Ruth walked to meet him. “We are. And you are most welcome to join us.”
Augustus’s gaze flitted to me. “Thank you, but I do not wish to impose my company upon you.”
Ruth laughed. “As though such a thing could ever happen. Bella, do tell him he is most welcome.”
Augustus’s eyes met mine, and I convinced the corners of my lips upward. “You should certainly join us. If you wish it.”
“See, there? It is settled.” Ruth took hold of her cousin’s arm. “Shall we start our tour with the garden or the stables?”
When I realized her question was directed toward me, I glanced around. “I’m certain I will find pleasure in wherever you decide to lead us.”
“I have been quite anxious to see Guinevere. I have missed her so very much while we’ve been away.”
“Then let us not delay my introduction a moment longer.”
Ruth’s shoulders lifted in excitement. “This way, then.”
Ruth rambled on as we followed the drive to the rear side of the house and a stable came into view. The woods around it seemed to nestle the brick building so completely that it appeared to be straight out of a children’s story.
“Augi, do you not remember Mr. Ansely’s reaction when Guinevere bested his racing stallion?” Ruth’s question pulled me back to the conversation, if it could be called a conversation at all. “He was most vexed. Was he not?”
My regard moved to Augustus whose analyzing regard was, not surprisingly, on me.
“I remember,” he said, giving me a brief smile before directing his attention forward. “Did he not offer to buy Guinevere?”
“Oh yes, and for a far greater sum than Uncle paid. Of course, Uncle refused, and I am eternally grateful for it. I couldn’t imagine life without her. Sometimes I believe Guinevere is the only one who truly understands me.” Ruth shot me a nervous glance. “I do realize she is a horse, but often I wonder about an animal’s ability to discern human emotion.”
I gave a tight nod, not wishing to disagree with the odd notion. “And was that the only time Guinevere raced your neighbor’s horse?”
“Yes. And I’m certain it was also the last. Mr. Ansely seems most reluctant to have another of his stallions bested.” Ruth sighed as we reached the stable doors. “In truth, if it was not so utterly thrilling to see the shock on his face following all his boasting, I should feel bad for him.”
I pressed back a smile at her candidness.
“Well, come on,” she said, walking in before me.
The smell of hay and horse manure overwhelmed my senses, and I paused, lifting my gloved hand to my nose.
Augustus stepped near. “Is all well with you, Miss Godwin?”
I lifted my chin, unsettled by his ceaseless consideration. Was he trying to glimpse a fault of some sort? A weakness? I was determined not to reveal whatever it was he sought. “Perfectly well,” I said, walking through the threshold.
In the second stall a mare sifted a pile of hay with her muzzle. Ruth approached and pulled off her gloves, reaching out a hand. The horse lifted her head and sauntered toward us. “Isn’t she exceptional?”
“Indeed.” Though I had no great eye for such things, she was a lovely creature and truly looked exactly as Ruth had described—as though her white nose had been dipped in a pail of golden color. The mare gave Ruth’s hand an affectionate nudge. “Do you ride often?” I asked, impressed by the familiarity they seemed to share.
Ruth beamed back at me. “Every morning with Augi and Sarah … and Owen when he is home, except the Sabbath, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You should join us, Bella. Aunt Marina has a horse she no longer rides.”
I had no desire to ride. I wasn’t exceptionally fond of being atop an animal that had its own mind. Besides, I had refused to have a riding habit made, and thus had no proper attire for the exercise. “I would not want to impose upon your aunt’s kindness any further.”
“I assure you, it would not be an imposition at all. She would likely be grateful for it. Would she not, Augi?”
Augustus lifted his hand and placed it on the horse, causing the creature to give a small whinny. “You would be welcome to ride her.”
I faced Ruth. “In all honesty, I no longer prefer riding. I haven’t cared for it in years. Not since my fall.”
Augustus shifted, and my conscience pricked me for mentioning it.
“That was a most unfortunate event.” Ruth’s tone was so casual that I wondered if she had already forgotten who was to blame for the incident.
Augustus dropped his hand from the horse and glanced at me. “It certainly was.”
“Would you like to feed Guinevere?” Ruth bent down and pulled a carrot from a burlap sack set on the ground. “Carrots are her favorite. Well, besides apples. And I suppose she does love an occasional sugar cube, though the groom tells me they aren’t good for her.”
“That is quite all right.” I gestured for her to proceed, having no intention of dirtying my gloves with such a task.
Ruth held the carrot out to the horse, and the mare quickly accepted her offering, giving Ruth another nudge with her head.
“Shall we take a look at the others?” Ruth asked, though it was obvious she was reluctant to leave her precious pet.
“Perhaps Miss Godwin would allow me to show her the remaining horses?”
The unexpected offer left me searching for an acceptable excuse. When nothing surfaced in time, I stepped to his side. “Very well.”
“Don’t appear too eager,” Augustus whispered, as I followed him farther into the stable. “I’d hate to give Ruth the impression that you actually desire my company.”
“If it would suit you better, I could simply inform her of my thoughts so she need not speculate.”
He laughed. “And what thoughts are those?”
I glanced over at him. “Am I so very difficult to read, Mr. Brundage?”
“You are an absolute conundrum.” He grinned, but there was little humor in his eyes. “In truth, I have been trying to make sense of you since arriving at your Town house yesterday.”
I swallowed. “Is that so?”
He nodded. “I suppose I thought I’d find you so very changed, and in many ways I have.” He paused, and I warmed under his thoughtful consideration, against my better reasoning. “But in other ways, you have not changed at all.”
I moved away from him, disappointed he should not have found me entirely changed from the ingenuous girl I had once been. And yet, though I was loath to admit it, I was also not oblivious to the conflict raging within me—the desire to revert back to that very person Augustus and Ruth had once known. But it would not do. I was no longer that person. I set my gaze on the stall where we had just stopped, eager to move on from his appraisal. “Now tell me of this next horse.”
Augustus’s regard lingered on me for another uncomfortable moment before he gestured to the horse. “This is Sarah’s mare, Blossom. She is the tamest of all the horses, which is most fitting.” We walked on further. “The empty stall here is where Owen keeps his horse while he’s visiting.”
“And how is your brother?”
“He is well.” Augustus moved to the stall across from the empty one, and I couldn’t help but wonder a second time why he didn’t care to speak of Owen. “And this little lady is Mother’s. We call her Buttercup.”
I stifled my amusement at how uncreative some people were. With the same golden color from mane to foot, I should have thought to name her Hesperides, after the nymphs of golden light. Though I had to admit the horse was left wanting at being compared to a divine spirit of the Greeks. Perhaps Buttercup did suit her better.
Augustus lifted his arm when we reached the last stall, and a large, dark stallion walked toward his outstretched hand.
Despite my lack of experience, I was certain this horse was one of the most magnificent I’d seen. “Now that is a stunning horse, Mr. Brundage.”
He ran
his hands along its jaw and down its thick, muscular neck. “You should see him run.” His voice was quiet, as though in reverence for the beast.
“I’m certain it is quite the sight.” My words conjured an image of Augustus atop the large stallion, and my cheeks began to warm at my inability to push it from my mind.
“Then join us for a ride.”
I met his imploring stare. “I was truthful when I said I no longer ride. I haven’t since my fall. Papa hired a riding instructor to help me conquer my fear, but I refused his tutelage and haven’t ridden since.” I looked back at the stallion, slightly embarrassed I had felt a need to say so much.
Augustus took a step closer. “I’m terribly sorry for it.”
“I did not tell you to earn your sympathies, Mr. Brundage, but simply to assure you of my reason for not accepting your invitation.”
“But it was my fault.”
“Yes, it was.” I hesitated. “But had you not been the cause, sooner or later I would have come to the same conclusion—some things are simply not worth the risk.” I felt Augustus studying my profile, and I shifted away from him.
“Yet some things are.”
The air was stagnant as I drew it in, and I glanced back at Ruth. “Shall we return?”
The warmth of his hand on my arm penetrated my defenses, nearly toppling the wall I had been building between us. One touch. I was absolutely pathetic.
“Come, Bella.” His voice was soft. “Can we not make things right between us?”
I spun toward him, yanking my arm free. “I asked you not to call me Bella.” The uncertainty touching his features did nothing to prevent the anger rising inside me, my blood boiling from years of pent up, unresolved frustration. But I managed to maintain my composure. “You can hardly claim to know me anymore, let alone take such privileges.”
His outstretched hand retracted, dropping to his side. “I wanted to stay in touch. Surely you must know that.”
My hands clenched into fists at my sides, and an odd sensation prickled my spine. I longed to simply walk away, precisely as he had done to me, but I could not convince my feet of the wisdom. “How would I have known? You never told me.” Tears blurred my vision as I glared at Augustus, but I refused to let them free. I had no intention of providing more evidence of my foolish care.
His shoulders dropped. “Please understand—”
“—that I was nothing more to you than a friend of convenience? A willing distraction from your boredom when you would visit Blacksley?” The accusation tumbled from my lips before I could stop it.
Grief etched deep into Augustus’s features. “That is not true.”
My chest rose and fell in quick succession, and I attempted to convince myself to say no more, to not let him affect me. I was resolute on adhering to the training I’d undergone. But the words had been held in too long, and I was powerless to contain them. “All those years and not a letter. Three Seasons. Three! And not a word from you. When you and Ruth left, I had no one.” I looked away from his sorrow-filled eyes. “And you didn’t even care.” A blasted tear escaped down my cheek, and I swiped it away.
He took a cautious step forward. “But I did.”
I ignored both the perceptible trembling of my body and the sincerity in Augustus’s countenance. “Do not try to pacify me. Not now. Not when I’ve finally convinced myself to let it alone.”
“And yet I entreat you to believe me.” His voice was gentle and far too near when his hand found mine. At his touch, a peculiar ache surged through me—a longing to be what we once were. I glanced down, suddenly conflicted if I should pull away or welcome it. “If it had been my choice—”
“Are you claiming that you are not to blame for your disregard?” I lifted my gaze to his, curiosity nearly diffusing my anger. Nearly.
“That is precisely what I am claiming. And though I wish I could say more, I cannot.”
I set my jaw. “Of course you cannot. Why should I expect any different from you?”
Augustus glanced back in the direction we’d come, dropped my hand, and took a step from me. I followed his line of sight to discover Ruth nearly upon us.
I forced a smile to my lips and stepped to meet her. “I was just about to retrieve you.” Linking my arm with hers, I started us toward the stable entrance. “And where are we off to next?” I focused my gaze forward, my bonnet shielding my reddened eyes.
“Considering we don’t have much time before we must dress for dinner, I figured you’d like to see the rose garden. With the roses in bloom, the smell is intoxicating.” Ruth glanced behind her. “Are you coming, Augi?”
I did not look back for the echo of heavy footsteps told me what I needed to know.
“And have you concluded that your Guinevere has missed you as much as you have missed her?” I asked, desperate to draw my thoughts away from Augustus and the confusion he had just elicited within me.
“Oh, yes. I’m certain she has. I only regret that I cannot take her out until tomorrow.”
“And where do you typically ride?”
“Oh heavens. So many places.” The mind-numbing chatter on the different routes that were typically ridden was enough to settle me. As Ruth continued, my thoughts wandered back to my conversation with Augustus and what he could have meant by if it had been his choice. He had seemed reluctant to speak of it, which only strengthened my resolve in discovering his meaning. Yet why should he confide in me after I had made it quite clear we were no longer friends?
I glanced over my shoulder to find Augustus several strides behind us, his gaze cast downward. The pensive expression on his face reminded me of another time I had seen him appear so downtrodden—the days following the deaths of his aunt and uncle—and the memory stirred an all-too-familiar desire within me to forgive him.
The very thought of resuming the friendship we had once known made my pulse race. No. We would never be what we once were, as I was no longer an impressionable and naïve young lady. Besides, I needed to tread carefully considering my intentions to secure Lord Thorton. I could not risk everything I had worked toward, and I had no intention to hurt Augustus by allowing him to believe otherwise. It was not only best for all involved, but absolutely necessary that I keep my distance from Augustus. Or was it? A small sigh escaped me.
“Am I boring you?” Concern touched Ruth’s expression.
“No. Not at all.” I offered a reassuring smile. “Please go on.”
With only a brief pause she picked up wherever she had left off. I kept my focus on her this time, refusing myself another thought of Augustus or a glimpse in his direction. Neither would strengthen my resolve in the least.
“Look at all the variations.” Ruth dropped my arm to point out the exquisite shades of color. “Is the sight of it not spectacular?”
I scanned the rows of bushes with brightly colored blooms. “It is.” There was no need to pretend delight. I drew in the sweet fragrance. “As is the smell.”
“I told you it was intoxicating!” Ruth wandered onto the next row and stopped. “How extraordinary,” she called. “These roses here have yellow at the base and red on the tips. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the likes of it anywhere but Fairhaven.” She leaned in closer to examine the petals, leaving only the top of her bonnet still visible to me. “I wonder if they grow that way naturally, or if the gardener has used some strategy to make it happen. Regardless, I think I must declare this variation to be my favorite.” She straightened, becoming once again visible, and glanced at a nearby bush. “Though those purple ones are also very lovely.” Her focus changed again. “And I must admit that most days I tend to favor roses of the pink variety.” A woeful sigh met my ear. “Perhaps it is unwise to make such declarations when I am not yet completely settled on my opinion.”
“I do believe that is very wise of you. How tragic it would be to proclaim something so adamantly only to refute your selection later.”
Ruth nodded, a sober expression on her face. “You are ent
irely correct. I shall continue to deliberate on the matter,” she said, her voice in earnest as she meandered farther down the other aisle, stopping to study the flowers on each bush as she went.
“And what color most suits you, Miss Godwin?” Augustus rounded the corner of the walkway where I stood, causing me to tense. But his expression was softer now. “Or perhaps you are not yet certain of your choice either?”
“I am always certain of my choice, Mr. Brundage.” At once I felt a hypocrite with the way my whole soul pushed me to change my resolve and forgive him. The nearer he came, the more I longed to forget all I’d come to know these past years and digress into the girl I’d once been—the girl who could never refuse Augustus anything, not even her heart.
No. I was not her any longer. I was stronger and wiser. Reason must be my guide, as Mother had taught, not whimsical sentiments. “I prefer the white ones.” I touched the soft, velvet petal of a newly budding rose. “It is refined yet still breathtaking.”
Augustus stopped next to the bush I was admiring. He reached out and carefully pulled the bud from the branch before extending it to me.
I looked down at his offer. “I cannot accept that.”
“It is only a rose, Miss Godwin.”
I met his gaze. “Is it?”
He pressed his lips together, and lowered the rose. “Forgive me. I will not press upon you further.” Sadness once again settled over his countenance. “But might I say, one last time, how truly sorry I am for everything? Had it been my choice, things would have been very different.” He held my gaze a torturous moment, then he turned from me.
Panic surged through my whole body as he walked away from me. “Mr. Brundage,” I called, unable to stop myself.
He glanced over his shoulder.
My heart was pounding, and my will turned traitorous. “Are you giving up that easily?”
He considered me a moment. “I was under the impression that is what you desired of me.”
“Do you know nothing of women, Mr. Brundage?” My chest was abuzz from nerves.
He hesitated, but then started back toward me. “I’m beginning to think I do not understand them at all.”
A Well-Trained Lady (Seasons of Change Book 4) Page 6