“Finally, we are on our quest, and not for a silly gold beetle either.”
“There is no one I would rather be questing with than you, Miss Eleanor.”
“Nor I,” she confessed. “Look how glorious it is when the sun shines. I believe we appreciate it here more than anywhere else in the world for the sheer scarcity of bright British sunshine.”
“You may be right,” he said. “If I’m going to be in constant rain, though, I’m happier here than in London.”
She scrunched up her face at the thought. Heavy rain in Town was a nightmare, with the streets turning to rivers of muddy water and stinking sewage. And even when it rained, the Season continued with the added nuisance of trailing sodden, filthy hems around the dancefloor if one were unlucky enough to have been splashed on the way inside. Not to mention the slippery tiles!
Wellies would be useful sometimes on the ballroom floor, she thought, imagining them poking out from under one of her evening gowns.
“What has you smiling so broadly?” he asked.
“The sheer joy of being alive and here with you. And for my Wellies and my straw hat, too.”
“Indeed,” he said, “you are blessed with an abundance of riches. We both are.”
In companionable silence, they trekked over the pasture. They did not go down the same path to the river which they’d gone before and which she’d traversed many times over the years. Instead, after another few minutes walking parallel to the Ouse, Grayson pointed out a large birch.
“This marks the path to the rock,” he said, and they finally turned into the trees.
It wasn’t such a broad or clear-cut path as the other one, but it was easy to follow. She noted how some of it looked as though it had recently been cleared, for the ends of small branches and twigs were fresh and green.
Except for the sound of the still-dripping leaves, the only noise was from the occasional bird, and in the distance, the sound of the swollen River Great Ouse rushing along its full bed.
“Are we there yet? Are we close?” she asked after a few hundred feet as Grayson pushed aside a low-hanging branch and let her pass before he and the wagon followed.
“Nearly. The journey is half the fun, though, isn’t it?”
“True, but I have been dreaming of seeing the bishop’s hostel for many days now. You cannot blame me for being eager.”
Another twenty yards or so and there was a glade with a towering boulder that must have been moved there eons ago by an ice flow.
“Look at it!” she exclaimed. “It’s magnificent.”
His gentle laughter filled her ears though the river was very loud.
“I never thought of this rock as magnificent,” he said, “but I will from now on.”
“Have you climbed it many times?” She started to circle the giant sarsen, trailing her gloved hand on its craggy surface as she walked.
“Yes,” he said, dropping the wagon handle and following her.
It took her forty paces to get around it, examining the mossy green sections and the gray and white lichen. When she got back to where she started, she looked up.
“Well, Mr. O’Connor, I wore my riding habit, so my skirt is not as constricting as my day gown, but I confess, I don’t see the easiest path.”
He stepped closer, pretending to study the rock as he placed a hand on either side of her.
“You might want to do that handy trick with your skirts the way you did when we climbed the tree.”
He gazed down into her eyes, and Eleanor’s stomach flipped delightfully, exactly as if jumping a fence on a good, swift horse.
“I shall do so, if you think it best.”
He said nothing, staring down at her, his glance moving to her mouth.
She drew in a quick breath as his intentions were clear. He claimed her lips in a slow assault, and her knees weakened at once.
