They settled opposite one another on the luxurious squabs of the Rothwell coach, and as it trundled forth, Hebe glanced to the open window. The Winkworth stables had been marvellous indeed and she had many sketches from the few hours she’d spent there, but… Well, maybe they should have taken up Lord Ernest’s offer of an escort.
In general, Aunt did not accompany her on sketching jaunts – finding them dull – but even she as chaperone had not been sufficient deterrent.
“This weather is certainly warming up.” Aunt Beatrice fluffed her carmine-red spencer jacket and grinned. “Sir Henry is tolerably handsome though with that dark hair and swarthy skin. You might enjoy his attentions at the masquerade.”
“Only if one enjoys preposterous flattery from pestilent philanderers.”
“In the same way as Lord Ernest, you mean?”
“Not the same at all–” Hebe slammed her lips shut as Aunt smirked, hazel eyes dancing. “I will admit there do seem to be rungs of rakedom for men. The first rung being the embarkation upon his climb to debauchery, while by the fourth he will have reached somewhat dissolute, and by the tenth rung, utter depravity.”
“And at what rung is our esteemed host?”
Once more, Hebe stared to the window, body swaying with the placid rocking motion as they passed from the gates of the Winkworth Estate and onto a track that led through open countryside. Engorged sheep peered over a stone wall, the wet spring having provided much, and in the distance, a church bell chimed four.
The past few days had been blissful: she’d commenced the sketches of the duke’s hunter; they’d visited Wychmere village, pausing to watch an incomprehensible game of cricket played upon the Green; and when not occupied with his stables in the evening, Lord Ernest had entertained them with droll anecdotes of his childhood or with card games which Aunt Beatrice never failed to win.
“To tell you the truth, Aunt, he confuses me so. Kind yet sinful. Gentle yet rakish.”
And she was even more loathed to admit that in the meadow as he had leaned close on the blanket, smelling of fresh woodland and with breath of water mint – clean and pure – she’d felt the overwhelming desire to close the gap, to have those rough hands hold her.
Whathadcome over her?
This damnable man made her laugh, lowered her crabby guard.
And she must never allow that. He was still a rake.
Albeit an agreeable one.
Hebe plumped a cushion and fitted it to her back. Perchance she should change the subject of the conversation.
“Redmond O’Conner’s eyes keep straying to you, Aunt. Have you noticed?”
A sniff. “I don’t know why. All our…emotion died long ago.”
“Did it truly?” Hebe smiled. “Your eyes stray to him also, softening when his back is turned.”
Aunt’s shoulders sagged, lips drooping. “There is no dissembling with you, Hebe, for yes, I look at him and remember it all.” She plucked at her peach skirts. “He used to leave daisies looped in my saddle, you know. Spout the most romantic words. Love me with such reverence.” She sighed. “I thought I’d buried such memories deep and yet with a mere look he uncovers them all, leaving me raw. I do not know how I can suffer that over the coming days and weeks.”
Hebe rose, back stooped, and with a stumble as the coach lurched, settled herself next to Aunt. Hugged her close and hard.
“I felt so raw after Tobias died, free of him yet still imprisoned by my own fears, doubts and memories.”
“As is natural, dear, after your marriage.”
“But when I…struggled with my days, when thoughts would cower me and the future pressed upon me like a boulder, a wise lady told me to live each moment separately. To not think on tomorrow or even that next hour, but to appreciate each instant. The dawn light, a crackling fire, a mug of chocolate.”
“A beautiful horse, a vintage wine, the sound of London waking. I remember.”
“And so that is what we both must do. Enjoy this magical castle, this wondrous countryside and kind people, and then, whatever may happen, those will be the memories that we hold dear of our time here.”
“Oh, Hebe. You are far too young to be so wise.”
“I was taught by the best.” She prodded her aunt.
Holding tight to one another, they both gazed to the landscape rolling by, took pleasure in the larks circling above a wheatfield, the bleating ewes and the air ripe with pollen. And were content.
THE CHURNED EARTHat the perimeter of Will Skelton’s paddock had hardened in the sunshine, the pawing of a frustrated creature evident in the baked horseshoe prints but…
