Her curiosity overrode her fear, and she started forward again. As she neared him, his face, illuminated by the light, became clear, and she stumbled upon the walkway.
His hand shot out and grabbed her arm to keep her upright. “It appears we have a rogue stone. I will be sure to get that fixed on the morrow.”
She should say something, but her throat had closed. Mr. Kingman’s face surpassed any other man’s. He had a high forehead with dark brows that framed the most brilliant green eyes she’d ever seen. High cheekbones gave him an aristocraticappearance, but the shoulder length black hair and slightly stubbled square jaw made it clear he was a commoner. No peer would be seen with such a roughened jawline. Unfortunately, it somehow made him more stunning, and his very broad shoulders just added to the pure maleness radiating from him through his rough white shirt.
“Lady Juliet, are you injured?” His brows lowered and concern filled his eyes.
She wrested her gaze from his face and shook her head, forcing herself to look toward the doorway and not at him. Still, his scent, that of a deep wooded forest, perhaps pine, wafted over her, calming her nerves. “No. It’s just difficult to see out here.”
He recognized her hint immediately. “Please come inside. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but I hope I made it comfortable.”
She opened her mouth to ask if he had actually readied her new home himself, but thought better of it and instead stepped across the threshold.
*
Noah couldn’t stopgazing at Lady Juliet Finch. Though that wasn’t her name anymore, that’s who she would always be to him. As soon as he’d opened the door and she’d turned toward him, the light from the windows spilling over her, he knew her. She looked exactly like her ancestor, Orinda Finch.
Though her mahogany tresses were pulled back, many had escaped on her journey and framed her delicate heart-shaped face. Her lips were full, lightly pink, her nose aquiline and her eyes almond shaped. He’d anxiously awaited her approach to discover their color, laughing inside to see they were a unique combination of blue and green, just like Orinda’s. Her figure waspetite, the thick cloak looking too heavy for her small frame to bear.
He didn’t understand her hesitancy, which concerned him as it may be himself she feared. But as he’d grasped her arm, he could feel how small she truly was. Determinedly, he kept silent as he stepped inside after her and allowed her to view the parlor.
Her head swiveled from left to right, her shoulders relaxing.
He’d been right to have everything ready, despite what his brother had said. Directly across from them, a fire crackled in the fireplace.
She turned to look at him. “This was not what I expected.” Her smile was faint, but relief shone in her gaze.
Grinning, he stepped farther into the main room. “Did you expect larger or smaller?”
“Neither. I had surmised it would be…” she tilted her head, “darker.”
He found the comment odd. Brambling Cottage sat nestled among the trees, yes, but the grounds were filled with flowers, birds, and sunshine during the day. “Well, it is night.”
She looked askance at him, her lip quirking up slightly. “I meant inside. For a haunted cottage, it feels warm and cozy.”
As understanding dawned, he held back his smile. “Allow me to show you the rest.” He strode past the fireplace where Orinda’s portrait hung.
“Thank you, that would be—”
When she didn’t continue, he turned back to find her staring at her great-aunt. Her mouth open and her eyes round as she stood in shock.
Had no one told her she resembled, no, not resembled, had the exact appearance of her ancestor? He walked back to where she stood and looked at the woman in the portrait. It was Orinda, yet it was now Juliet, only in different clothing. He’d fallen in love with the painting since his father had first allowedhim to care for the inside of the cottage. As a very young man, he’d felt as if she gazed at him like a grandson. To be fair, he’d been in love with the stories his mother told of her long before he’d seen the portrait.
Lady Juliet raised her hand and pointed at the painting. “That’s me.” Her voice could barely be heard above the crackling of the fire.
“I suppose, in some way, it is. That’s Lady Orinda, your ancestor. She was the last Finch to live here before you arrived. I’m sure she’s quite pleased you’re here.”
She turned a very pale face toward him. “You talk as if she’s still alive.”
Part of him wanted to tell her Orinda’s spirit was very much present, but she was obviously quite scared. “Of course she’s not alive.” He held his arm out toward his right where an open doorway led to the kitchen. “Come, let me show you the rest of the rooms. I’m sure you’re tired and would like to rest after your long journey.”
Bravely, she nodded, keeping her gaze from the portrait.
More than a little confused by Juliet’s fearful reactions, he kept his dialogue to information regarding the physical home. After showing her the kitchen behind the fireplace and the small dining room adjacent to the parlor, he took a lantern from the hook by the stairs and led her up to the next level and the single bedroom with a small private sitting room. He’d started fires in both rooms as well.
Her silence as he explained where all the supplies were told him she was too tired to truly understand. After leading her back downstairs, they found two trunks and a small bag had been placed inside the now closed door. “Would you like me to bring any of these upstairs?”
She ignored him and instead ran to the door and opened it. “Thank you!”
