years
yet. It is not something that occupies my mind.'
`No, of course
not, but Mr Martindale seems bent on bringing it to the fore.'
She turned to
face him. 'You do not like him, do you?'
Her bluntness
took him by surprise. 'Does it matter whether I like him or not?'
`No, but I do
not like my friends to be at daggers-drawn.'
`I am flattered
to be considered one of your friends, Miss Martindale.'
She patted the
neck of her horse and smiled. `If you wish to stay my friend, you will refrain
from quarrelling with Mr Martindale. Papa does not hold a grudge against him in
spite of having good reason and he has told me that I may entertain his suit,
if I so wish.'
`And do you
wish?'
His dark eyes
were boring into her again, making her squirm in her saddle. She could not look
away, could not lie to him, could only feel herself melting inside from the
heat in his gaze, so that it took all her concentration to keep her horse
steady. 'That is for me to decide, Mr Devonshire.'
`Of course. But
what about others? He cannot be your only admirer.'
`No, there are
dozens of others. I am free to choose.' It sounded like boasting, but she
couldn't help it. It was her way of defending herself.
`Then choose
wisely, Miss Martindale, choose wisely.'
`I may not
choose at all. I will not marry for expediency, or for a title or wealth, or
even to stay at Hartlea, though I love it dearly. If I cannot marry for love, I
will remain unmarried.'
`I cannot see
you staying single for long,' he said softly. 'You would be remarkably easy to
fall in love with.'
She felt the
colour flood her face. She had not meant to speak of her private dream of love and
marriage, but the words had just come out. His reply had confused her more than
ever. What answer could she give to that? `Tell me, Mr Devonshire,' she said,
deciding she might as well continue being frank with him; he seemed not to
mind. In truth, he was paying careful attention, looking into her eyes as if
what she had to say was important to him. 'Has my father encouraged you to
offer for me?'
He was visibly
taken aback but then chuckled suddenly. 'He has not spoken to me on the
subject.'
`I am glad of
that,' she said, tossing back her head so that the long feather in her tall
hat, brushed against her cheek. It was all he could do to refrain from reaching
out and stroking it away. 'I should not like you to entertain false hopes.'
`Oh, you have
decided against me without giving me the pleasure of pressing my suit?' He was
laughing at her now, his dark eyes full of mischief. 'You know, if you are so
blunt to every young man you meet, you will earn yourself a reputation. There
will be more gossip, not less.'
`I don't
understand it,' she said, suddenly dropping her bantering tone. 'There is so
much going on I do not understand. It is as if some deep dark secret were
pressing down on me, something so dreadful it cannot be spoken of. And we left
Hartlea so suddenly.'
`I do believe
you have been reading too many Gothic novels, Miss Martindale,' he said
lightly.
`I am not a
fribble, Mr Devonshire. I do not have flights of fancy.' She sighed, wishing
now that she had not spoken of her hopes and fears. Put into words, they
sounded so frivolous she was afraid he must think her missish, when she wanted
so much to appear cool and gracious. 'But there, you are probably right.' Then
suddenly, as if she had put it all behind her, she suggested, `The horses are
fresh, what do you say to a canter?'
Instead of
waiting for a reply, she put spur to her horse and drew away from him. She dug
her heels in and was soon galloping, her ears filled with the thunder of
hooves, her body low and eyes down as the ground rushed past beneath her. This
was heaven! She knew she could not outrun him using a side saddle and on this
particular mount, but it was fun to try.
Determined not
to behave as James Martindale had done and lure her away from her chaperon, in
the shape of the young groom who plodded on a sturdy cob
yet. It is not something that occupies my mind.'
`No, of course
not, but Mr Martindale seems bent on bringing it to the fore.'
She turned to
face him. 'You do not like him, do you?'
Her bluntness
took him by surprise. 'Does it matter whether I like him or not?'
`No, but I do
not like my friends to be at daggers-drawn.'
`I am flattered
to be considered one of your friends, Miss Martindale.'
She patted the
neck of her horse and smiled. `If you wish to stay my friend, you will refrain
from quarrelling with Mr Martindale. Papa does not hold a grudge against him in
spite of having good reason and he has told me that I may entertain his suit,
if I so wish.'
`And do you
wish?'
His dark eyes
were boring into her again, making her squirm in her saddle. She could not look
away, could not lie to him, could only feel herself melting inside from the
heat in his gaze, so that it took all her concentration to keep her horse
steady. 'That is for me to decide, Mr Devonshire.'
`Of course. But
what about others? He cannot be your only admirer.'
`No, there are
dozens of others. I am free to choose.' It sounded like boasting, but she
couldn't help it. It was her way of defending herself.
`Then choose
wisely, Miss Martindale, choose wisely.'
`I may not
choose at all. I will not marry for expediency, or for a title or wealth, or
even to stay at Hartlea, though I love it dearly. If I cannot marry for love, I
will remain unmarried.'
`I cannot see
you staying single for long,' he said softly. 'You would be remarkably easy to
fall in love with.'
She felt the
colour flood her face. She had not meant to speak of her private dream of love and
marriage, but the words had just come out. His reply had confused her more than
ever. What answer could she give to that? `Tell me, Mr Devonshire,' she said,
deciding she might as well continue being frank with him; he seemed not to
mind. In truth, he was paying careful attention, looking into her eyes as if
what she had to say was important to him. 'Has my father encouraged you to
offer for me?'
He was visibly
taken aback but then chuckled suddenly. 'He has not spoken to me on the
subject.'
`I am glad of
that,' she said, tossing back her head so that the long feather in her tall
hat, brushed against her cheek. It was all he could do to refrain from reaching
out and stroking it away. 'I should not like you to entertain false hopes.'
`Oh, you have
decided against me without giving me the pleasure of pressing my suit?' He was
laughing at her now, his dark eyes full of mischief. 'You know, if you are so
blunt to every young man you meet, you will earn yourself a reputation. There
will be more gossip, not less.'
`I don't
understand it,' she said, suddenly dropping her bantering tone. 'There is so
much going on I do not understand. It is as if some deep dark secret were
pressing down on me, something so dreadful it cannot be spoken of. And we left
Hartlea so suddenly.'
`I do believe
you have been reading too many Gothic novels, Miss Martindale,' he said
lightly.
`I am not a
fribble, Mr Devonshire. I do not have flights of fancy.' She sighed, wishing
now that she had not spoken of her hopes and fears. Put into words, they
sounded so frivolous she was afraid he must think her missish, when she wanted
so much to appear cool and gracious. 'But there, you are probably right.' Then
suddenly, as if she had put it all behind her, she suggested, `The horses are
fresh, what do you say to a canter?'
Instead of
waiting for a reply, she put spur to her horse and drew away from him. She dug
her heels in and was soon galloping, her ears filled with the thunder of
hooves, her body low and eyes down as the ground rushed past beneath her. This
was heaven! She knew she could not outrun him using a side saddle and on this
particular mount, but it was fun to try.
Determined not
to behave as James Martindale had done and lure her away from her chaperon, in
the shape of the young groom who plodded on a sturdy cob
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