meant more than he could possibly know and she had no more expected it of him than she had expected he might harness the sun and ride away with her. He held out a lifeline to her as easily as she held out her hand to him.
He took that hand, and in taking it Aurora was struck by the odd sensation that their fingers met with the same intimate compatibility she experienced in sliding into the contours of a saddle. There was something insinuating in the manner of Miles Fletcher’s hand on hers when he bent to kiss her knuckles, something absorbing in the touch of his lips to her glove. There was a sense of comfort, of rightness, a feeling that with this man the ride would be interesting but not fraught with insurmountable difficulties. Quite irrationally, she did not want him to let go of her. She felt disappointed, one might almost say abandoned, when he relinquished his hold on her.
Odd. She had been sure she saw some flicker of interest in the sparkling gaze of this polished, prattling popinjay the night he asked her to dance, that had nothing whatsoever to do with what she might teach him about archery or animal husbandry. His proposal to help her win Walsh was so diametrically opposed to her initial interpretation of his intentions that she watched him carefully, troubled by the notion that she misread the depth of his interest.
“How shall we begin?” he asked, smoothly businesslike. Despite all reservations, she found, strangely, that it did not really matter to her how they began, only that they should.
They began straight away, on familiar territory, with talk of horses and cattle, sheep and pigs, before moving on to a discussion of crop rotation that lasted all the way back to the Hall and engrossed them until dinner was announced. Aurora changed clothes and joined Miles Fletcher in the dining room. He made a polite point of sitting next to her, that he might drop a discreet word or two in her ear about table manners and topics of light conversation that had nothing at all to do with agriculture or animals.
Normally, Aurora would have been lost amid such highbrow chatter of art, music, poetry and politics, but with Fletcher at her elbow, she felt quite comfortable. The conversation always returned to matters of land and animal management in the end, and in these things she spoke with confidence and aplomb.
How pleasant to be introduced to a number of those seated around them whose names and titles were familiar, but whose company she had been denied because they numbered not among her brother’s acquaintances. Miles Fletcher appeared to be known to everybody.
“He brought me the most remarkable set of Roman bronzes from Italy,” a dapper old gent whispered in her ear.
“No one has a better eye for the value of an oil painting,” hinted another.
If she should ever need a rare bit of fabric, or perfume, tapestries or rugs, if she meant to collect snuffboxes or Oriental vases, bronzes or marble, she was assured that Fletcher was the man to consult. He had transported many a delight from other countries. Women especially regarded him with favor, and on Aurora they looked with eyebrows raised, as if her right to sit beside their favorite were a matter for question and speculation.
In the light of so much favorable opinion, Aurora’s respect for Miles Fletcher grew by leap and bounds. So agreeable did she eventually find his company, that she happily settled on plans to meet with him on the following morning, that she might teach him archery. She had, in short, begun to think Miles Fletcher the complete gentleman and just the fellow to teach her what she needed to know in order to charm Lord Walsh, when it became painfully obvious that Fletcher was distracted by yet another female who meant to catch his eye. He did in fact exchange what she could only describe as speaking glances with the dark, swanlike creature he had danced with the night before.
Aurora knew she had no legitimate complaint
He took that hand, and in taking it Aurora was struck by the odd sensation that their fingers met with the same intimate compatibility she experienced in sliding into the contours of a saddle. There was something insinuating in the manner of Miles Fletcher’s hand on hers when he bent to kiss her knuckles, something absorbing in the touch of his lips to her glove. There was a sense of comfort, of rightness, a feeling that with this man the ride would be interesting but not fraught with insurmountable difficulties. Quite irrationally, she did not want him to let go of her. She felt disappointed, one might almost say abandoned, when he relinquished his hold on her.
Odd. She had been sure she saw some flicker of interest in the sparkling gaze of this polished, prattling popinjay the night he asked her to dance, that had nothing whatsoever to do with what she might teach him about archery or animal husbandry. His proposal to help her win Walsh was so diametrically opposed to her initial interpretation of his intentions that she watched him carefully, troubled by the notion that she misread the depth of his interest.
“How shall we begin?” he asked, smoothly businesslike. Despite all reservations, she found, strangely, that it did not really matter to her how they began, only that they should.
They began straight away, on familiar territory, with talk of horses and cattle, sheep and pigs, before moving on to a discussion of crop rotation that lasted all the way back to the Hall and engrossed them until dinner was announced. Aurora changed clothes and joined Miles Fletcher in the dining room. He made a polite point of sitting next to her, that he might drop a discreet word or two in her ear about table manners and topics of light conversation that had nothing at all to do with agriculture or animals.
Normally, Aurora would have been lost amid such highbrow chatter of art, music, poetry and politics, but with Fletcher at her elbow, she felt quite comfortable. The conversation always returned to matters of land and animal management in the end, and in these things she spoke with confidence and aplomb.
How pleasant to be introduced to a number of those seated around them whose names and titles were familiar, but whose company she had been denied because they numbered not among her brother’s acquaintances. Miles Fletcher appeared to be known to everybody.
“He brought me the most remarkable set of Roman bronzes from Italy,” a dapper old gent whispered in her ear.
“No one has a better eye for the value of an oil painting,” hinted another.
If she should ever need a rare bit of fabric, or perfume, tapestries or rugs, if she meant to collect snuffboxes or Oriental vases, bronzes or marble, she was assured that Fletcher was the man to consult. He had transported many a delight from other countries. Women especially regarded him with favor, and on Aurora they looked with eyebrows raised, as if her right to sit beside their favorite were a matter for question and speculation.
In the light of so much favorable opinion, Aurora’s respect for Miles Fletcher grew by leap and bounds. So agreeable did she eventually find his company, that she happily settled on plans to meet with him on the following morning, that she might teach him archery. She had, in short, begun to think Miles Fletcher the complete gentleman and just the fellow to teach her what she needed to know in order to charm Lord Walsh, when it became painfully obvious that Fletcher was distracted by yet another female who meant to catch his eye. He did in fact exchange what she could only describe as speaking glances with the dark, swanlike creature he had danced with the night before.
Aurora knew she had no legitimate complaint
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