Page 29 of The Soldier

The earl rose, as well. “I am burdened with more horses than I have time to exercise, so perhaps you’d join me on the occasional hack?”

“I would love to.” The vicar closed his eyes as he spoke, as if uttering a prayer, and the earl perceived the situation was dire.

“Come along,” he said, leading Bothwell toward the door. “My breeches will be loose on you, but my boots will likely fit.”

***

“Hello, ladies.” Hadrian Bothwell smiled as Emmie and Winnie approached the stable and Stevens led the horses away. “Is that libation you bear?”

“It’s lemonade,” Winnie said, “and we brought some cheese breads, too.”

“Cheese breads?” The vicar struck his chest with a dramatic fist. “Oh, let me die in this state of bliss, to know cheese breads are in my immediate future.” Emmie set her tray down on a shaded bench and smiled at the vicar.

“Hello, Miss Emmie.” Bothwell smiled back at her, and to the earl’s watchful eye, there was just a bit too much longing and wistfulness in that smile. When the vicar brushed a kiss on the lady’s cheek, St. Just would have rolled his eyes, except Winnie was watching him too closely. Winnie rolled her eyes though, and that restored his humor.

“Hullo, Miss Winnie.” The earl swung her up onto his shoulders. “You are the lookout, so spy me some of these cheese breads.”

“Over there.” Winnie pointed. “On the bench near the lemonade.”

The earl ambled over and bent at the knees to retrieve one.

“Hold my gloves.” He held both hands up for Winnie to whisk off his gloves. “On second thought, you need to eat, too. I can barely tell you’re up there. Toss the gloves to the bench.”

She complied and accepted a small, golden brown roll. As she munched, crumbs fell to the earl’s hair.

“These are good,” the earl pronounced, taking a bite of his own cheese bread. “Aren’t you going to have one, Miss Farnum?”

“I believe I will,” Emmie replied, avoiding his eyes. “Vicar?”

“But of course.”

“Lock your elbows, Winnie.” St. Just hefted her up and over his head, then set her on the ground.

“You have crumbs in your hair,” Winnie said around a mouthful of bread.

“I am starting the latest rage in bird feeders. May I have some lemonade, Miss Farnum?”

“You may, but bend down.”

He complied, bending his head so she could swat at his hair. Except she didn’t swat; she winnowed her fingers through his hair and sifted slowly, repeating the maneuver several times. The earl was left staring at her décolletage and inhaling the fresh, flowery scent wafting from her cleavage.

“Now you are disheveled but no longer attractive to wildlife.”

“Pity,” he murmured as he accepted a glass. “Vicar, are you drinking?”

“I am, and eating. Shall we sit?” He gestured to the little grouping under the shade a few yards from the barn and seated himself with enough room on either side of his bench for a young lady to join him.

Clever bastard.

“You haven’t made cheese breads for a long time, Emmie,” Bothwell said. “I was missing them.”

“I’m glad you like them. May I send some along home with you?”

“I would be eternally indebted and the envy of all who call on me for the next two days.” The small talk went on for a few more minutes as the cheese breads and lemonade disappeared, but then Bothwell rose on a contented sigh. “Rosecroft, thanks for a great gallop.”

“Are you busy tomorrow afternoon? I’m working them almost every day, but when they’re not in company, they spend half the ride dodging rabbits and outrunning their own shadows.”

“Ah, youth. I will present myself in riding attire tomorrow at two of the clock, weather permitting. Ladies, good day, and Emmie, you know I would love to see you any Sunday you take a notion to join us.”