Page 24

She turned. Now that he had said it, she could see the brighter ground beyond the trees. “Then I would have discovered my mistake shortly.”

“Before or after reaching the meadow?”

She held up the paper-wrapped flower. “I was looking at this.”

He secured his horse beside the track, then came closer. Lydia unfolded the paper. The bloom had survived, though a little moisture had darkened one corner.

“You left the path for one flower?”

“I could not see it properly from there.”

“Was there something wrong with the flowers beside the path?”

“Yes. I had already seen them.” She said it with perfect gravity.

His mouth gave way first. She bent over the specimen, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her smile. “This may be the one in your father’s book. I wanted a complete specimen.”

“Is it?”

“I shall tell you when I have compared them.”

He bent closer to examine the flower, taking care not to brush its petals. “Then I hope it proves worth the excursion.”

“So do I.”

She folded the paper again. “Have you left the others too?”

“I am meeting them beyond the meadow.”

“The lower meadow?”

“The very one.”

He glanced toward the open ground. A groom was approaching along the track behind him. Lydia noticed the gun as Tristan turned to speak to the man. She had seen her brothers carry them often enough. At home, their arrival usually meant that the conversation would turn to something which had happened while she was elsewhere.

“Have you ever fired one?” Tristan asked.

She lifted her head at the question. “No.”

“Would you like to?”

Pleasure rose before caution could check it.

“Now?”

“There is an open bank beyond those trees. Provided you would rather try that than continue toward the wrong meadow.”

Lydia considered the weight of the gun in his hands. Edmund would have asked why. Henry would have laughed and promised another day. Tristan simply waited, gun balanced in his hands, as though wanting to try were reason enough. “Yes,” she said.

He spoke briefly to the groom, who took the horses and remained on the track. Beyond the trees the ground opened into a clearing, where a raw earth bank rose against the woods, pocked by earlier shots. Tristan led her toward it, checking the ground beyond it before he set her sketchbook and collecting case on a broad stump. Lydia removed her gloves. “Will it hurt my hand?”

He glanced at the finger he had bandaged. “If it troubles you, we stop.”

She flexed it. The cut pulled a little but did not hurt. “I think it will be all right.”

The gun was heavier than she expected. Tristan supported the weight while explaining how to hold it. When she asked him to repeat an instruction, he began again without the impatience her brothers mistook for expertise. Then he moved behind her. His body stayed close enough to guide hers without crowding it, a precision Lydia found harder to ignore than any accident. She caught the faint scent of leather and something warmer beneath it. And became acutely aware of how little space separated them. Every instruction had a practical reason. Hand here. Elbow higher. Each touch was perfectly proper. Yet with each one, propriety became harder to believe. “May I?”

She nodded. His hand covered hers as he adjusted her elbow and steadied the gun. With his voice beside her ear, Lydia had to make herself attend to the bank while warmth arrived through the back of her gown. His chest did not quite touch her until she breathed. Then it did. She tightened her grip, afraid he would step away.