Page 4

T he week flew by, except for the interminable church service on Sunday morning.

Mr. Lockhart was very sincere in his teachings, but he erred on the side of thoroughness.

William’s bottom was numb after three hours of sitting.

He wondered if, as vicar, standing for as long was any better. He dreaded having to find out.

By Wednesday, he could delay no more. Exactly seven days had passed, and he knew he had to keep his side of the bargain. But the thought of sitting in Mrs. Lockhart’s parlor, sipping tea, and making small talk for half an hour felt like a rare punishment indeed.

It was such a beautiful day too. Although it was mid-October, the afternoon chill had not set in.

It really was better weather for riding than socializing indoors.

Perhaps that was exactly what he should do.

He could take the back route, across the meadow beyond the church.

A good, hard canter was just what he needed to rid himself of his frustration.

The smell of earth and musty fallen leaves soon revived his senses, dulled from lounging about the house all day.

A long stretch of green countryside spread before him and he shifted his leg to urge his horse into the rhythm of a canter.

It picked up the pace, hooves thudding a beat onto the damp grass.

William felt his cares fall away, his whole body releasing itself to the freedom of motion.

Perspiration began to form on his skin, the rushing air cooling it as they drove onward. A warning sounded in his head. He could not arrive at the Lockharts’ door a sweaty guest. Reluctantly, he eased his mount into a trot and then a walk.

But he was not yet ready for company. If he remembered correctly, there was a pond at the bottom of the hill that signaled the end of the meadow.

The vicarage was on the other side, out of sight.

He could let his horse have a drink while he procrastinated.

It was only a short walk to the Lockharts when he was ready.

William took the route through a copse of trees, pausing to enjoy the solitude of the shadows.

He dismounted, removing his hat to allow the gentle breeze to dry his damp hair.

He walked his horse beneath the canopy of leafy branches, with no one to answer to but himself, in an idyll of shade and freedom.

But when he emerged from the seclusion of the trees, he found he was not alone.

William tightened his grip on his horse’s trailing reins.

There was a girl standing ankle-deep in the shallow water near the edge of the pond, unaware of his arrival.

She made a strange picture, carrying a butterfly net and stalking something among the rushes.

The edges of her dress were muddy and her hair was coming undone.

Her white-blonde hair.

“Miss Lockhart?” William asked with no small surprise.

She whipped around, her face flushed, guilt and horror in her eyes. They darted quickly to a bench a little way off, where stockings, shoes, a glass jar, and a sketchbook were gathered in a messy pile.

“Oh,” she said. “Mr. Cole. You startled me.”

“What are you doing here all alone?” William inquired, though he realized it was a foolish question. She was obviously catching butterflies.

“I am catching a tansy beetle.”

Taken aback, William was driven to ask another question to which the answer should have been clear. “But why are you in the water?”

Miss Lockhart offered him a quizzical look. “Because that is the easiest way to reach the beetle.”

To his own amazement, William now found himself saying, “Do you need any help?”

She seemed to consider this. “That is very kind, but then who would hold your horse?”

William looked down at the reins in his hand, then up at the horse’s soft muzzle. “Ah. Yes. My horse.” He smiled. “It would seem I can be of no help, after all, except to watch over your… erm… belongings.”

Miss Lockhart’s pale skin took on a deep-pink hue.

“That won’t be necessary. They are in no immediate danger.”

She glanced back at the rushes.

“Is it still there?” William wanted to know, interested in spite of himself.

She nodded. Without taking her eyes from the object of her intent, she remarked, “I will be perfectly fine on my own. There is no need for you to hang about.”

William squared his shoulders. “Am I to understand that you are trying to get rid of me, Miss Lockhart?”

She ignored him and carefully lifted her net over a section of the vegetation.

With utmost concentration, she leaned forward, her arm sweeping down and across in a shallow dip.

She straightened triumphantly and grabbed the net to seal in her little captive.

Her dress dragged a few inches in the water as she waded back to shore.

She walked right past William, dripping unceremoniously, and deposited her catch in the glass jar with delicate fingers. Then, at last, she turned to him.

“Mr. Cole, I appreciate your gallantry in wishing to watch over me. But has it occurred to you that we would need watching ourselves if we were to remain here alone?”

“Well, that is very inconvenient.” He frowned. “I should like to stay. My horse needs a drink, and the pond is right there.”

“Our house is over the hill. Your horse could be cared for there just as easily.”

“True, but then I would be announcing my arrival for a visit, and your mother would no doubt send for you to join us. So you see, Miss Lockhart, we both benefit from lingering here.”

She stood still for some time, pondering the situation. Then she shrugged.

“Very well, I designate your horse as chaperone. While you are holding the reins, I do not see how you can get up to any mischief.”

William grinned. “If you were any other woman, I might consider that a challenge.”

She pressed her lips together primly. “I believe you, Mr. Cole. You have quite the reputation among the ladies.”

“It is only ever harmless fun, I assure you,” William protested, surprised at his sudden urge to defend himself. What did it matter what she thought of him?

“And you are certain all of your companions feel the same way—that it is harmless and fun?”

William felt a little irked. “I’ve never heard any complaints.” Was it his imagination, or did his necktie feel oddly tight?

Miss Lockhart’s icy-blue eyes bored into his. “You may be certain, Mr. Cole, that if a gentleman were to toy with my affections, I would voice my disapproval unequivocally.”

“That… is good,” William heard himself say.

“Right, then.” She resumed the conversation in a more chatty manner, as if, with this understanding between them, they could now proceed pleasantly. “Would you like to know more about the tansy beetle?” She held up the jar for him to see.

“Er… yes.” William felt off-kilter. Somehow, he had been scolded without taking the usual offense, and now he had agreed to study an insect instead of admiring the nape of the young lady’s neck. It was all very unsettling.

“It should be burrowing underground now to hibernate,” she explained, looking at the emerald-shelled creature with what could only be described as genuine admiration.

“But we’ve had such unseasonably good weather, I suppose their schedule is a little off.

In the spring, you can see their eggs, like yellow rice grains, on the underside of tansy leaves.

Here, look closely. You will notice that its antennae resemble a string of beads. They really are quite beautiful.”

William, to be honest, was not as much awed by the beetle as he was intrigued by the flush of excitement in Miss Lockhart’s cheeks as she spoke. Her eyes sparkled with fascination. She was, put simply, truly happy. And the way it lit up her face turned her pleasant features into radiant beauty.

“…and that is why I sketch them,” she concluded, several sentences having been lost to William as his thoughts had wandered.

But he could imagine the general tenet of her speech—she was a collector.

After all, did she not say she had wished to study further?

She was clearly drawn to the sciences. And, while he did not share her interests, he discovered that he now wished to encourage her.

A thought took hold of him—a way to establish rapport with her. He had promised his father to make an effort. It would involve some research, but he had little else to occupy his time. He smiled with satisfaction at his idea.

Miss Lockhart returned the smile shyly.

“I must say, Mr. Cole, I did not think you would appreciate my sentiments on the matter.” She swallowed hard. “I am grateful that you do.” Her smile faltered. “No one has ever grasped the importance this holds for me.”

Her lip trembled and she turned away.

William was moved by her depth of feeling. There was so much more to the quiet Miss Lockhart than he had expected. In a surge of compassion, he reached out and touched her gently on the shoulder.

“Do not be sad, Miss Lockhart. Look, your daisy beetle is waiting to be immortalized. I… I shall leave you to your sketch while I let my horse satisfy his thirst.”

“Tansy beetle,” she corrected, wiping her eyes as she turned around.

“What?”

“You said, ‘daisy beetle.’ It’s a tansy beetle.”

“Tansy beetle.”

“Yes,” Miss Lockhart confirmed, putting down the jar and gathering up her sketchbook and pencil.

“I will try to remember that.” William’s voice was soft and sincere.

She looked up at him. “Thank you, Mr. Cole. This has been a rare conversation for me, and I will cherish it.”

William cleared his throat.

“You may find comfort in knowing, Miss Lockhart, that you are not the only one whose dreams clash with their reality.”

Embarrassed by his impulsive revelation, William tugged at the horse’s reins and stepped down to the marshy water’s edge. He did not turn around. He did not want Miss Lockhart to ask him to explain. It was with some relief that he heard the scratching of a pencil on paper.