Page 34 of Hearts of Briarwall

Spencer rolled his head to the side and groaned, but then turned and sought out Lydia. He found her at the stall of the last calf, gently murmuring words he could not make out to the little animal at his mother’s teat. No, he would not be reminding her of the animals’ destinies. Watching her wipe a tear from her cheek made him guess she was aware.

He approached with caution. “Miss Wooding?”

She turned, an apology in her eyes. “I’m afraid I’m a bit weepy.”

“It’s been a long evening.”

“Indeed.” She stepped away from the stall and joined him to walk to the horses. “Yet you still insist on calling me ‘Miss Wooding.’” She passed him an electric torch and clicked hers on. “Why is that?”

He took the torch and breathed steadily through his nose before answering. “Respect. Propriety.”

“Propriety? What is this, 1810? We’ve been introduced, we’ve revived an ancient clock together, witnessed the miracle of birth three times over, and saved a baby cow.”

He hid a smile.

“What more could you need to feel free to call me Lydia? Friends of Andrew’s must consider themselves friends of mine. As rare as it is for Andrew to have friends.”

His smile broke free, and he shook his head, but still said nothing.

She sighed heavily and swayed a bit on her feet. “If you will be silent, then I shall have to puzzle it out. Find the key to your clock, if you will.”

He coughed to cover a laugh.

She laughed outright. “Iwillfind you out. What makes Spencer Hayes tick?”

He felt no obligation to respond. Though amused, he was too exhausted for honesty. They reached the horses and mounted. Andrew was right about Goldy, the mare assigned to him for his stay. She was sturdy, and Spencer would almost have to try to fall off her broad back.

Lydia seemed to be dragging as well and did not urge her horse any faster than a walk. He hoped she was too tired to pursue her line of thinking.

“So, out of respect and propriety, you will not call me Lydia. Respect for whom? Myself? Because in that case, I grant you permission to respectfully call me Lydia. However, if it is out of respect for Andrew, I would ask why you would defer to my brother on how you, your own person, should address me, over here, not being Andrew.”

She was not giving it up, and from the sound of it, would go on for quite some time, perhaps until she fell asleep. Or until he did. He eyed Goldy, wondering if the animal would continue home if Spencer happened to doze off.

“Or, perhaps you don’t want the familiarity that calling a person by their first name brings?”

He sat up, and his horse, perhaps too intuitive, immediately halted.

She pulled her horse to a stop and frowned at him. “Is that right, then? You don’t wish to be friends?” She put a hand on her hip. “Is it the breeches?”

Shaking his head, he closed his eyes. Given Andrew’s earlier reaction to her clothing, Spencer could not ignore that question. “No, Miss Wooding, it is not the breeches. I understand why you would choose to wear them in certain circumstances. I’m quite fond of them myself.”

Her brow lifted in his direction.

“Of mine. Ofmybreeches—trousers. Not yours.” Apparently his brain had succumbed entirely to exhaustion.

Both her brows rose high.

He started his horse walking again. “Not that there is anything uncomely about your breeches—they fit you very well—I—” He sighed and slumped in the saddle. He was too tired for this. “You look well in any circumstance, is what I’m saying.” He rubbed his eyes.

She drew up next to him again. “Thank you, I think.”

“It is only that I am in need of certain—boundaries—in order to—”Protect my heart, he finished silently. “It is for the best.”

She chuckled. “Florrie would say you are protecting yourself from falling madly in love with me.”

He froze, except for his ears, which grew rather hot.

Her mouth formed a circle. “Oh bother, I meant to keep that thought inside my head.”

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