Fortune Favors the Sparrow

by Rebecca Connolly

  His eyes crinkled on a smile at her. “I look forward to seeing your efforts, then.” He turned slightly, cupping a hand around his mouth. “Nat! Bring Miss Moore’s supplies and the stool! She has work to do!”

  Chapter Ten

  Watching Clara work was nearly as satisfying as seeing the magnificence of her finished project. It was an art of its own, seeing her capture a scene on the page, and even if he were not looking at the page, he would still have considered the scene before him as art.

  There was nothing remarkable about the way she was dressed, which he greatly appreciated, as it allowed the true nature, beauty, and essence of Clara to shine. She needed no adornment to be lovely, and the more he watched, the more he believed it.

  She was on her third drawing of the afternoon, having perfected the Kirkleigh beach and Hawk’s perfect view, and Hawk was fairly certain he was the only one paying any attention now.

  Nat dozed on the sand, hands behind his head, cravat over his eyes. Mrs. Daniels sat on a large rock with a book. Neither of them seemed in any way perturbed by the lack of activities to entertain them at the present.

  Hawk was glad for it, but the point was also irrelevant. He’d have stayed here to allow Clara her time to draw even if the others had demanded they return to the house.

  He wasn’t even certain what Clara was drawing at this point, not that it mattered. She was so talented, he’d have been fascinated by her taking the likeness of an open field. They’d moved further down the beach towards the Barcliffe property, finding a perfect view of the beach as a whole, with even the faint image of the house itself atop the cliffs visible to the naked eye. Clara’s excitement about the scene had been just as evident, her teeth sinking into the fullness of her bottom lip as her bright hazel eyes darted here and there, taking in every particular of the cliffside and the beach before her.

  Hawk did not blame her for such a reaction. Even he could admit that it was a beautiful sight, and with the day being so fine, it was something out of a dream. But he could also admit that he likely had never seen it with the same appreciation he had today. Everything was new, rare, and stirring, and while he might not have any artistic ability by any stretch of imaginations, he could see the opportunity for any hands that were so talented.

  Clara’s hands, for example.

  He was not presently sitting close enough to watch her hands now, but he had been when she had drawn his beach.

  Their beach.

  Something within his chest leapt at the notion, finding a primal satisfaction in the statement, even if he’d only meant it in the most basic sense of the phrase. If he’d been thinking about the notion of Kirkleigh as a home, it would be both his beach and her beach. If he’d been thinking about use of the beach, it would have been his and Griffin’s. There was not another way to look at it for now, but with the other two occupied, he could almost imagine that he and Clara were on this beach together.

  Alone.

  Why did that seem like such an appealing idea?

  He’d only spent three days with the woman, and he’d been away for a great deal of the day working on the estate, as he had planned to. But coming home to Kirkleigh after had seemed somehow more glorious knowing she would be there. Dining with her had been easier than dining with his own siblings at times. There was never a lag in conversation, and yet there was never anything akin to chatter happening.

  She was fascinated by a great many things, possessed an innate curiosity that ought to have meant she was bored to tears in his presence. Yet she never appeared so. Never once had she taken on airs or been in any way dismissive. She was always warm, always open, always engaged, and he was very much enjoying the sight of any smile she would give.

  Each one seemed somehow priceless, despite the fact that there always seemed to be a smile of some sort on her lips.

  When she was engaged in her art, as she was now, there was one particular smile that captivated him. It was soft, relaxed, and perfectly contented. Almost whimsical, even faraway, but she was perfectly present. No breeze unsettled her, no passing cloud made her frown, and it was rare that she even paused in her work.

  Extraordinary talent, and an extraordinary woman.

  Had he ever known this before? About her, or any woman at all?

  What was it that he knew?

  What was it he felt?

  He shifted his position against the nearest cliffside wall as Clara reached up and pulled her wide straw hat off, tucking the ribbons into it as she set it aside. She tossed her hair, though it was pinned up, and seemed to sigh at having her head unencumbered. Something about the action made Hawk smile, and the looseness of the pins in her hair became ever more evident when a gust of wind rolled across them from the sea.

  Tendrils of deep golden hair began to wave on the air, the coil of plaited tresses sinking against her neck as a pin fell to the sand behind Clara’s stool.

  She did not seem to notice.

  Her lips pulled to one side as she eyed her subject, and the end of one charcoal pencil tapped against the page.

  Hawk waited a moment as he watched Clara, saw her brow wrinkle a little, noticed how her lips pulled in very slightly. She was considering something, trying to find a solution to whatever the problem was, and when her eyes narrowed, he chuckled to himself.

  She heard the sound and glanced over at him, flashing a smile that caught him in the gut. “What?”

  He shrugged, a rather new motion he’d adopted that seemed to come naturally in her presence. “You’ve decided something, and I’m intrigued to discover what it is.”

  “You noticed?” She tossed her head back on a dancing laugh, and Hawk forgot to breathe.

  Had he ever noticed the turn of a woman’s throat before? It seemed an odd part of any anatomy to focus on, but with such a laugh, her fragile setting of hair dangling precariously, her throat was on full and perfect display. It was impossible not to notice.

  And it was lovely.

  Hawk swallowed once and tried for his usual manner and sense. “I’ve been watching you work. I hope you don’t mind.”

  She beamed, the laughter still dancing in her eyes. “Not in the least, though I don’t know how it could be an enjoyable pastime for you.” She looked at Nat, still sprawled inelegantly on the sand and attempting to sleep. “I’ve bored him into slumber.”

  “He’s a man of minimal taste,” Hawk assured her in as serious a tone as he could.

  Clara scoffed a short laugh and looked over at her aunt, her smile softening. “Aunt Fern seems content. She’s seen me draw often enough, the novelty is long gone.”

  “Pity,” Hawk mused, not sparing a glance for the aunt, lovely woman though she was. “With the variety in subject and in medium, I should think nothing ever remotely repetitious.”

  Hazel eyes came back to his, full lips pursing just a little.

  Perhaps he had gone too far in his compliments, making himself in some way a fool. The sting of it was that his flattery was anything but.

  It was blatant, honest, raw truth.

  And he had no manner of retreat, should he need it.

  “Do you want to know what I was considering?” Clara suddenly asked, her voice lowering.

  Holding his breath, Hawk nodded.

  She waved him over, and he was moving with an attentiveness that he’d have called pathetic in any other man. He crouched beside her, putting his eyeline nearly of a height with hers.

  “I have an excellent view of a great many things,” she explained as she gestured towards the Barcliffe beach, cliffside, rocks, coves, and the wildflowers dotting various ledges. “But there is one aspect that I do not get where I am. Can you guess it?”

  Being this close to her, feeling stray tendrils of her hair slap against his skin, inhaling the fresh, lightly floral scent of her, he couldn’t very well guess his own name, let alone something she couldn’t see.

  Again, pathetic in anyone else.

  Not pathetic now.

  He bl
inked his eyes and forced himself to focus, to see the setting before him as an artist would have and wondering what would puzzle them.

  It took long enough that his cheeks began to heat, but then at last, he noticed.

  “The depth of the water,” he answered with some relief. “The waves as they are make that unclear, and with the pillared island there, the perspective is skewed.”

  Clara nodded, leaning to the side to smile directly at him. “Very good, Your Grace. An eye for detail, I see.”

  “Depends on the detail,” he muttered, pushing to his feet and setting his hands to his hips as he looked at the problem Clara had spotted. “The only thing I can think of to solve your dilemma is to get closer and get higher.”

  “Is that even a possibility?” She rose herself, tucking a few of her flying strands behind an ear. “It is your neighbor’s property, after all.”

  Hawk thought about that, then shook his head. “I believe so. As I said, the Brownings are very generous with their beach. When they see your art, I’d think they’d be enchanted you’d take an interest in their land.”

  Clara laughed softly and peered up at him. “Remind me to have you do the talking if we happen to meet them.”

  We?

  A rough swallow tugged at his throat, and Hawk found himself nodding. “I see a ledge not too far down the beach that should be high enough to get your proper vantage, and a decent enough path to get there. If you’re feeling up to venturing.” He glanced down at her, raising a brow.

  Her smug smile was a delightful sight. “Let us venture, Your Grace.”

  Hawk offered an arm playfully, which was not an emotion he had known in some time, and Clara took it without hesitation. They began to stroll along the sand when Hawk looked behind them. “Should we not inform your aunt?”

  Clara turned and waved to her aunt, then returned her attention ahead of them. “There. She knows.”

  There was nothing to do but laugh at such antics, and at the complete abandonment of strictly-adhered-to principles of Society and polite behavior. The two of them wandering away from their party without chaperone ought to have been scandalous and entirely unheard of, yet there was no sign of reluctance or reticence, and even Mrs. Daniels was not crying out in protest against it.

  Of course, they would be in decently plain sight of her still, but she could not know their exact destination.

  What a strange pair these two women were, and what a strange effect they were having on him.

  Well, one of them, anyway.

  Clara sighed and looked out at the sea, smiling blissfully. “I love the sea. I didn’t know that before today, but I should be quite content to live by the seaside forever.”

  “Should you?” Hawk asked, more curious about the admission than he ought to have been. “What about it do you find so enchanting?”

  She hummed to herself as she thought. “The near-constant breeze is refreshing, the sound of the waves soothing to my ears, and the cliffs absolutely stirring to behold. Look at the wildflowers.” She pointed to various terraced ledges along the face of the cliffs where hardy wildflowers still lingered despite the approaching winter. “How can anything grow there? And especially how can anything beautiful do so?”

  He saw what she saw, and again wondered that he had never seen it. He shook his head and had to look at her once more. “You have a perfectly refreshing view of things, Clara Moore.”

  Something about that made her laugh. “I have a very singular way of looking at things, Hawk, and that is all that can be said for me. A great deal of it is ignorance, but there it is. Oh!”

  He paused as she pulled him to a stop and stooped, tugging at the laces of her boots. “Clara, what in the world are you doing?”

  “I swore to myself that I would dip my toes in the water,” she said simply, balancing on one foot as she tugged off a stocking. She tucked it back into her boot, then did the same with the other.

  Hawk ought to have looked away, bare ankles and feet seeming an inappropriate sight on a lady, though he wasn’t sure why, but he was so enchanted by her reasoning, he barely noticed the impropriety until she was standing before him in bare feet, a bit of her skirts held in one hand to keep the hem from the sand.

  “Hmm.” Clara frowned down at her boots, her drawing supplies in the hand looped through Hawk’s arm, and the hand occupying fabric at the present. “I think I’d best leave those here for now.”

  “Nonsense.” Hawk bent and picked them up, smiling at her freely. “I am perfectly capable of carrying a lady’s footwear, I’ll have you know.”

  She giggled and curtseyed as perfectly as any woman in a ballroom. “Thank you, Your Grace. Now, if you wouldn’t mind escorting me closer to the water…”

  He’d have escorted her to the East Indies on foot if she continued to smile at him like that. But he only inclined his head and steered them over to the water’s edge.

  Clara tentatively dipped the toes of one foot into the water, shivering against Hawk as she did so. She laughed very softly to herself and immersed her foot entirely.

  “There,” she murmured as she swirled the water around gently. “Now I truly feel as though I have been here.”

  Her words stirred something in Hawk, and he gazed at her with a strange longing that ached deep into his soul. There was a finality and farewell in her statement, and her imminent departure on the morrow suddenly loomed before him. She would be gone, and with her, the magic that had begun to inhabit Kirkleigh. The fondness he’d started to feel for a place he’d never truly cared about. The sense of belonging he’d felt lingering about his person of late that had been so lacking in much of his life.

  There was nothing particularly enchanting about Kirkleigh, perfectly situated though it was.

  Clara, on the other hand, was everything enchanting.

  And he was so very enchanted.

  His breath escaped from him in a rush, and he swallowed with difficulty. Slowly, not wanting to startle her, he moved his hand down to hers and pulled her diary and pencil set away from her, folding it beneath the arm holding her boots. Then, heart pounding, he returned his hand to hers, curving his fingers around hers with a hesitation that had him nearly trembling.

  Clara’s breathing stilled, and her eyes, still on her foot in the water, widened. He watched as she carefully wet her lips, as she blinked twice, then he smiled his way to a sigh when he felt pressure from her fingers against his.

  The moment was so sweet, so tender, so exhilarating that it ought to have had a speech of sorts. Yet there were no words that came to mind, and certainly no words that he could speak.

  There was just the connection between them, and, for a moment, he would swear that he could feel the beat of her heart through her palm.

  He wondered if she could feel his, as well.

  Clara lifted her head, careful not to look at him, and began to walk along the water as it rolled onto the sand. She kept a tight hold on Hawk’s hand, tugging him along with her, and he was more than content to go. Nothing was said, and there was only the sound of the water, of Clara’s steps, of the birds overhead.

  It was a moment too perfect for words.

  “Is that you, Kirklin?”

  Hawk had never felt inclined to snarl at anyone or anything in his life, but the urge roared within him now. Had he not just thought…?

  The irritated thought vanished when he caught sight of Mr. and Mrs. Browning walking along the beach towards them.

  He forced his most polite smile and kept his hand closed around Clara’s, more to steady his sudden burst of nerves than anything else.

  If word spread around the established families in the area that he was in residence, invitations would flock towards him, and he still intended to leave in the coming days.

  Especially when Clara was gone. What was the point of staying then?

  “I thought that was you, Kirklin!” Mr. Browning crowed in jovial delight. “Oh, pardon me, I suppose I must call you Your Grace.”

/>   “Quite all right, Mr. Browning,” Hawk assured him with a formal air. “You’ve known me since I was a boy.”

  “We have indeed!” Mrs. Browning squealed, the sound one belonging to a much rounder woman than she could ever be. Her eyes flicked to Clara. “And who might this be, then, Your Grace?”

  Hawk cleared his throat. “Miss Alexandra Moore, Mrs. Browning, My late uncle’s ward.”

  Mrs. Browning’s eyes went shockingly round. “My heavens… Of course, it is! Oh, bless you, child, you’ve grown into such a beautiful woman!”

  Clara blushed and curtseyed quickly. “Thank you, Mrs. Browning.”

  “You likely don’t remember us,” Mr. Browning blustered, smiling and giving Clara a wink. “We only truly met at the village festival in the spring, and your guardian rarely came.”

  “He had so many duties,” Mrs. Browning added quickly, as though eager to defend the late duke, “and we know he would have come more if he could. But you were always a very pretty girl, Miss Moore. What brings you back to Kirkleigh?”

  Hawk did not like probing, and he knew the Brownings were a good sort, but they were also notorious busybodies. That much he recollected.

  “She is visiting the area and various friends,” Hawk explained, squeezing Clara’s hand in hopes of keeping her from having to answer. “Naturally, Kirkleigh is at her disposal. It was always more her home than mine.”

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Clara broke in, her voice taking on an apologetic note, “but I wanted to sketch your beautiful beach. Kirklin is helping me to find the best spot, but I don’t wish to trespass.”

  “Not at all!” Mr. Browning boasted with enough volume to bring down rocks. “You are welcome to stroll and explore and sketch and do anything your heart desires. Our beach is at your disposal, Miss Moore.” He winked again. “And you may stroll along the water’s edge any time.”

  Clara dimpled a sweet smile that would have soothed a wild boar. “You are too kind.”

  Hawk nodded once and indicated the ledge they were heading for. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Browning, Mrs. Browning, I must get Miss Moore up there to get some details done before we have to return to Kirkleigh. Our party is waiting for us, I’m afraid.”