The quality of the silence suggested they were both shaken by this brief intimacy.
She knew how Jacob would feel if he’d ever learned Isaiah Redmond had held her hand.
Piercing guilt and a surprisingly muscular rebelliousness batted her heart between them.
Jacob wasn’t here.
Mr. Redmond cleared his throat. “I will escort you home.”
This was another predicament: as a gentleman, he could hardly abandon a lady. But they both knew that if even one person saw her promenading through town alongside the Redmond heir, within hours it would be all Pennyroyal Green talked about.
Furthermore, propriety demanded that she protest.
“Mr. Redmond… that’s a very kind offer, but there’s no need. Quite truthfully, I can find my way home blindfolded, in the dark.”
He drew in a breath. “Miss Sylvaine…I understand and share your concerns. I know of a path that diverges slightly from the main street, if your toe is equal to it. And we are friends, are we not? I should not be able to live with myself if I did not see you to at least the start of your road.”
She was the girl who had crossed fast-moving streams over stones as Jacob led the way. She was, at heart, a taker of risks.
“Well, I should loath to be the reason for your demise,” she said gravely.
They set out into the falling light.
All along thefar edge of the churchyard, through the clearing where two oaks spent eternity entwined, between the trees lining the river, and across a short, ancient wooden footbridge, Isaiah felt as though his heart was dancing on a tether, struggling to gambol ahead of him. This path was as familiar to him as his own hand, but he suddenly had no idea where it would lead.
How odd that a walk should feel like an insurrection.
Just days ago, the idea of veering from his proscribed future would have seemed as outlandish as the characters ofA Venetian Romanceleaping from the confines of the book.
At any moment he could turn his head to see Isolde’s face alight with curiosity and the delight of discovery, which felt like a rare luxury. And whiletheysaw no one else along the way, he knew it didn’t mean they remained unseen by any villagers. But the intoxication of each other’s company made this concern seem as distant and irrelevant as the sound of carts clattering down the main street’s cobblestones while they were working in the churchyard.
When they reached the place here Isolde ought to turn and walk up to her home, he pointed to an ancient tree stump tucked between the trees lining the road.
“That stump marks a little trail that meanders right through the trees and leads to our family’s rose garden. A few escapee roses from our garden bloom along it every year. I think I might be the only one who’s ever noticed them. I might actually be the only one who knows about this path.”
“Oh, that’s delightful! Are any blooming now?” She craned her head to peer through the trees.
“I haven’t yet looked this season.” He hesitated. “Would you like to investigate?”
She stared at him. “Of course, I do.” She sounded almost indignant, which made him give a short laugh. “But Mr. Redmond…a walk is one thing. I feel it needs to be said that I’m not the kind of girl who plunges into shrubbery with men.”
“I know you aren’t. AndI’mnot the sort who...” heat rushed his face. “…leads young ladies into shrubberies. You are safe with me. I just…” he made a sort of encompassing gesture.Just want this day to never end. I know my all of my secrets are safe with you.Things he didn’t dare say aloud. Things that might in fact frighten her.
Her eyes searched his face while his heart ticked faster.
Her skirts whipped her ankles when she whirled and dove into the trees and onto the path.
“Are you coming?” she called over her shoulder.
“Of course.” Exultation almost dizzied him.
They couldn’t walk side by side on the narrow path, so he simply enjoyed watching her head swiveling to and fro to take in the sights, the way her shoulder blades moved beneath her dress, the way the leaves stippled her with little shadows. The remains of the day were as softly warm as a shawl.
She stopped abruptly about twenty meandering feet in. “Mr. Redmond, look!”
One of the wayward rose bushes sported a dusky pink bloom the size of a baby’s fist. In a matter of days, it would unfurl to a size that would fill his palm.
How furious his father would be if he’d known one of his prize roses had escaped.
