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She swatted him on the shoulder.
―Really," he went on, ―Winslow Most Likely to Win at Darts, Winslow Most Likely to Outrun a Turkey—"
―I came in only third for that."
―—you‘re quite annoyingly capable," he finished.
―Annoyingly?"
―A man does like to feel that he is in charge," he murmured.
―Annoyingly?"
He kissed her nose. ―Annoyingly adorable."
They had just about reached the shore of the pond, so Annabel yanked her hand free and marched down the small, sandy stretch. ―I am finding a rock," she announced, ―and if you don‘t teach me how to skip it by the end of the day, I shall…" She stopped. ―Well, I don‘t know what I shall do, but it won‘t be pretty."
He chuckled and ambled over to her side. ―First you must find the right sort of rock."
―I know that," she said promptly.
―It must be flat, not too heavy—"
―I know that, too."
―I am beginning to understand why your brothers did not wish to teach you."
She gave him a dirty look.
He only laughed. ―Here," he said, reaching down to pick up a small stone. ―This one is good.
You need to hold it like this." He demonstrated, then put it in her palm, curving her fingers around it. ―Your wrist should be bent just so, and…"
She looked up. ―And what?" His words had trailed off, and he was gazing out over the pond.
―Nothing," he said with a little shake of his head. ―Just the way the sun is hitting the water."
Annabel turned to the pond, and then turned back to him. The reflection of the sun on the water was beautiful, but she found she preferred watching him. He was looking at the pond so intently, so thoughtfully, as if he were memorizing every last ripple of light. She knew he had a reputation for careless charm. Everyone said he was so funny, so droll, but now, when he was so pensive…
She wondered if anyone—even his family—really knew him.
―The slanted light of dawn," she said.
He turned sharply. ―What?"
―Well, I suppose it‘s a past dawn now, but not by much."
―Why did you say that?"
She blinked. He was behaving oddly. ―I don‘t know." She looked back over the water. The sunlight was still rather flat, almost peachy, and the pond seemed almost magical, nestled in with the trees and gentle hills. ―I just liked the image, I suppose. I thought it was a very good description. From Miss Sainsbury , you know."
―I know."
She shrugged. ―I still haven‘t finished the book."
―Do you like it?"
She turned back to him. He sounded rather intense. Uncharacteristically so. ―I suppose," she said, somewhat noncommittally.
He stared at her for a moment more. His eyes widened impatiently. ―Either you like it or you don‘t."
―That‘s not true. There are some things I like quite a bit about it, and others I‘m not so fond of. I really think I need to finish it before rendering judgment."
―How far along are you?"
―Why do you care so much?"
―I don‘t," he protested. But he looked exactly like her brother Frederick had when she had accused him of fancying Jenny Pitt, who lived in their village. Frederick had planted his hands on his hips and declared, ―I don‘t," but clearly he did.
―I just like her books a great deal, that‘s all," he muttered.
―I like Yorkshire Pudding, but I don‘t take offense if others don‘t."
He had no response to that, so she just shrugged and turned back to the stone in her hand, trying to imitate the grip he‘d shown her earlier.
―What don‘t you like?" he asked.
She looked up, blinking. She‘d thought they were done with that conversation.
―Is it the plot?"
―No," she said, giving him a curious look, ―I like the plot. It‘s a bit improbable, but that‘s what makes it fun."
―Then what is it?"
―Oh, I don‘t know." She frowned and sighed, trying to figure out the answer to his question.
―The prose gets a bit unwieldy at times."
―Unwieldy," he stated.
―There are quite a lot of adjectives. But," she added brightly, ―she does have a way with description. I do like the slanted light of dawn, after all."
―It would be difficult to write description without adjectives."
―True," she acceded.
―I could try, but—"
He shut his mouth. Very suddenly.
―What did you just say?" she demanded.
―Nothing."
But he had definitely not said nothing. ―You said…" And then she gasped. ―It‘s you !"
He didn‘t say anything, just crossed his arms and gave her anI-don‘t-know-what-you‘re-talking-about expression.
Her mind raced. How could she not have seen it? There had been so many clues. After his uncle had blackened his eye and he‘d said that he never knew when he might need to describe something. The autographed books. And at the opera! He had said something about a hero not swooning on the first page. Not the first scene, the first page!
―You‘re Sarah Gorely!" she exclaimed. ―You are . You even have the same initials."
―Really, Annabel, I—"
―Don‘t lie to me. I‘m going to be your wife. You cannot lie to me. I know it‘s you. I even thought the book sounded a bit like you when I was reading it." She gave him a sheepish smile.
―It was actually what I liked best about it."
―Really?" His eyes lit up and she wondered if he realized that he‘d just admitted it.