Entwined by Error, page 16
She bit her lips together and reached out, taking his hand, squeezing it and sending a flutter of nerves through his chest. “Yes, of course. I only need step inside to retrieve my bonnet and parasol.”
He nodded, certain the few minutes it would take her to gather those things would be enough for him to gather his composure, but when she returned, he was still quite unsettled. Whatever would they speak about? The topic his mother had introduced into their marriage was one he would rather not approach, which meant he needed to think of something else before they reached the path that stretched between the front walkway along the garden paths.
The gravel crunched beneath their shoes, every sound echoing in his ears as he fought to say something interesting. He’d never had trouble speaking to women, but his wife tended to render him mute.
They walked side by side along the manicured hedges of the rose garden, not entering but continuing along a path that would take them out toward the cliffs. The air was mild, the morning sun bathing them in light with a soft breeze from the salty sea.
Daniel admired the way she twirled her parasol in a gentle, idle circle. He was about to speak when she chose to start the conversation. “I received a letter from my sister Juliana this morning.”
“How is your family faring in London?”
“Very well. The summer months haven’t been as exciting as Juliana hoped, but I am sure she will have enough to do once the fall session is in full swing. I think Juliana wishes she could visit Blackbriar Hall.”
“Your family is welcome to join us here.”
Myra turned to look at him, her eyes squinting up at him due to the sun. “I should love to have Juliana in residence. I miss her more than the rest of my sisters though they are all so wonderful.”
Daniel nodded. He would leave the invitation in her capable hands. “Did she have any news from London?”
“Quite a lot.” Myra smiled up at him. “You are aware of Lady Evans?”
“I am acquainted with her, more so her husband.”
“Well, it seems she has acquired a new pet. A fox that she claims is domesticated.”
“Do you mean to say she treats it as though it were a puppy?”
“I am afraid so.”
Daniel whistled. “A recipe for disaster.”
“Indeed.” Myra twirled the parasol again, her eyes alight with mirth. “The poor creature has a lavender silk ribbon tied around its russet neck. Juliana said it is rather darling.”
“Do not tell me she wishes to take a fox as a pet herself?”
“No, especially since she is looking to find a husband. Lady Evans, on the other hand, is already married, as you well know, and has no compulsion to abide by decorum.”
“Indeed,” Daniel said, catching a hint of intrigue in Myra’s words. He gave her a sidelong glance, exchanging a smile with her. “Tell me, what trouble has this pet caused in London?”
“Juliana claims that Lady Evans has trained the fox to growl at bores.”
Daniel arched a brow. “Well then, the poor thing is likely hoarse after each social engagement, especially garden parties where everyone speaks of the weather and the state of the roads.”
“She takes it to every gathering, even those at Almack’s. The patronesses were quite beside themselves, especially when the dear little fox bit the Duke of Mullond’s ankle.”
A laugh burst from Daniel’s chest. He’d expected there would have been trouble, but to hear that the formidable duke, a man feared by most within the ton, had been the recipient of such treatment, that in and of itself calmed the wild beating of his heart. Myra was not so frightening, not when her eyes were soft and alight with mirth. “I have no doubt he demanded the fox be sent away.”
Myra giggled and then she reached out, placing her hand on his arm. “Lady Evans ran across the assembly hall, waving her hands in the air as she shouted, ‘Oh dear, he does get peckish after a lively waltz!’”
“Stop! This very moment, I beg of you to stop,” Daniel cried out as he wrapped one hand around his middle. He hadn’t laughed so hard, ever. It took a moment for him to recover before he could ask his most pressing question. “Whatever did Mullond do?”
“I am uncertain. Although Juliana claims the whole of Society has declared the fox is welcome at each engagement, and the Duke of Mullond may leave town whenever he sees fit. Can you believe we have missed such excitement?”
“No matter the year, there will always be something lively happening behind the walls of Society and along the hidden pathways of the gardens.” Daniel stopped walking and turned to look at his wife, wondering if she would rather be in London than at Blackbriar with him. “Do you miss Society?”
“Not at all, Mr. Northcott.” She reached out again, placing her hand on his arm once more. “I find Blackbriar Hall to be the perfect home. I do not regret the time we have here, and perhaps now that we are on speaking terms, we may find a bit of intrigue within the walls of our own home.”
His breath caught in his throat as he considered her words. It sounded as though she was as willing to leave the past few months behind them as he was. In his excitement, he was more than ready to declare himself, but the situation was still too delicate. This accord they were discovering was far too new, and so he would have to exercise patience.
“I could not agree more, Mrs. Northcott. Although we shall not find anything as exciting as a fox challenging a duke’s rightful place in Society this far north.”
“An infamous fox, indeed.”
“A cheeky little scamp.” He met her gaze, wishing he dared to touch her face once more, exactly as he had the night before, but it was too soon. Instead, after they had stood in silence for a few moments, staring into each other’s eyes, they continued walking along the cliff, engaged in light conversation.
When they returned to the house, Daniel went to his study once more while Myra retired to the music room. As she sang, her voice sounded different; a clarity he hadn’t heard before, a happiness she’d not communicated in the past, now flowed through the halls of Blackbriar, brightening passageways as though the rays of the sun were flowing in through every window.
Daniel picked up his quill, staring at the blank sheet of parchment in his notebook for only a second before the words began flowing from his mind onto the page.
I wed thee, bound by law and name,
Not knowing love could bloom so fair;
Yet now I burn beneath thy flame,
Ensnared by grace and gilded stare.
My heart is thine—my soul laid bare.
He placed the quill upon the blotter once more, rereading the words that had escaped his heart. They weren’t perfect, but he had never considered himself a poet. They were real, raw—exactly how he felt about his wife. He reviewed the words once more and decided that one day, he might share what he had written with the woman who had inspired him.
Chapter 22
A Kiss is Surely on the Horizon
Sunday service was the one hour a week Myra mingled with the world beyond Blackbriar’s gates. There had been a time when the loneliness gnawed at her, but now, with Mr. Northcott speaking to her as though she were more than a distant obligation, she found the quiet quite tolerable. Peaceful, even.
She stood beside her husband, her arm resting on his as the late summer sun cast golden streaks across the graveled churchyard. His voice, rich and steady, rose and fell as he exchanged familiar pleasantries with an elderly gentleman he had known since boyhood. Myra had seen this exchange before, the two men conversing beneath the budding yew tree like clockwork every Sabbath.
Her gaze wandered past them, searching. Neighbors meandered toward their carriages or set off on foot down the winding road, their Sunday finery catching the breeze. Then she spotted them. Her gaze followed Aunt and Uncle Kingsley as they emerged from the nave, her aunt’s bonnet listing slightly as she fussed with her gloves.
Myra’s heart gave a small flutter. She stepped back, brushing her gloved fingers along her husband’s coat sleeve. “Excuse me,” she said softly, though he likely hadn’t heard. He’d certainly been more attentive over the last week, but she knew him well enough to trust that he had given the elderly gentleman his full attention.
With careful poise and a smile, she crossed the churchyard and caught her aunt’s arm just as she adjusted her reticule.
“Aunt, might I beg a moment of your time?”
“Of course, my dear,” her aunt said with that knowing glint that made Myra nervous. Her aunt must know what she wished to speak about. She only hoped there would be more advice, given she hadn’t yet accomplished the first task.
Linking arms, they drifted toward the gate leading into the older part of the cemetery, the hush around them growing as the voices behind them faded.
“Pray, do not torment me any longer. What news have you from your assignment?” her aunt murmured, glancing at her sideways.
Myra steeled herself for the moment she would disappoint her aunt, ready to defend whatever romantic misstep she might have made. But the only person she seemed to have disappointed was herself. There had been no kiss. No leaning in to be closer to each other, no fleeting touch of the lips or moment of breathless anticipation. Smiling in the hope that a bit of cheerfulness would disguise the sting of her own foolish disappointment, she planned to do her best to make the few developments of the last week sound more promising than an outright kiss. “He has not yet kissed me.” She put her hand out to stop a response. “But there have been developments.”
“Do tell, my dear.”
“Mr. Northcott touched my face.”
“Do you mean to brush away dirt? That is not much of a development.”
Lifting her hand, she checked her surroundings before continuing. She cupped her hand and placed it on her aunt’s face as Mr. Northcott had done to her. “More like this.”
Aunt Kingsley’s eyes widened. “And he did not kiss you after that?”
“I am afraid not, Aunt.” Myra bit her bottom lip. “We spend time together, walking along the cliffs, and we have laughed. Supper is no longer a chore. I do hope you see this as an improvement as it is far better than the silence we have endured these last months.”
“Oh dear!” Aunt Kingsley reached out and took Myra’s hands. “It most certainly is, at least as far as what you previously told me.”
“I am trying, Aunt.” She looked down at their clasped hands, tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she acknowledged the deep disappointment of her attempts. “Mayhap I am not the kissable sort.”
“Tell me, dearest, how do you feel when Mr. Northcott joins you for a walk?”
“I am nervous, worried I will say something silly and he will think I am ridiculous. My stomach flutters about the entire time, and I do not know if I should take his arm or twist my parasol…I usually choose the latter.”
“And what of Mr. Northcott?”
Myra didn’t understand. “How am I supposed to know what he thinks?”
“When he laughs, is it with you or at you?”
“With me.” Oh, how she hoped she was right about that. He hadn’t ever made her feel insecure, leastwise not since the horrible conversation the morning his mother had arrived at Blackbriar Hall. “Oh, Aunt, what am I to do?”
She waited, the wisdom she so clearly needed seconds away—she was certain of it—and then her aunt simply said, “Stay the course, my dear. You most certainly are kissable, and I believe a kiss is on the horizon. I’d wager my best bonnet on it.”
The carriage ride back to Blackbriar was pleasant enough, birds chirping in the trees as they ambled along the country road. She leaned against Mr. Northcott, enjoying the warmth and closeness as they sat on the same bench, her heart fluttering with every rut in the road that caused them to lean closer.
“How are Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley?” Mr. Northcott asked.
“Well enough. My aunt spoke of hosting a supper party. I think it shall be our first in Society since our wedding, that is, if you are agreeable?”
“I should like that very much. I wish to know the Kingsleys better, especially since they live so close.”
“Mr. Northcott?” Myra turned to him, her curiosity piqued. “Did you not say you visited Blackbriar in your youth?”
“I did. We spent many summers at this estate.”
“Then how is it you are not at least acquainted with my aunt and uncle? I have cousins your age; you surely must know them.”
“Certainly, I am acquainted with them. I even attended Harrow with one of your cousins, but that does not mean I know your aunt and uncle well.” He frowned as he looked at her. “Are you disappointed?”
“Not at all. Although you must not have been very good friends with my cousins.”
“I am afraid not. It is only that you may think poorly of me once I tell you the reason we were not the greatest of friends.”
Myra adjusted in her seat so she could face him, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips so he would know she was teasing. “There is no fear of that, Mr. Northcott; I am already well aware of your snobbery.”
He laughed, and then to her utter surprise, he took hold of her hand, lifting it to kiss her knuckles as he settled back against the cushions. “Well then, no explanation is necessary.”
It wasn’t the sort of kiss her aunt had spoken about, but it was a kiss, nonetheless. Her hand had been kissed many times, by numerous gentlemen, but there was something quite different in the way Mr. Northcott held her, his lips sending a fire rushing up her arm and then down her spine. For the first time in her life, she felt a spark of something deep inside and she suddenly realized she might very well swoon if he ever let go.
Eventually he had to release her hand, but it made her quite happy that he hadn’t done so until they arrived at Blackbriar Hall, where he was obliged to release her hand so that he could safely climb out of the carriage and assist her to her feet.
Chapter 23
The Perils of Picnicking
The summer was nearing its end, but it was still warm enough in Bardsea for a picnic; therefore, Daniel spent the morning in preparation to invite his wife on a walk, where they would chance upon a checkered blanket nestled under the shade of an obliging willow near the pond.
Directing her along a path they hadn’t yet taken on their morning walks, Daniel talked about the weather, the breeze coming off the sea, and his plans for the estate. It was important to him to let Myra know that when he was in his study, he wasn’t simply wasting the day away; he did work, sometimes. He wasn’t certain when it would be appropriate to show her the art studio, but he was slowly building up to a walk along the cliff and out to the old greenhouse.
“Did you see that?” Myra asked as she ran toward the pond. He slowly followed after her, guiding her ever so slowly toward the picnic he had planned—taking her directly would ruin the surprise. When she turned back, he realized the exact moment she saw the blanket. Instead of telling him what had drawn her attention to the pond, she ran back to him and took hold of his hands pulling him forward. “Why, Mr. Northcott, you are full of surprises this day. Dragonflies skimming the surface of the pond like little fairies, frogs hopping lily pads, and a picnic. However did you manage to create such a magical moment?”
“I admit, the dragonflies and frogs have minds of their own; I have nothing to do with them. But the picnic was my idea, with the assistance of Cook, of course.”
“It is perfect,” she said as she turned back to look at the blanket and hamper.
Everything was exactly as he had left it; little sandwiches and lemon tarts tucked away in the hamper; two glasses sparkling in the sunlight, waiting for the chilled cordial he had tucked away in the shade, bobbing in the water to keep it at the perfect temperature.
The two sat in companionable silence, eating their way through the hamper to their hearts’ content. Everything seemed perfect, his eyes catching hers, offering what seemed like stolen moments he’d never get back once they left the protection of the willow tree. Scooting closer toward her, he pulled at the strings of her bonnet, loosening them until he freed her hair.
“If I end up with a face full of freckles, I shall blame you until they disappear.”
He placed the bonnet on the blanket beside him. “I shall take your warning under advisement, although do you not feel it is cumbersome on a day like this?”
“Perhaps you are right,” she said as she sat back against the tree trunk. “We shall not have many more days like this one, at least, not if the vicar’s wife is to be believed. Last Sunday she warned of terrible rainstorms that will soon shake the house with bouts of lightning and thunder.”
Daniel folded one leg up so he could lean against his knee. “A bit dramatic, though I shall allow you to form your own opinion upon the matter.”
They smiled at each other, neither of them speaking as they gazed into each other’s eyes. His fingers brushed against hers, a featherlight touch that sent warmth pulsating through his hand up to his chest. He was at peace, a feeling that had long been missing in his life.
As though Mother Nature needed to prove the vicar’s wife correct in her grim predictions, the wind stirred to life, a swirl of leaves and dust skittering through their peaceful picnic.
Myra gasped as her bonnet lifted from the blanket and danced away on the breeze like an elegant lady in flight. But the bonnet did not drop back to the blanket; instead, it flew out of their reach toward the pond with a swiftness that allowed it to land primly on the water’s edge.
“My bonnet!” she cried, rising from the blanket.
“I shall retrieve it,” Daniel said as he jumped to his feet, determined to catch the bonnet before it took flight once more and landed in the water.
