Page 14 of Lady in Ruby
“What was that?” he asked bluntly. His tone was low, but concern rippled through his words.
“Nothing, my lord.”
“It was something. You looked quite uncomfortable. I thought you said he was your friend.”
“He was! He is. It’s just that…he was acting as if he wanted something more. Which is not like him at all.” In fact, Francis had been behaving strangely since yesterday, when all the guests arrived at the house. Was it something about the holiday?
“Did he say something he shouldn’t have?” Snowdon asked.
“He tried to kiss me,” Caroline admitted, shamefaced. “I mean, we were alone out here, and he kept saying how I looked beautiful, and I didn’t know what do. Some would say I invited it.”
“You did nothing of the kind,” he told her, his eyes flat grey ice. “To be beautiful is not an invitation. And if any other man attempts to take advantage of you that way, friend or not, I will personally ensure that he’s unable to do it again.”
The fierceness in his tone made her blink. “You are an unlikely champion, my lord.”
“Why?”
“Well…you’ll be gone from here in a few days. I don’t expect I’ll ever see you again after that.”
Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before she could tell what it was.
“Let’s simply agree that whatever happened was a momentary madness,” she suggested. “No one is at fault. And we certainly don’t need to ever refer to it again.”
“If that’s your wish.” He took a deep breath. “Tell me about your home.”
That was a safe topic, and she appreciated that he was willing to put aside the previous one. She looked around the estate, saying, “I’ve lived at Hollydell my whole life. It’s been in Papa’s family for such a long time, I can’t remember since what king. In fact, the tradition is that Hollydell is actually a corruption of Holy Dell, because there’s that natural spring in the dell nearby, and pilgrims would come there and say they were healed at the fountain that came up from the ground. Legend has it that the water always flows there—no matter how hot and dry in summer or how cold the winter—because it was blessed by a saint… Am I telling you too much?” she asked, anxious. She always forgot that people rarely cared about the history of her home as much as she did.
“You are telling me not enough, for I’ve got questions. Have you seen this fountain?”
“Of course! It’s deeper in the woods, and you’ve got to go through a combe and then you’ve got to ford a stream—well, not in winter, it’s frozen—and then you get to the fountain. You can tell when you’re close because there are often clouds of mist rising up. The water can get quite warm. Papa says it’s an entirely natural feature, but all the tales say that the saint called upon Mary for help hiding her from a suitor who wished to marry her against her will. Mary sent the mist to cloak the saint, and the suitor couldn’t find her and he eventually gave up and left.” She inhaled sharply as she considered the sudden parallels to her own situation a few moments earlier. She’d have taken a veil of mist if it had been offered. Of course, the arrival of Snowdon had been just as effective.
“I’d like to see it. Could we go? Not alone, of course,” he added.
“Oh, I think that would be lovely. We can’t go now, not with luncheon so soon. But perhaps this afternoon.”
“Maybe not,” he said, looking up at the sky, where the clouds were once again gathering grey and heavy, threatening snow. “In fact, I should take you back to the house. Where you’ll have more people about.”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.
“I know you will be.” He gave her a smile and walked her back to Hollydell.
They returned in time for lunch, which was laid out in a much more formal manner than breakfast. The centerpiece—literally—was a massive roast pig with an apple in its mouth and a wreath of roasted potatoes all around.
The guests set upon the meal as if they were all starving (instead of nicely fed from earlier), and the conversation was loud and cheerful. Caroline caught Francis’s eye across the table, but all he did was wink and mouth the word Experiment? while pointing to the pig.
She shook her head, laughing. That was much more typical of Francis. She was so glad he was back to normal.
Snowdon had been seated next to Estelle for this meal, and he was doing a fine job of drawing words from the normally shy young lady. Estelle seemed to be explaining something to him, probably about art. He was listening intently, and Caroline thought that it would be grand if the poor Estelle could marry a nobleman like Snowdon.
But not Snowdon himself! a little voice inside her objected.
Caroline sat still for a moment. Why should she be jealous of Estelle getting attention from Snowdon? It wasn’t as if Caroline wanted him for herself…did she?
Oh, no. Caroline, who’d so recently protested that she needed no suitor, and that she’d settle for nothing less than the perfect gentleman, now confronted the fact that she may have found him. But he might not find her the perfect lady.
Estelle, however. She was blonde and willowy, and soft-voiced and always polite…the sort of lady a man of the aristocracy might feel would look very well as the mistress of the house. And while she was born poor, she led an exemplary life and her family never suffered a hint of scandal. There would be little impediment to a well-off lord taking her for a wife.
For some reason, she glanced at Timothy Stockan, who was watching the same scene with an expression of defeat. He must have had many of the same ideas Caroline did, and agreed that if Snowdon did decide he wanted to court Estelle, there was nothing to prevent him from doing so. Caroline also saw how pained he was by the thought.
