,” he answered.
“I would look better if you had come to see me. I’ve heard from everyone else that you’re in the country. But I’ve had not a single sight of you.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” He did not sound sorry at all, when he pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“Oh Kate, this must be your friend, Lady Juliet. I’m Mrs. Hughes. I’m the vicar’s wife. I’ve seen you at church, but I’ve never had a moment to ask Kate to introduce us.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
And it was. Her complete lack of guile was so refreshing after interacting with Agatha for the past several days.
A young woman, perhaps younger than me, slipped out of another room, a babe in her arms. She was willowy, with soft brown hair and eyes. She smiled and mouthed “Hello,” lifting the bundle in her arms to explain away any lack of manners.
She handed the bundle to Kate whose arms had reached out the second she spotted the swaddled babe. Tucking the baby tight against her chest, she made gentle cooing noises while the child snuffled before settling in against her. Running a delicate finger along his nose and cheek, she expressed silent delight at the woman, Mariah.
An entire conversation occurred in complete silence, delight over the adorable features and sweet demeanor was expressed in wordless gestures. Suddenly, a warbling cry came from across the room.
“That’ll be Margaret,” Mrs. Hughes whispered softly. She urged Mariah and Kate to sit down while she went to tend to the girl.
“This is Finnian, for my grandfather,” Mariah whispered. “He’s the quiet one. Meg makes her opinions known.”
Mrs. Hughes returned, second bundle in hand. She stepped straight up to Michael and pressed the baby into his arms. I expected a protest or some display of awkwardness. Instead, he slipped one arm beneath her to support while wrapping the other around her, bracing her to his chest. He smiled easily, bouncing Meg gently until she quieted.
“I expected a bit of protesting and dancing about. You usually see it with men and babes,” Mrs. Hughes whispered conspiratorially. “Michael, there, is something of a disappointment.”
I disagreed. I did not know if there was anything I had ever disagreed with more. He was a natural, confident and sure with the girl in his arms.
