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He obeyed her demands with a smile as she picked up a pencil. The shadow of his silhouette appeared on her paper, and she began tracing straight away. The sooner she could be done with it, the sooner she could find Mr. Markham. She had been distracted from her task entirely, and she had already forgotten that it had been by Mr. Hawthorne’s design. Surely he hadn’t partnered with her because he wanted to.

He must have had other motives.

In his shadow, the bridge of his nose revealed a slight bump that she had never noticed before. His lashes were straight, his jaw strong, his hair curling softly at the front of his head. She traced him carefully, her heart thudding as a strong realization settled in her bones.

She liked much about him too.

Far more than she should have.

Sixteen

The air was frigid on St. Stephen’s Day, yet fresh snow had yet to fall in Applebury. Patches of mud and old, icy snow covered the grounds of the village fete. Lord Dalmeer had arranged the festivities with the vicar, offering food and a variety of games for a small fee, with all proceeds benefiting the parish.

Felix led Miss Benson through the lively atmosphere. The collar of her pale pink pelisse climbed up to her chin, a lace and holly trimmed bonnet hiding the rest of her face. He wished he could see if she was having a good time or not, but she had hardly looked up at him.

He offered to buy her roasted chestnuts from a nearby booth, which she accepted, at least. The scent of pepper cake and gingerbread wafted toward Felix’s nose as they passed another booth, so he bought a square of gingerbread as well, but Miss Benson declined tasting it.

“I do not like ginger, but thank you,” she said.

Felix ate half of the square himself, folding the rest in its wrappings for later. He could hardly imagine how anyone wouldn’t like the warm spices and citrus. Many of the other guests from the house party were in attendance, lining up at the ring toss, nine pins, or purchasing tickets for the cheese roll. He offered to buy tickets for nine pins, but Miss Benson preferred watching the blacksmith and haberdasher demonstrations.

Felix had told himself not to search for Miss Sterling, but he was already failing. He caught sight of her in the field, standing in line for the cheese roll. Mr. Markham stood beside her, dressed in that large overcoat again, but this time he wore a fur cap. Felix watched as he led Miss Sterling forward by the arm, smiling down at her.

The toe of Felix’s boot caught on a cobblestone, and he stumbled forward.

“Are you all right?” Miss Benson’s eyes flew up to his face for what felt like the first time all morning.

“Yes. Sorry.” He scolded himself for being so distracted. He had been waiting for the opportunity to spend time with Miss Benson uninterrupted, and it seemed that for once, Miss Sterling had no desire to thwart his plans. She was too distracted by Mr. Markham and her own ambitions.

His chest tightened with a strange sense of regret. He couldn’t deny that he had been relieved when Miss Benson had been chosen by Mr. Pritchard during the silhouette activity the night before. Felix had been happy to have spent that time with Miss Sterling.

He had enjoyed every second.

He scowled at a pile of ice-crusted snow. Where had Mr. Markham even come from anyway? And why had he so quickly set his attention on Miss Sterling? He glanced at the field again just in time to see the man guiding her by the waist toward the starting line for the cheese roll.

A surge of vexation spread through Felix’s chest, and he couldn’t seem to focus on the blacksmith, even as the gray-haired man flattened a piece of red-hot metal. Each strike of the hammer only added to Felix’s agitation. Why did he care so much? He didn’t dare examine the answer to that weighty question, so he forced his attention back to Miss Benson.

“What would you like to do next?” he asked. “The ring toss looks diverting.”

Miss Benson hesitated for a long moment. “I don’t think I would excel at the ring toss. I am quite content where we are.”

Felix nodded.

She didn’t seem inclined to lift a finger that morning, but rather enjoy the atmosphere. She was as proper and elegant a lady as Felix would have hoped to find, at least according to his mother’s preferences, but he was quickly discovering that he had a set of preferences all his own when it came to his future wife. And they differed significantly from his mother’s.

Several of those things, he had realized, were qualities Miss Sterling possessed.

His heart thudded in his throat, and he swallowed hard against the uneasy sensation. His growing feelings for her were driving him mad, both because they were unfamiliar, and because he was fairly certain they weren’t returned. How could she forgive him for his actions against her in the past? That was only the beginning of the challenge he faced to win her heart.

He had planned to keep his heart uninvolved in his choosing a wife, but his heart was taking over the entire situation. It was as overbearing a host as Lady Dalmeer—bending every detail to its own favor. He told himself that Miss Benson was the safe choice, the more certain choice, but that did little to comfort the turmoil in his chest.

He watched as Miss Sterling sent her wheel of cheese rolling down the grass, and he could even hear her laugh above the tools of the blacksmith.

He set his jaw, looking away.

How could he make progress with Miss Benson when he was so distracted? Miss Sterling hadn’t interrupted him, sent Lady Cartright after him, or even glanced his way. But she was still sabotaging him without even trying, and she would never stop unless he could learn to forget her.

At the moment, that seemed like an impossible task. He could only hope that Mr. Markham’s intentions were truly for marriage. The sooner he proposed to her, the sooner Felix could bury his feelings.