Page 5 of Seducing an Earl under the Mistletoe
Just as Marcus was about to reply, Virginie appeared next to her brother, manifesting as if out of thin air.
“You two slowpokes need a bit of a jar, it seems,” she said, her exuberant enthusiasm infectious, injecting a burst of youthful energy into the moment that had become overly melancholic. “How about a race?”
“Race, you say?” Marcus grinned, immediately caught up in Virginie’s excitement. “Well then, let’s make it a lively affair!”
With a mischievous glint in his eye, Marcus urged his horse forward, gaining a lead in the race. The wind whipped through his hair as the horse galloped ahead, carrying him swiftly across the frosty fields.
“That’s not fair, Marcus!” Virginie exclaimed competitively as she spurred her horse to follow her brother. Their laughter filled the air as the race continued, the joy of the moment making the bitter cold of winter feel insignificant.
As the laughter and the excitement of the race faded, Arthur turned his attention to Lady Catherine, who was now riding by his side.
“It appears we weren’t part of the race,” he remarked in an amused manner.
Catherine smiled, her eyes reflecting the beauty of the snowy landscape. “No, not this time. I prefer the gentle pace of a leisurely ride, taking in the beauty of our surroundings.”
He was glad to hear that. Arthur couldn’t help but notice the radiant smile that graced Catherine’s face as their horses continued to walk in unison. Her smile was like a burst of sunshine on a winter day, illuminating her delicate features and adding a warmth to the cold, frost-kissed air. Strangely, she managed to make him forget all about his troubles, if only for a few precious moments.
“You know, it is so strange that Marcus and you have been friends for so long, but up until now, we’ve never really met,” she pointed out, a comment that he liked for some reason. He liked that he had sparked an interest in her, for she had the same effect on him.
“I spend most of my time in London,” he explained. “With Mother here and Father abroad, it is my duty to take care of most of the estate affairs, and as you know, the good solicitors are all in London.”
“That is true,” she smiled.
He wondered if Marcus had ever spoken of him to his sisters, but before he could get lost in this thought, she continued.
“There is a lovely little brook nearby,” he heard her say. “Even if it is frost-bitten, it is still a marvelous sight. There is a small wooden bridge there. The horses could rest, and we could take a walk…if you’d like, of course.”
He couldn’t resist smiling at the final addition to her sentence, almost as if she felt self-conscious at the last minute.
“I would,” he replied as his horse followed hers, leading him down a path he had never been before.
Shortly after, they found themselves dismounting their horses and looking around them. Catherine rubbed her upper arms with her gloved hands, the air crisp with the bite of the season.
“Are you cold?” Arthur immediately asked, ready to take off his own coat for a lady in need, but her shaking of the head assured him there was no need for that.
“Pleasantly so,” she smiled. “Come, the bridge is right over there.” She tied her horse’s reins to a low-hanging branch, and he followed suit.
Their steps echoed softly against the snowy path as they approached the old wooden bridge that spanned a gently flowing brook. The structure stood as a timeless sentinel, a testament to the history of the land.
Taking a quick glance at her, Arthur only now realized how different they were. Catherine, a true Londoner, was adorned in the fashion of the city—her attire a blend of elegance and urban sophistication. Her eyes were bright, reflecting a life immersed in the hustle and bustle of the capital. She carried with her an air of cultured refinement, an essence of the city streets she knew so well.
Arthur, on the other hand, was the epitome of a countryside enthusiast. He wore a sturdy overcoat and boots caked with mud from the rural paths he often traversed. His eyes held a glint of deep contentment, a reflection of his heart deeply rooted in the open fields, the trees, and the whispers of the wind.
At that very moment, he couldn’t suppress his chuckle.
“Is something funny?” she asked, not sounding offended but rather intrigued.
“Just the fact that your brother and sister left us here all alone, two people who could not be more different,” he pointed out, still amused.
She tilted her head a little as she spoke. “You think we are so different?”
“I can prove it,” he said, gesturing around himself. “Tell me what you see.”
She took a moment, then turned to him again. “I see a bridge. A very practical one. I love how it seamlessly melds with the natural surroundings. It is like a charming relic of a simpler time.”
Her answer made him smile. It was more creative than he expected it to be.
“What do you see?” she wondered.
