Page 41 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

She only thought on those things—she told herself firmly—in regard to how she might apply them to her new story, should the heroine ever find herself in an embrace with the hero.

Not that she thought of Andrew as any sort of hero.

Botheration. Why was her mind in such a muddle?

When Andrew finally moved ahead of her, riding next to Lyness Eastman, Josephine relaxed somewhat. At least he wouldn’t catch her watching his form and noting his fine seat—no one rode a horse with as much ease as Sir Andrew Wycomb. Something she wouldn’t ever admit to admiring. Especially to him.

“It’s a fine sight, isn’t it?”

Josephine blinked rapidly as she looked to Lord Hartwell. Obviously, he didn’t mean what she had been staring at. He was staring out over the fields dotted with sheep. “Yes. Quite a lovely sight in the spring.”

“I don’t spend as much time in the country as I probably should. Our family home is so near York.” He shrugged dismissively and then turned his sky-blue eyes in her direction. Her sisters were quite right; Baron Hartwell was handsome, but she felt no compulsion to blush or titter in response to his attention.

It was as she suspected. She simply had no desire to marry at present, no matter how handsome the man who appeared before her.

“I understand your mother has beautiful gardens, though. She is rather famous for her roses, isn’t she?”

His eyes noticeably brightened. “She has attempted to collect specimens from all over England, to unite them in her gardens. Including the York and Lancaster Rose, which she could speak about at length. I recommend never bringing it up unless you wish for a combined history and botany lesson.”

“I will make a note of that, my lord.” Though she didn’t plan on seeing the baroness anytime in the near future. The baron’s mother famously never left her county. “I suppose you do not share your mother’s interest in flowers. That is a shame. Our gardens have come along quite well since the last time you visited.”

The baron’s eyebrows raised nearly to his hat’s brim. “I have as much interest as any other man in green and growing things.”

“That would mean almost none.” Josephine hadn’t any intention of teasing him, but the words came out sounding far too friendly even to her ears. She fidgeted with the wrist of her glove and tried to sound neutral when she spoke again. “You should tour ours, though. If nothing else, to give you something to tell your mother of when you return home.”

“I would be happy to take a tour through them, if you are volunteering to be the guide.” He made no pretense of looking away or behaving with any sort of shyness. Instead, he grinned at her most boldly. As though he understood something she did not. “Though I imagine I can find plenty of other things about my visit to discuss with my mother.”

Oh dear. Perhaps he had mistaken her intent. But now she could not withdraw what he had assumed she meant as an invitation without being rude. “Of course. I would be delighted to show you our flowers.”

This was why she needed a companion. Emma would not have let Josephine stumble into this situation. Emma would have changed the subject or found a way around the unmeant invitation entirely. But Emma was far away in London, happily making a home with her husband.

A pang of loneliness struck Josephine’s heart. She had nearly forgotten how much she missed Emma. Her gaze traveled ahead, tracing the lines of hilltop and treetop, then falling to the horizon—where Andrew’s dark eyes and concerned expression captured her.

“Lady Josephine?” From the way Hartwell spoke her name, it wasn’t the first time he had tried to catch her attention.

“Hm? I am sorry, my lord. My mind was rather caught up in the beauty of the scenery.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the castle. “What was that you said?”

He didn’t appear at all put out by her inattention, which would be a mark in his favor if she entertained the notion of accepting a suitor. Which she did not. “I asked if tomorrow afternoon would be an appropriate time for our garden tour.” His horse danced sideways, flicking its ears nervously.

Andrew would say the beast had picked up on its rider’s emotions, but as Lord Hartwell appeared perfectly at ease, she doubted that was the case.

“Thank you, yes. My schedule certainly allows for it.” Josephine kept her smile polite and her tone as close to indifferent as she could. There was no use in raising the man’s hopes.

Andrew had circled back, bringing his horse alongside hers. “Hartwell. Lady Josephine.” At least he could mind his manners enough to call her by her title before others. “Had enough for one day?”

“Not at all,” Josephine answered, unable to resist returning his grin. “Unless, of course, you are too tired to continue?”

“Me?” Andrew’s horse danced sideways beneath him, then knickered. “As you can see, Honey and I are quite capable of going for hours yet.”

“Hours?” Lord Hartwell sounded only mildly amused by the idea. “The two of you might have the wherewithal for that, but I vote for a return to the castle sooner rather than later.”

Josephine returned to her polite indifference. “I suppose that would be for the best.”

“But perhaps we might race back?” Andrew presented.

Quite familiar with Andrew’s racing technique, Josephine raised one eyebrow at him. “You will want to wager, I suppose?”

“Always.”