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“Aye.” That one syllable was offered with some degree of the sound of Scotland. “I call her Shadow, because she’s nearly always hovering beside me.”
Cordelia could not hold back a smile. He made the observation with a grumpiness that was belied by the fondness in his eyes as he glanced at little Shadow. There was a tenderness to this man that he kept well hidden. The question was why.
Shadow came near enough for her to tentatively reach out to pat its head. Though she was given a confused look by the little creature, it didn’t scamper away or seem to object. Having Mrs. Seaver’s little dogs as her only frame of reference, Cordelia scratched Shadow behind the ear. The lamb seemed to enjoy the attention.
Grumpy Sebastian of the Home Farm even allowed the tiniest, most fleeting of smiles. And even with the bruising of his nose, he proved remarkably handsome and not nearly as intimidating as he had proven even mere moments earlier.
Having noticed the bruising, she could not in good conscience ignore the topic. “I hope that your nose is feeling better.”
He grew immediately uncomfortable. “It’s a little sore, but better.”
She did not mean to belabor the topic, but she felt she had done a poor job of apologizing for the injury she had inflicted, however unintentionally. Now was the perfect opportunity for rectifying that. “I am sorry for that. I ought to have been watching where I was going and what was around me.”
“No permanent damage,” he said gruffly and quickly.
He didn’t seem overly fond of the idea of remaining. Why, then, didn’t he simply make excuses and go? There was nothing about her presence here that required him to remain. She was not forcing conversation on him.
“You did a fine job sketching the tree.”
She hadn’t realized he’d spied her drawing. “Thank you. The tree was so lovely, I couldn’t resist trying to draw it.”
“Everyone hereabouts is very fond of this stately tree.”
It was the first insight she’d had into the people she now lived among. Were she to finish the sketch and find a means of displaying it somewhere in the house, perhaps that would endear her a little to those who lived and worked at Burnwick House.
“You have a talent for drawing,” Sebastian said.
“I do enjoy it,” she said. “Though I suspect my parents wish I enjoyed something more to their liking. They are pleased with my sister’s musical ability and a bit embarrassed by my artistic leanings.”
He remained standing there, discomfort growing in his posture. “Family can pose difficulties sometimes.” He spoke as one who knew.
“Do you have family nearby?”
His gaze dropped momentarily to little Shadow, who’d decided to sit on the grass and watch them both. “Both my parents have died,” he said quietly.
She hadn’t meant to cause him sorrow. “I am sorry for your loss.”
He simply nodded.
Perhaps a change of subject was in order. “Did you grow up in this area?”
“I didn’t, though my father did. My mother was English and preferred spending time in her country. That’s where I lived before coming to Teviotbrae.”
That explained his very English accent. “Were you also educated in England?” She didn’t doubt he had an education; he spoke too formally for anything else.
“I was.” That seemed all he meant to say on the matter.
“What is it that led you to come here and become a farmer?”
Stiffness returned to his posture and dryness permeated his voice. “An overfondness for lambs.” On that declaration, he dipped his head to her once more, offered a quick word of departure, and trudged off, following the road back in the direction of Teviot Castle.
How had one simple question offended him so entirely? She had been glad that someone wanted to have a conversation with her; that had seldom happened since her arrival in Teviotbrae. She’d managed to make a mull of the whole thing.
A cold breeze picked up as she sat there, nipping at her and urging her to leave behind this place where she’d known a momentary peace. The serenity and calm of beautiful surroundings she could likely find again. What she never seemed to escape was the growing ache of loneliness.
