alone," Wendell said. "He's still sulking over losing Arabella to that fudgy old Anton. I'll teach her to dance, Olivia."
She gave him a grateful smile. Sometimes she didn't know what she would do without Wendell, and she felt guilty for keeping him to herself. She wondered why no woman had caught his eye and was surprised at how unhappy the thought of losing him made her feel. And there were moments when he looked at her that she felt… no, that was silly, outrageous even. Wendell saw her as a sister, nothing else. She was imagining things if she saw anything else in his friendship.
----
Chapter 7
« ^ »
From the small bench hidden in the alcove,
Catriona listened to the conversation that drifted from the depths of his lordship's study. Who was Arabella, anyway? Was she the reason he discharged such a foul temper like a thunderstorm?
Catriona didn't know, and she wondered why it should mean so much to her. Thomas had been sorely mistaken. There was no peaceful haven for her in England, no escaping the unpalatable facts of who she was or what she had been. She should never have weakened and believed it safe to trust the viscount with the truth. Or let him kiss her, either, although it was probably the most pleasant part of her experience with the English so far.
It was clear to her that she could not stay in this house forever, causing trouble between Olivia and her brother. Her problems were not theirs, beyond their understanding, and she could certainly take care of herself, had done so for more years than not.
She was capable enough. She was not afraid to work, and she was growing troubled at the thought of Thomas handling James by himself, while she remained there, a source of friction to the family. She could scrub floors at an inn or serve as a governess in a small house. She could humble herself and return to the castle if she had to.
She stared out the window at the moors and felt the wildness pull at her heart. She had wanted so badly to belong there. She had wanted to find a place for herself at last, but she was different from other people. Changing her clothes and manners would deceive no one for long.
In the distance, she watched a merlin circle lazily in the air, mesmerized by its beauty. Again she sensed that someone was out there watching her. She felt a powerful tug that was painful to ignore.
Come to me,
a voice seemed to beckon from the moor.
Come to me, and find the part of yourself that you have searched for.
* * *
Knight cantered across the moor, not certain if he wanted to find the missing relative or not. The servants had searched the gardens and found no trace of her. Her beloved stones were still under the bed, so she hadn't run off. He should be glad if she had gone, and yet, well, he wasn't. Having taken her under his wing, he would decide when and if she must go.
The thought of her wandering alone wracked his composure. He had chased her away, he realized that. He would be responsible for any harm that befell her. Guiltily, he wondered if she had overheard his conversation with Olivia, if she had heard him express his doubts about her social salvation. What would become of her if he sent her away? It was too easy to imagine some rake snapping her up as his mistress. If she wasn't well born enough to take as a wife, she was more than desirable as a bedmate, the kind of woman any man would eagerly leave his club to visit late at night. Her honest view of life was refreshing, and he suspected she would be a passionate lover.
He scowled at the barren expanse of boulders and gorse that caught the dying rays of the day's light. How far could she go on foot? And why should he bother to find her anyway, to drag her to the ballroom and teach her to
dance,
when she was not ready to be exposed to even crueler standards than those held in his own home? Dear God, she would be laughed out of London if she arrived in such a defenseless state, unwilling to play society's games.
It pained
She gave him a grateful smile. Sometimes she didn't know what she would do without Wendell, and she felt guilty for keeping him to herself. She wondered why no woman had caught his eye and was surprised at how unhappy the thought of losing him made her feel. And there were moments when he looked at her that she felt… no, that was silly, outrageous even. Wendell saw her as a sister, nothing else. She was imagining things if she saw anything else in his friendship.
----
Chapter 7
« ^ »
From the small bench hidden in the alcove,
Catriona listened to the conversation that drifted from the depths of his lordship's study. Who was Arabella, anyway? Was she the reason he discharged such a foul temper like a thunderstorm?
Catriona didn't know, and she wondered why it should mean so much to her. Thomas had been sorely mistaken. There was no peaceful haven for her in England, no escaping the unpalatable facts of who she was or what she had been. She should never have weakened and believed it safe to trust the viscount with the truth. Or let him kiss her, either, although it was probably the most pleasant part of her experience with the English so far.
It was clear to her that she could not stay in this house forever, causing trouble between Olivia and her brother. Her problems were not theirs, beyond their understanding, and she could certainly take care of herself, had done so for more years than not.
She was capable enough. She was not afraid to work, and she was growing troubled at the thought of Thomas handling James by himself, while she remained there, a source of friction to the family. She could scrub floors at an inn or serve as a governess in a small house. She could humble herself and return to the castle if she had to.
She stared out the window at the moors and felt the wildness pull at her heart. She had wanted so badly to belong there. She had wanted to find a place for herself at last, but she was different from other people. Changing her clothes and manners would deceive no one for long.
In the distance, she watched a merlin circle lazily in the air, mesmerized by its beauty. Again she sensed that someone was out there watching her. She felt a powerful tug that was painful to ignore.
Come to me,
a voice seemed to beckon from the moor.
Come to me, and find the part of yourself that you have searched for.
* * *
Knight cantered across the moor, not certain if he wanted to find the missing relative or not. The servants had searched the gardens and found no trace of her. Her beloved stones were still under the bed, so she hadn't run off. He should be glad if she had gone, and yet, well, he wasn't. Having taken her under his wing, he would decide when and if she must go.
The thought of her wandering alone wracked his composure. He had chased her away, he realized that. He would be responsible for any harm that befell her. Guiltily, he wondered if she had overheard his conversation with Olivia, if she had heard him express his doubts about her social salvation. What would become of her if he sent her away? It was too easy to imagine some rake snapping her up as his mistress. If she wasn't well born enough to take as a wife, she was more than desirable as a bedmate, the kind of woman any man would eagerly leave his club to visit late at night. Her honest view of life was refreshing, and he suspected she would be a passionate lover.
He scowled at the barren expanse of boulders and gorse that caught the dying rays of the day's light. How far could she go on foot? And why should he bother to find her anyway, to drag her to the ballroom and teach her to
dance,
when she was not ready to be exposed to even crueler standards than those held in his own home? Dear God, she would be laughed out of London if she arrived in such a defenseless state, unwilling to play society's games.
It pained
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