yawning between them, a sudden chill. She had seen that look before in his eyes, at the campfire.
He blinked, shifted his gaze, the look fading. “Do we any of us really know one another?”
“Given time, the truth, and desire,” she said without thinking how the last word might be misinterpreted.
He smiled, mischief returned, nothing distant in the look he bent on her in saying, “We have the time. I am beset by desire--as to truth--that is up to you and I. I thought we might address what and who you really are. By what deeds you would be known.
Who was she? Simple as that, and yet, not so simple. She thought of Lady Anne, of the influence of two dead women in who she had become.
“What makes a person?” she asked. “There is so much ground to cover.”
“Past, present, and future,” he agreed.
“And more.”
Felicity’s little hands were hot on her back. So much more, she thought.
“Connections,” he added. “Family and friends.”
Yes, family, she thought, though she could not tell him how. Not yet. She did not know if she could trust him yet, with so much.
“Dreams and desires.” Her voice sounded unintentionally wistful.
He cocked his head, dark green eyes considering her, the corners of his mouth down-turned. “Will you share yours with me, Miss Foster?”
Felicity spared her from answering, by inserting herself into their conversation. “I like waterfalls,” she announced.
He evidenced neither irritation nor impatience, saying in the gentlest of voices. “They make a lovely noise, don’t they? Like the hush of the wind through the trees, or the tide on a sunny day.”
“Is it?” Felicity wondered. “I have never seen the sea.”
“Nor I,” Penny echoed.
“What?” He stared at them, amazed. “Tucked away in the fells all of your life? I must take you both to the seaside some day.”
“May we?” Felicity asked, eyes bright.
Penny laughed. “We must introduce Mr. Shelbourne, first, to the fells.”
“Do his friends mean to come?”
Penny waited his answer.
He shook his head, leaning from the saddle, his knee accidentally bumping hers, as he chucked the child under the chin. “They prefer chasing after fishes and foxes.”
In his mischievous smile, in his easy, affectionate exchanges with the child, Penny found herself liking Alexander Shelbourne more than she ever might have expected. Was this how it had been for Lady Anne and the Earl of Pembroke?
“How did you and Val become friends?” she asked.
His head jerked up with unexpected speed. His smile wavered. “He saved my life,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it some day. And you?”
“And me, what?”
“Fell for him, did you?” He watched her keenly.
How did one respond to such a question?
“Most women do,” he said.
Penny shrugged. “He led me . . .”
His brows rose. The word “astray” seemed to hang waiting between them, and that was not at all the impression she wished to give.
She frowned. “He led me to believe he cared for me. I was naive, trusting. But, that was years ago. I am sure Val has changed as much as I have.”
He nodded. “You’ve had a falling out?”
“We have,” she allowed.
She tried to reconcile what she knew of Val, with the heroism he mentioned so nonchalantly. She must, she thought, let go the past.
“I am glad to hear he was in a way to save your life, just as you were in a way to save mine today.” Oh, Lady Anne , she thought. “There is hope for us all if Valentine Wharton is a reformed man.
Chapter Nine
He did not go fell walking the following day. A cloud sat heavily upon the dale, and did not lift. He and Val took Oscar fishing, and as they cast their lines into the rain dotted Eden, he asked Val, “How long ago did you leave the dale?”
“All of six years,” Val said readily enough.
“And is the dale changed?” Oscar wondered.
“Not a bit of it,” Val said. “Other than that we are all a bit older. How went your jaunt,
He blinked, shifted his gaze, the look fading. “Do we any of us really know one another?”
“Given time, the truth, and desire,” she said without thinking how the last word might be misinterpreted.
He smiled, mischief returned, nothing distant in the look he bent on her in saying, “We have the time. I am beset by desire--as to truth--that is up to you and I. I thought we might address what and who you really are. By what deeds you would be known.
Who was she? Simple as that, and yet, not so simple. She thought of Lady Anne, of the influence of two dead women in who she had become.
“What makes a person?” she asked. “There is so much ground to cover.”
“Past, present, and future,” he agreed.
“And more.”
Felicity’s little hands were hot on her back. So much more, she thought.
“Connections,” he added. “Family and friends.”
Yes, family, she thought, though she could not tell him how. Not yet. She did not know if she could trust him yet, with so much.
“Dreams and desires.” Her voice sounded unintentionally wistful.
He cocked his head, dark green eyes considering her, the corners of his mouth down-turned. “Will you share yours with me, Miss Foster?”
Felicity spared her from answering, by inserting herself into their conversation. “I like waterfalls,” she announced.
He evidenced neither irritation nor impatience, saying in the gentlest of voices. “They make a lovely noise, don’t they? Like the hush of the wind through the trees, or the tide on a sunny day.”
“Is it?” Felicity wondered. “I have never seen the sea.”
“Nor I,” Penny echoed.
“What?” He stared at them, amazed. “Tucked away in the fells all of your life? I must take you both to the seaside some day.”
“May we?” Felicity asked, eyes bright.
Penny laughed. “We must introduce Mr. Shelbourne, first, to the fells.”
“Do his friends mean to come?”
Penny waited his answer.
He shook his head, leaning from the saddle, his knee accidentally bumping hers, as he chucked the child under the chin. “They prefer chasing after fishes and foxes.”
In his mischievous smile, in his easy, affectionate exchanges with the child, Penny found herself liking Alexander Shelbourne more than she ever might have expected. Was this how it had been for Lady Anne and the Earl of Pembroke?
“How did you and Val become friends?” she asked.
His head jerked up with unexpected speed. His smile wavered. “He saved my life,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it some day. And you?”
“And me, what?”
“Fell for him, did you?” He watched her keenly.
How did one respond to such a question?
“Most women do,” he said.
Penny shrugged. “He led me . . .”
His brows rose. The word “astray” seemed to hang waiting between them, and that was not at all the impression she wished to give.
She frowned. “He led me to believe he cared for me. I was naive, trusting. But, that was years ago. I am sure Val has changed as much as I have.”
He nodded. “You’ve had a falling out?”
“We have,” she allowed.
She tried to reconcile what she knew of Val, with the heroism he mentioned so nonchalantly. She must, she thought, let go the past.
“I am glad to hear he was in a way to save your life, just as you were in a way to save mine today.” Oh, Lady Anne , she thought. “There is hope for us all if Valentine Wharton is a reformed man.
Chapter Nine
He did not go fell walking the following day. A cloud sat heavily upon the dale, and did not lift. He and Val took Oscar fishing, and as they cast their lines into the rain dotted Eden, he asked Val, “How long ago did you leave the dale?”
“All of six years,” Val said readily enough.
“And is the dale changed?” Oscar wondered.
“Not a bit of it,” Val said. “Other than that we are all a bit older. How went your jaunt,
Similar Books
