Page 11

“Have you ever done this before?” Lily asked, trying to hide her apprehension as Frederick shifted the axe from hand to hand.

“No,” he replied, flexing his fingers around the wooden handle. “But how difficult can it possibly be for a young, strapping lad like myself?”

His smile was full of boyish confidence, and it was difficult to doubt him when he stood there looking like a Greek god come to life, his blue eyes bright and eager, his black hair falling across his determined brow.

“Be that as it may,” Lily said, battling a smile, “please promise you will be careful. Your sister would never forgive me if I returned you to her in pieces.”

He gave her a grin before turning toward the large stack of wood waiting to be chopped. “I’ll be careful, boss. I promise.”

Smiling to herself, Lily left him to his work and headed for the kitchen, her mind filled with thoughts of all he’d done these last three days.

After they’d finished with the apple trees, he’d spent the next two days washing the windows and clearing away the dust and spider webs from all the eaves and doorways.

No task was beneath him, no job too big or small.

He surprised her constantly with his kindness, his willingness to try, and how easily he’d settled in here, as if he had always been here. As if he intended to stay.

Which, of course, he did not.

Lily paused just outside the kitchen door and turned to glance back at Frederick. He’d removed his coat and was now rolling his shirtsleeves up to the elbow, showing off his strong, well-formed forearms.

The day was a warm one, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he would look like with his shirt off altogether, her mind conjuring up a lean, muscled torso and broad, naked shoulders gleaming with perspiration beneath the afternoon sun.

“Lily-pad?”

She startled and her gaze shot guiltily to the now-open doorway, where her grandmother stood watching her with both brows raised high.

“Are you coming inside, or do you intend to stand there staring at Mr. Darrington all day?”

Cheeks burning, Lily followed her grandmother inside, and shut the door behind her, grumbling, “I wasn’t staring at Mr. Darrington.”

“Hogwash. Of course you were. He is a handsome man, and there is no shame in looking.”

Except she hadn’t simply been looking. She’d been ogling, and she’d been caught at it. By her grandmother, no less. Her cheeks flushed anew.

“After all, fair is fair,” Gran continued as they entered the kitchen. “He stares at you, too.”

“He does not,” Lily argued, as if offended by the idea, even as a secret thrill whispered up her spine.

“He does so,” Gran said. “ Often .” A feline smile Lily had never seen before curled her grandmother’s lips. “The boy is smitten with you, dear.”

There was that thrill again, a bodily response she could not control, and one that spoke of secret longings she’d been trying to deny.

“Mr. Darrington is not smitten with me,” Lily said firmly, her voice revealing none of the regret the words inspired. “He is a charming man who is helping us temporarily before he returns to London. Any attention he might be paying me is only pretend.”

Her grandmother gave an indelicate snort. “I disagree. Mr. Darrington likes you, and I believe he could come to love you, if you would only encourage him.”

Lily sighed. “Gran—”

“If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. I’d like to spend my final days with a handsome young man to feast my eyes upon, preferably one with broad shoulders and firm thighs.”

Lily choked on a laugh. “Gran, please!”

But her grandmother only grinned. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not dead.”

“Even so, you shouldn’t say such things to your granddaughter,” Lily said, only half joking. “Besides, I thought we had decided you were going to live forever.”

Gran patted her arm. “No one lives forever, dear. Much as we might like them to.”

Frederick brought the axe down on another block of wood and smiled as it split in two with a satisfying crack.

There was something gratifying in wielding an axe, using muscles he rarely had reason to exercise and watching the pile of wood grow because of his efforts. He liked the work and the feeling of accomplishment.

He’d grown more confident these last few days, no longer quite so wary of unfamiliar tasks, nor so certain he would embarrass himself while attempting them.

When he awoke this morning, he’d actually smiled as he thought of the day ahead, and wondered what sort of work the Grayling women would have for him.

After those first two days in which he’d picked what felt like a thousand apples, he’d scrubbed the exterior of the inn until it fairly sparkled, and yesterday, Mrs. Grayling had even allowed him to milk Blythe—supervised, of course.

He hadn’t told his nieces and nephew yet, but his efforts had outdone theirs, far and above.

Chuckling to himself, he used his sleeve to mop his sweaty forehead before balancing another chunk of wood on the tree stump. Truth be told, he was having more fun working at the inn than he had in ages, and he would enjoy it while it lasted, however long that might be.

And the same goes for Lily’s company.

The thought flickered through his mind, dimming his smile as he brought the axe down hard, splitting the wood in two.

He’d only known Lily for a matter of days, but the thought of leaving her tied his stomach in knots.

He’d lived in London all his life and had never been tempted to live anywhere else.

And yet, after less than a sennight, this place had begun to feel like home.

He liked it here. He liked the inn, and Little Bilberry.

And, most of all, he liked Lily.

He liked talking to her, and being with her, and he could sense that he was coming to care for her a great deal.

Of course, he was no angel. He desired her, too, and although their one kiss had been chaste and all-too-brief, he’d thought of it often. He’d thought of her lips, soft and sweet, and the expression on her face after it was over, so adorably befuddled, so gorgeously dazed.

He’d liked that, seeing her so discomposed, almost as much as he’d liked the kiss itself. And he’d liked that kiss a great deal.

He wanted another one, but next time—if there was a next time—he wanted a real kiss, a properly improper kiss, with no audience, no constraints, no thoughts of chores or unwanted suitors or what the future might hold.

But, as much as he wanted to kiss Lily again, he also knew it was a bad idea. He knew he should leave her be. Hell, he’d made Penelope a promise that he would do just that, and he’d intended to keep it.

The problem was, he didn’t want to leave her be. He didn’t even want to try.

“Lemonade, Frederick?”

His head came up and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of Lily walking toward him with a glass in each hand, her sage green skirts flitting about in the autumn breeze.

“How thoughtful,” he said, smiling at her as she handed him a glass.

He took a long drink of the deliciously cool lemonade, nearly finishing it off in one gulp, and then he gave a grateful sigh. “I needed that. Thank you, Lily.”

“Thank my grandmother,” she said, pursing her lips. “The lemonade was her idea.”

He had no clue what to make of that statement, or her rueful, exasperated tone of voice. “I…see.”

“No, you don’t.” Her nose scrunched and then she blew out a breath. “Gran is playing at matchmaking, I’m afraid. She thinks you have…” She grimaced. “She thinks you’ve developed a romantic interest in me.”

He took another drink of his lemonade, savoring it, as he savored the blush that had pinkened her cheeks, her freckled nose, her stubborn chin.

“Maybe I have,” he said lightly, smiling at her, though he and his racing heart both knew his words were no joke.

“It isn’t nice to tease,” she said, her gaze on her glass, and Frederick longed to touch her cheek, her hair, the graceful column of her throat.

“Maybe I’m not teasing, Lily.”

Her eyes flicked to his, surprised yet wary. “Maybe?”

He shook his head. “Definitely.”

Her smile was breathtaking, her eyes glowing with pleasure, and Frederick nearly kissed her then, so strong was the urge to show his regard; to illustrate with his lips and hands exactly how bloody interested he was in her.

“Freddy?”

Shock hit him, freezing his limbs, and he looked past Lily with growing dread to find his sister standing a few feet away, glaring daggers at him.

Bollocks .

“It’s true then,” Penelope said, stalking toward them, her mouth drawn into a fierce frown. “I didn’t want to believe it, and yet, here you are. With Lily.”

Frederick cleared his throat and forced his lips into a smile. “Penelope. This is a lovely surprise. What brings you to the inn today?”

With Penelope glowering and Frederick smiling, Lily’s head snapped back and forth between them, her confusion evident.

“I went into the village today,” Penelope said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I stopped in at the tavern to have an ale with my dearest brother, only to run into Mr. Charles Carstairs instead, who proceeded to tell me that he met my brother, Frederick, a few days ago, and how thrilled I must be over Frederick’s impending marriage”—her nostrils flared—“to my dearest friend, Miss Lily Grayling.”

“You didn’t tell her?” Lily demanded, her expression aghast.

Frederick winced and held up his palms. “It isn’t what you think, Pen. Let me explain—”

“It isn’t what I think?” She plunked her hands on her hips, all sisterly indignation. “I think I told you to stay away from Miss Grayling, and yet, you’ve apparently done exactly the opposite. Am I incorrect in my assessment?”

She wasn’t, and she had every right to be angry. Regret swamped him. He should have told her at the start.

“Penelope, please,” Lily said, her even voice intending to calm. “It truly isn’t what you think it is. If you will allow us to explain…?”

Penelope’s hands remained planted on her hips, and although she was still scowling, she did nod her assent. “Fine. You will explain,” she said to Lily. “And you”—she shot Frederick a glare—“will remain out here until we are done.”

“Penelope—” Lily started to protest, but Frederick stopped her.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ve earned my sister’s poor opinion of me. I will stay here and finish chopping the wood.” He held out his empty glass and gave Lily a small smile. “Thank you again for the lemonade.”

She eyed him curiously for the barest moment before taking the glass from him then heading toward the inn, his unhappy sister trailing behind her.

“Well, hell ,” Frederick muttered to himself. “That certainly could have gone better.”

But he supposed it could have gone worse, as well. At least Penelope hadn’t murdered him.

With a heavy sigh, he retrieved the axe then turned to face the still-large pile of wood, determined to finish the task before nightfall.