Page 17 of The Gentleman Was Right
He loved to exercise in the morning. Or in the afternoon. Anytime really.
“How lovely. I wouldn’t mind getting out for a bit.”
Violet’s attention snapped to him when he spoke. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned him from the top of his head to the tips of his boots.
“It may rain,” she finally said, displaying a great deal less cheer than her sister.
“I do not melt,” he responded gamely, a little surprised by her chilly reception. He’d thought that he’d made some headway in securing her friendship the previous evening, but it seemed he might have been mistaken.
“You will get muddy.”
He haddefinitelybeen mistaken. “I grew up in the country. I amnotintimidated by dirt.”
“We don’t have a particular destination in mind.”
He held back the sigh that wanted to escape. “If you don’t wish for me to come along, you only have to say so. There is no need for you to invent excuses to avoid my company.”
Isabelle none too subtly elbowed Violet in the side and then cleared her throat.
Violet winced and looked at her feet. “Oh…um…I did not mean to suggest—you are more than welcome to join us.”
It was a begrudging invitation at best, and though he wanted to go with them, he didn’t want to ruin Violet’s walk. Harboring the hope that they would become friends, he did not want to be a thorn in her side. “Perhaps we could convene for tea when you return instead.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “That would be pleasant, but please do not let my bad mood keep you from joining us. I didn’t sleep well, and as a result, I’m afraid I’m a touch grumpy.”
“Don’t let her fool you, she’salwaysa touch grumpy,” Isabelle said.
Some of Violet’s aloofness faded as she smiled ruefully and nudged her sister with her shoulder. “Notalways.”
“Always.” Isabelle chuckled, while Violet turned her smile toward him. It wasn’t overly bright or particularly cheerful, but it might have been the first genuine smile he’d witnessed from her, and he drank it in, trying to imprint it into his memory. He was compelled by this softer side of her, and if he were to eventually create a painting that required her face, her begrudging smile might be the expression he chose to replicate.
“In that case, it would be my pleasure to join you for a walk.”
Violet nodded once and turned her focus to adjusting the clasp at her neck, so it rested squarely in the center of her body. When they were all ready, he held the door open and then followed them out of the house, falling into step next to Violet while Isabelle trailed behind. They were only a dozen yards down the lane when Isabelle yelped. “My ankle!”
Edward turned and found Isabelle crumpled on the ground, clutching her half boot and wincing.
“What happened?” Violet moved quickly and, heedless of the wet ground, dropped to her knees at her sister’s side.
Edward followed and sank to his haunches next to them.
It was difficult to tell the severity of Isabelle’s injury just by looking at her, but she wasn’t crying or screaming, so he took that as a good sign.
“I stepped on that rock”—she gestured broadly—“and twisted my ankle.”
Violet surveyed the surrounding area, a wrinkle appearing between her brows. He did the same and noted that there were no rocks that looked particularly daunting nearby.
“You twisted your ankle on one ofthesepebbles?” Violet asked, snagging one and pinching it between her fingers.
“Yes,” Isabelle wailed. “Oh. It hurts. Do you think it’s swelling already? Ugh. What rotten timing. What if I’m not able to dance at the assembly this evening? I’ll be an invalid, tucked into the corner and forgotten.” She placed her hand against her brow and threw her head backwards as if she were in one of Louisa’s novels.
He barely withheld a snort. Shehadto be exaggerating the severity of her injury. Or at the very least using it to her advantage.
“You won’t be forgotten,” Violet said patiently, although her eyes were narrowed on Isabelle’s ankle as if she, too, was questioning how much pain her sister was in. “As to whether you can dance, I suppose it depends on how injured you are. Do you think you can stand?”
“No.” Isabelle swiped at her cheek as if wiping away tears, even though her skin remained dry. “It hurts too much to even consider standing.”
“Well…you cannot remain sitting on the hard, wet ground indefinitely.”
