“I am hopeful there are books at Brier Hill that I can study,” she said.
Though she was still working through her sandwich, he had finished his entire meal. Did she always eat so slowly, or was she simply hampered by her enthusiasm for their discussion? “Every book at the house is at your disposal.”
She scooted closer. “Do you mean that?”
“Of course I do.” He brushed his fingers lightly along hers, where they rested on the blanket. “I like to study and learn as well. Books are the very first thing I added to Brier Hill upon taking up the role of master.”
She adjusted her position and faced him more directly. “I remember the day I found out you were leaving Lampton Park. When I ran you to ground in the library you were amassing a stack of books. I assumed at the time that you were taking them with you.”
“I was,” he said.
She sighed a little. “You broke my heart that day, you know. It wasn’t that you were leaving—I really did understand the importance of you claiming your independence, even if I didn’t like it. What hurt was that I had to learn of it from Robert Finley. You were my dearest friend, and you never told me you were leaving, never mentioned it, never did anything to soften that blow.”
He reached out and ran his hands gently down her arms. “I am sorry. I wish I could blame it on my youth at the time, but even now, I am not as thoughtful as I ought to be.”
The previously cool breeze whipped around them as a cold wind. Lucas tugged Julia’s collar upward, hoping her coat would be warmer that way.
“Perhaps you aren’t entirely thoughtless,” she said, a quiet smile playing on her lips.
“Then allow me to nudge that ‘perhaps’ toward ‘certainly.’” He took her hands in his and held her gaze. “I promise you, Julia Jonquil, that I will not leave home, be it to climb a mountain or visit a friend or jaunt up to Town, without first telling you that I’m going to be leaving.”
A hint of worry hovered in her eyes. “Isn’t that what the Town bucks refer to as ‘petticoat rule’?”
“Showing one’s wife a little consideration is hardly the same as being crushed under her thumb.”
“I don’t want you to resent me, Lucas.”
He slipped a hand free and brushed it along her cheek. “I don’t resent you. I swear to it.”
Again, her cheeks colored. A bubbling of something began in his chest, something he needed only a moment to identify. He was finding her increasingly intriguing and alluring. Little Julia, with whom he’d climbed trees and played countless silly childhood games and shared an abiding but purely friend-like connection, was tugging at his interest.
He had less than a moment to be upended by the realization before a rumble of thunder forced his thoughts in an entirely different direction. Clouds, thick and dark, had gathered overhead.
“The sky looks ominous, Lucas.”
It did, indeed. “Let’s gather the picnic things and head down. We don’t want to be caught up here if this storm breaks.”
“Do we have time to get off the mountain? It took more than an hour to reach this spot.” She helped repack the leather bag.
“We have time enough to reach the shepherd’s hut,” he said. “We’ll simply have to wait it out there.”
And while they waited, he would try to sort out his confused thoughts and indecisive mind. He had told Kes he meant to attempt to recapture his and Julia’s one-time friendship. But he couldn’t ignore the twinge of doubt in the back of his mind now—not that it was impossible but that it might not actually be what he wanted.
Chapter Eighteen
This had been, thus far, quite possibly the best day Julia had passed in years. The mountain was even more beautiful than she’d imagined. Lucas was attentive and kind and enthusiastic. She’d even admitted to him one of her deep-seated heartaches where he was concerned, and far from dismissing or mocking the poorly healed wound, he had vowed not to cause that same heartache again.
There was hope.
Even the bite of wind and the heavy hint of rain in the air didn’t dampen her spirits as she followed Lucas back down the mountain trail. He moved faster than he had when they’d been ascending but was still very careful of her.
“We have to wander a bit off the trail here,” he said, reaching for her hand. “The little hut is tucked away around the bend.”
She nodded, fully trusting he knew where he was going.
A moment later, their destination appeared behind a bend and below an outcropping of rock.
“It is a very steep drop.” She knew she wasn’t equal to navigating that descent.
He grinned. “While I have climbed up and down the face of that particular façade, it isn’t necessary. The trail winds around it.”
She eyed the rock face as they walked around it and down a much more welcoming trail. “You’ve climbed this?” Heavens, it looked treacherous.
“I’ve had a lot of practice.” He stopped at the door of the tiny hut—it really did look precisely as one would expect a shepherd’s mountainside hut to look—and fished a key from his pocket. “I’m likely a little paranoid locking this old place. Hardly anyone is ever on this mountain. But I do keep things here that would need to be replaced, and I am doing my utmost to keep Brier Hill well within the budget set by Father’s estate.” He opened the door and motioned for her to step inside.
“Is it safe?”
He tipped his head to the side, watching her dryly. “One of these days, my dear, you are going to start trusting me.”
“Not likely.” She inched closer, eyeing the dark interior. “I still remember the time you pushed me out of a tree.”
“I didn’t push you; you fell.”
She looked up at him. “You didn’t try very hard to catch me.”
He smiled a little. “That was James’s fault, as you well know.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Yes, but you are the one suffering for it.”
“Typical,” he muttered. Lucas gave her a little nudge. “Go on in. I’ll get the fire started, and it’ll be warm in no time.”
“That would be welcome. The air is growing quite cold.”
The hut was not brightly lit, the leaden skies providing naught but dim light through the window. It was decidedly small but not unpleasant. She had fully expected a rundown hovel of a shack. Instead, it had an inviting presence about it.
Lucas pulled the door closed behind them, blessedly blocking the wind. He lit a lantern, then crossed to the fireplace. “Without a lot of wood hereabout, I have to burn sod in here. The smell is smokier than you’d probably prefer.”
“I don’t mind, especially if it’ll be warm.”
He looked to her. “Are you cold?”
“My feet got a little wet stepping over that tiny stream. I’m not certain why wet feet make the rest of me so cold.”
“The box on the floor behind you has odd bits of clothing inside.” He pointed to a rough-hewn slatted box. “I know there are stockings. That’ll warm you up.”
“Perfect.”
She bent over the box, and Lucas hunched in front of the fireplace. A number of thick woolen stockings sat at the very top of the clothes pile inside. She picked two and nearly laughed out loud when she eyed them closer.
“These are going to be enormous on me,” she said.
“I’ve never needed clothing for a lady when waiting out the weather here.” He blew on the tiny embers that were just then hopping to life. “We can be grateful you aren’t in need of a dress.”
Julia lowered herself to the blanket laid out in front of the fireplace, hoping for a bit of warmth. Lucas tended the fledgling flames.
She unlaced her damp boots and slipped them off. She would never have guessed that her feet could get colder, but they did. She reached up under her dress and untied her garters. Her stockings we
re dry at the top and slid off easily until she reached her ankles, where they became a sodden mess. The cold air stung her bare toes as she set the stockings aside, so she made quick work of pulling the large, dry, thick-knit stockings on, protecting her feet once again from the bite of cold. The stockings were every bit as enormous as she’d expected, but they were also blessedly warm.
She stretched her legs out in front of her and wiggled her wool-enveloped toes in the direction of the growing fire. Lucas sat back, eyes on the small flames. Something in his posture and expression gave the impression of discomfort.
“Are you upset about something?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“You’re very quiet.”
“Not because I’m upset,” he said. He didn’t sound upset.
“Something is on your mind. What is it you’re thinking about?”
One corner of his mouth twitched, and he shook his head.
An answering smile formed beneath the surface. “What is it?” she asked.
Again, he shook his head.
He meant to be stubborn, did he? “We’re not leaving anytime soon. You might as well tell me.”
“No chance of it, sweeting.” But he smiled.
She couldn’t resist the merriment in his eyes. “Tell me, Lucas.”
“No.”
This was proving to be unexpectedly fun. She leaned toward him. “Tell me.”
He leaned back on his hands. “You really want to know what I was thinking?”
“I really do.”
His smile turned resigned and mischievous all at the same time. “I was thinking that you have very nice legs.”
Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened.
Lucas laughed long and low. “You wanted to know.”
“But how—? When did—? How—?”
“I looked over to tell you that your wet stockings would dry faster if you laid them out flat. You happened in that moment to be in the midst of taking your stockings off.”
Julia pressed her palms to her heated cheeks.
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He sat up straight once more. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”
She dropped her hands and clasped them. “Well, I’ll know better than to press you for conversation next time.”
He moved, setting himself directly in front of her. “Don’t stop pressing, Julia. I prefer when we talk. It would be miserable to return to silently avoiding each other.”
She looked down at her hands. “Brier Hill has been a little lonely.”
He set his hand atop hers. “I don’t want it to be. I truly don’t.”
“Today has been nice,” she said. “Spending time together, talking easily like we did when we were children. Then again, when we were children, you didn’t make comments about my legs.”
His laugh rang through the hut. She had always loved the sound of it. That was one admittedly nice thing about being married to him—she would get to hear that laugh for the rest of her life.
He stood, his long legs unfolding with a fluid grace.
“Are you leaving?” The question emerged more plaintive than she’d intended.
“I am fetching you a blanket,” he said. “Your hands are like ice.”
Until he walked away, she hadn’t realized that she’d nearly been holding her breath. Why did he have her so quivery?
He sat beside her once more and tucked a blanket around her shoulders. She clasped the front of it together with one hand. He had brought over another blanket. That one he laid over their laps.
They sat that way for long minutes, both watching the flames. It wasn’t the miserable silence that had punctuated the first weeks of their marriage. It was very nearly . . . comfortable.
“James and I didn’t engage in fisticuffs often,” Lucas said without warning. “But we had an enormous row when you were six years old.”
She leaned her shoulder against him. “Why were you arguing?”
“Because he let you fall out of a tree.” He put his arm around her shoulder and tucked her up cozily against him. “You might have died, Julia, or broken one of your arms.”
“Or one of my very nice legs,” she said cheekily.
She could feel the rumble of his quiet laugh. She tucked herself into a ball and curled into him. “The fire is helping,” she said. “It’s not nearly so cold.”
“I don’t know about that.”
Without pulling away from him, she looked up and directly into his beautiful blue eyes. “Do you not feel warmer?”
He bent a bit closer. “Oh, I do.”
She swallowed, though doing so was oddly difficult. So was breathing. And thinking. Looking away was entirely impossible.
“What is happening?” she whispered.
He closed his eyes and pushed out a breath. “That answers the question I was asking myself.”
He folded the blanket off his lap and over onto hers before standing and walking away.
The question she posed silently to herself nearly matched the one that had, for reasons she couldn’t explain, put distance between them once more.
What just happened?
Chapter Nineteen
Lucas sat atop Cuthbert’s Wall, the ruined remains of an ancient castle, feet dangling over the edge in front of him. Kes sat not far away.
“I still can’t believe the local people attempt to climb the face of this wall,” Kes said. “When one considers the perfectly serviceable stairs along the back, it seems the height of absurdity.”
“The ‘height’?” Lucas clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Word play this early in the morning is nothing short of cruel, Kes.”
“It was . . . punintentional.”
Lucas groaned, but beneath the sound was a laugh he couldn’t entirely hide. “There is a reason you weren’t named court jester among the Gents.”
“No one would ever aspire to steal that title from you, my comedic friend.”
Lucas dipped his head in mock acknowledgment of the tongue-in-cheek compliment. “A trick of Fate to lend me our Grumpy Uncle instead of our General. Aldric would have my messy life sorted before I even finished explaining it to him. Do you think he would come up from Cheshire? Give me a spot of advice?”
“Would you be willing to swap the General for the King?” Kes asked.
Lucas eyed him narrowly. Kes motioned to the ground below.
There stood a gentleman Lucas would have known anywhere, a friend since his first year at Eton. Digby Layton wasn’t merely the best looking of their group of friends; he was generally considered the handsomest gentleman in the entire kingdom, with the swagger to match.
“Welcome to Cumberland, Your Majesty,” Lucas called down. “Care to join the peasants on the Wall of Shame?”
“Is the wall still equipped with stairs on the back?” Digby asked.
“Is the King balking at a simple climb up a sheer wall?” Lucas shook his head as if both shocked and disappointed.
“And risk this?” Digby motioned to his face, then his highly fashionable frock coat, then to the entirety of his person. “I’ll take the stairs.”
Lucas thought of all the Gents as brothers. They were as close as friends could be. Digby was no exception. They’d been through some difficult times together, and he was one of the most important people in the world to Lucas. Seeing him there brought a sense of immediate relief.
With the speed and alacrity of a born athlete, Digby flew up the stairs. He spread a large handkerchief on the top of the wall but paused, giving it some thought. A second handkerchief was set on the first. Only then did he sit, placing himself atop his linen barrier.
“Why is Cuthbert’s Wall currently the Wall of Shame?” Digby asked.
“Because Lucas is an idiot,” Kes said.
“An affliction of long standing,” Digby said. “If it alone were reason to exile oneself to the Wall of Shame, our friend would reside here permanently. Some new degree of idiocy must have emerged.”
“He is a husband of a mere three weeks and is spending his time sitting on a wall with the two of us.” Kes had a way of phrasing things that made them sound more unintelligent than they actually were while maintaining a tone of absolute sincerity.
“I spent yesterday on a mountain with her,” Lucas pointed out.
“And haven’t talked to nor spent a single moment with her since.” Though Kes was talking to him, he addressed the answer to Digby.
“Ah.” Digby nodded slowly. “Bored her with talk of mountaineering, no doubt.”
“No doubt,” Kes said.
“Your assessment of me is both unflattering and inaccurate.” Lucas pretended to be affronted. Truth be told, having two of his best friends nearby was helping tremendously. “It was not talk of mountains that turned the afternoon amok.”
“What was it, then?” Kes asked.
“I thought she was flirting, but when I undertook a bit of it in return, she was . . . confused.”
Digby adjusted the lace of his cuff. “That’s because, my dear man, you’re rubbish at it.”
Kes’s withheld laugh dissolved into a snort, a rare sound from that gentleman.
“I wish I could laugh about it.” Lucas stood, walking carefully to the stairs. He could hear his friends following, but he didn’t pause or look back until his feet were firmly on the ground once more.
“One afternoon’s fruitless flirting is no reason to abandon ship.” Kes stepped up next to him. “You were starting to make progress.”
Lucas shook his head. “It’s not that. We had an almost perfect afternoon. Pleasant conversation, discovered shared interests, no arguments. She was happy and at ease, funny, witty, beautiful, intriguing . . .”
“Blood an’ hounds!” Digby pressed a hand to his heart. “You’ve fallen in love with your wife.”
Forget Me Not (The Gents Book #1) Page 14