into the grass beside him and holding his hand up, fingertips smudged black. “You were not intruding, my lady. I thought you might have been someone else.”
“I am sorry to have caused disappointment.”
“Forgive me, my lady. I thought my trainer had returned for more sword practicing. I would prefer your company instead, although...it is wrong of me to ask.”
“Who are you, sir?”
He hesitates before answering. “I am hardly considered worthy of knowing you, my lady.”
“What little you know. My father, the Earl of Briggstow, is losing money.”
He looks up, surprised. It is unseemly to speak so freely in front of a stranger, yet it doesn’t concern me I am confessing this. Something in my heart tells me I can trust him.
“Is that true?”
“Oh, yes. He’s gambled and drank away most of my grandfather’s fortune. That’s why he’s forcing me to marry someone with wealth.”
He studies me with a serious gaze. “I had heard he wants you to marry, but I was unaware this was his reasoning. I’m sorry to hear this.”
Something in his tone makes me feel like he means his words.
“Who are you, sir? I find it unfair you know my name, yet I know not a thing of you.”
“My name is Jonathan Macey, the son of Miss Victoria Macey and Lord Henry Morrigan, the late Earl of Sulis,” he replies with a bow.
I am baffled. “You are the new Earl of Sulis?”
He shakes his head. “That title belongs to my half brother. I am the result of a relationship between my mother and the former earl.”
I am stunned into silence, observing his faded clothes not fit for a gentleman of his status. He notices my concern.
“Rest assured, my lady. My father has provided for my mother and I with some means. But she has passed away and I now live alone.”
“I am sorry to hear of your loss.”
He smiles faintly, but presses on. “I’m sure you remember my presence at your father’s ball last week. I had hopes of finally being accepted into society, but it wasn’t to be. I should have expected it, though. I am just a by-blow, after all. No wonder people turn the other way when they see me.”
Despite the time of year, the air is still warm, and the sun is still high, without a single cloud in sight. The gentle rush of the river flows behind him and the slightest hint of a warm breeze touches my bare skin. Mr Macey shifts uncomfortably, but I doubt he’d rather be elsewhere.
I incline my head at the paper and charcoal, now lying in the grass beside the sword.
“May I see your drawing? Please?”
He shrugs, and hands me the paper. Although in the early stages, I can see the outline of a beautiful woman, with eyes the same shape as his. Even from these carefully drawn lines, I can tell it’s someone he loves dearly.
“Is this your mother?”
He takes the paper back, his brow furrowing. “How did you know?”
My cheeks suddenly redden. “Lucky guess.”
He makes a non-committal grunt, folds the paper and places it in his overcoat pocket.
“I have a passion for drawing, although my father disagrees. True gentlemen are strong heroes, especially any son of his. Even a by-blow.”
I shake my head, ready to argue, but my eyes are drawn to the sword in the grass.
“You were sparring again?” I say, my lace gloved hand indicating the sword.
“My father had hopes for me to join the army to fight the French, but despite the aid of his former trainer, I’ve not inherited his skills. I fear I’ll not become a man, unless I learn.”
I study his face, his jawline free from the usual stubble men his age possesses. With his baby-faced countenance, I remember his cut skin from before, a sign of his lack of prowess with the sword. Crouching down, I reach for the sword, and stand, holding it up, twirling it around so the sunlight beams its rays on it, making it shine like jewels. Jonathan’s eyes flicker with panic, reaching for the
“I am sorry to have caused disappointment.”
“Forgive me, my lady. I thought my trainer had returned for more sword practicing. I would prefer your company instead, although...it is wrong of me to ask.”
“Who are you, sir?”
He hesitates before answering. “I am hardly considered worthy of knowing you, my lady.”
“What little you know. My father, the Earl of Briggstow, is losing money.”
He looks up, surprised. It is unseemly to speak so freely in front of a stranger, yet it doesn’t concern me I am confessing this. Something in my heart tells me I can trust him.
“Is that true?”
“Oh, yes. He’s gambled and drank away most of my grandfather’s fortune. That’s why he’s forcing me to marry someone with wealth.”
He studies me with a serious gaze. “I had heard he wants you to marry, but I was unaware this was his reasoning. I’m sorry to hear this.”
Something in his tone makes me feel like he means his words.
“Who are you, sir? I find it unfair you know my name, yet I know not a thing of you.”
“My name is Jonathan Macey, the son of Miss Victoria Macey and Lord Henry Morrigan, the late Earl of Sulis,” he replies with a bow.
I am baffled. “You are the new Earl of Sulis?”
He shakes his head. “That title belongs to my half brother. I am the result of a relationship between my mother and the former earl.”
I am stunned into silence, observing his faded clothes not fit for a gentleman of his status. He notices my concern.
“Rest assured, my lady. My father has provided for my mother and I with some means. But she has passed away and I now live alone.”
“I am sorry to hear of your loss.”
He smiles faintly, but presses on. “I’m sure you remember my presence at your father’s ball last week. I had hopes of finally being accepted into society, but it wasn’t to be. I should have expected it, though. I am just a by-blow, after all. No wonder people turn the other way when they see me.”
Despite the time of year, the air is still warm, and the sun is still high, without a single cloud in sight. The gentle rush of the river flows behind him and the slightest hint of a warm breeze touches my bare skin. Mr Macey shifts uncomfortably, but I doubt he’d rather be elsewhere.
I incline my head at the paper and charcoal, now lying in the grass beside the sword.
“May I see your drawing? Please?”
He shrugs, and hands me the paper. Although in the early stages, I can see the outline of a beautiful woman, with eyes the same shape as his. Even from these carefully drawn lines, I can tell it’s someone he loves dearly.
“Is this your mother?”
He takes the paper back, his brow furrowing. “How did you know?”
My cheeks suddenly redden. “Lucky guess.”
He makes a non-committal grunt, folds the paper and places it in his overcoat pocket.
“I have a passion for drawing, although my father disagrees. True gentlemen are strong heroes, especially any son of his. Even a by-blow.”
I shake my head, ready to argue, but my eyes are drawn to the sword in the grass.
“You were sparring again?” I say, my lace gloved hand indicating the sword.
“My father had hopes for me to join the army to fight the French, but despite the aid of his former trainer, I’ve not inherited his skills. I fear I’ll not become a man, unless I learn.”
I study his face, his jawline free from the usual stubble men his age possesses. With his baby-faced countenance, I remember his cut skin from before, a sign of his lack of prowess with the sword. Crouching down, I reach for the sword, and stand, holding it up, twirling it around so the sunlight beams its rays on it, making it shine like jewels. Jonathan’s eyes flicker with panic, reaching for the
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