Page 5

He lingered by the soggy embankment, focusing on the browning grasses and the occasional plop of a frog.

Try as he might, he could not understand the allure of all the buzzing, flapping activity of the wetland creatures that so successfully held Miss Lockhart’s attention.

But, then again, his father could not grasp why he felt more at home with the military than the church. To each his own, he supposed.

After several long minutes, Miss Lockhart called, “I’m done. Would you like to see?”

With horse once more in tow, William approached the bench.

He took the proffered page and prepared to make some idle exclamation of praise.

But the drawing needed no flattery. It was good work—excellent, even.

The minutest of detail had been captured.

The shading was masterful. Scribbled notes on the side made record of the date, as well as coloring to be added.

“You will paint this?” he asked.

“Yes. In my room. I cannot carry my easel and paints with me here. That would make it impossible for me to sneak away at all.” Her gaze lowered. “You will not mention any of this to my parents, will you? It upsets them that I pursue this hobby. They consider it… unladylike.”

“I assure you,” William replied, “it will remain our secret.”

He rather liked that they shared a confidence. It created a deeper connection between them. And the clandestine element was undeniably thrilling.

She flashed him a grateful smile but quickly grew serious again.

“It is best if I head home now. No one has seen us, but it would be… difficult to explain if someone did. Could you allow me ten minutes to achieve some semblance of decorum in my attire before you knock at our door? It would please my mother if, for once, she did not have to send Nellie in search of me.”

William grinned and offered her a conspiratorial wink. “I will leave when you do and take the long way around the village. Anyone who knows you visit the pond with some regularity might wonder at me approaching from this direction and assume we must have met. Let us take every precaution.”

Verity folded her arms. “You’re enjoying this a little too much, Mr. Cole.”

“You would not deny a man his little pleasures, Miss Lockhart.”

“I am glad my discomfort provides you with amusement.”

William would have teased her further, but he did not believe it would be well received. Instead, he offered a suggestion.

“Why do you not simply bring a maid or friend as chaperone so that you may paint at leisure? Your parents can surely not object to their daughter pursuing the arts. A few landscapes amongst your sketches of insects should provide ample excuse for your presence here.”

She shook her head. “It is too late to convince my parents that my interest lies elsewhere. I would not be fooling anyone.”

“Well, then, perhaps it is time to stand your ground. If it is that important to you, you should not have to hide it.”

Her sudden burst of ironic laughter startled him.

“I would have thought it was obvious to you.” Miss Lockhart gestured at herself with a sweeping motion of her arm.

“I am not a man,” she said wryly. “Rebelling openly is not in the nature of a woman. Besides”—she cocked her head to the side as she looked at him—“I imagine you would not be here”—she indicated toward her home—“if you were able to stand up to your parents.”

Her words should have cut him to the core. Rather, he marveled at her audacity. It reminded him of Ellena—bold, honest, forthright. He had not thought he would ever find someone with any qualities to compare. And yet Miss Lockhart seemed to have integrity by the bucketload.

Not only that, but she saw right through him.

And called him out on it. William perked up at the thought.

He liked a challenge. Not the mind-numbing challenge of enduring a dull partner, but the thrilling contest of matched wills.

And Miss Lockhart, to his surprise and delight, was offering him just that.

“Fair point, Miss Lockhart,” he answered. “But I still believe I have the advantage. My parents may have—shall we say— suggested sound prospects in this general direction. And perhaps I have not, until now, shared their inclination. But I find I am discerning their wisdom in this… ahem … venture.”

“Come now, Mr. Cole, I think you mislead yourself. You do not strike me as a likely candidate for a clergyman. Why, on Sunday, you were fairly dozing in the pew. Shouldn’t a future vicar at least have a passing interest in the service?”

William’s eyes twinkled. “So, you were paying special attention to my actions on Sunday, were you? Should you not have been attending to your father’s sermon instead? Or perhaps you were equally bored, and spying on me offered you some distraction.”

“So you admit you were bored!”

“No more than any other warm-blooded soul after two hours of preaching,” William countered. “You cannot tell me you recall a word of what was said in the second half of the service.”

“I… Well… All right, yes, Father does go on a bit. But his heart is in the right place. You, on the other hand, would only offer a shorter service so that you could tend once more to your own interests. Being a vicar is more than words from the pulpit, you know. Father really cares about the community.”

William’s planned retort died on his lips.

She had hit the nail on the head. He really did not feel much for the poor and the sick and the elderly.

He was young and vibrant and wanted to live life to the fullest. A uniform, a sword, a horse—these were the images that arose when he thought of service.

Young women swooning at his tales of battle.

Old women wishing they were young again at the sight of him in his ceremonial dress.

It was service to his country, yes, but also service to himself. He would not deny it.

Still, he was not discouraged. Perhaps Miss Lockhart was prize enough for his parents.

If he found a wife from such decent stock, they might feel he was well on his way to respectability.

Perhaps they would even reconsider his hopes of attaining a commission in the infantry.

And, with any luck, he would be posted some distance from Fernbridge so he would not have to endure his father-in-law’s endless sermons.

His optimism greatly bolstered by these thoughts, William decided it was time to put his best foot forward.

“Your father is a good man. He sets a fine example. I promise to be on my best behavior and try to learn from him. Will that suffice for afternoon tea?”

She frowned. “It will do for tea. But you should know, Mr. Cole, that I am not impressed by posturing. It is better to be yourself, with all your faults, and allow others to decide if they will accept you as you are.”

“You do not wish me to be a better man?”

“Better than what?”

William scratched his forehead. “I don’t know. Just better in general, I suppose. Isn’t that what all women want—to improve upon men? It seems to be a favorite pastime among ladies.”

Miss Lockhart shook her head. “That is the last thing I would want. If you are not motivated within yourself to achieve all you are able to, then a woman will not be able to create such an impetus within you. You will only resent her if she tries. Besides, I have just as great a desire to be accepted as I am. Perhaps it is another’s voice that urges you to reach for what you do not want. It certainly is not mine.”

Silence followed her words. Miss Lockhart was quite different to other young women her age, William noticed.

Almost old in her wisdom. And yet her features glowed with youth—skin, mouth, neck—all so inviting.

If she would take him as he was, he could be content.

She was not Ellena, but she might be enough.

“Shall we go, then?” she asked, and for the first time, William noticed that she was shivering. Her damp dress and bare legs offered no warmth against the cooler autumn air, even with the sun bright in the sky.

“I wish I could lend you my coat, but it is not a feasible offer under the circumstances. There would be questions.”

“Thank you,” Miss Lockhart replied, clasping her arms about her to stave off the cold. “However, I will be home very shortly and there will be a fire in the drawing room. The chill will soon wear off. Go ahead. I must just gather my things, and I will be on my way.”

“You are certain I should not wait?”

“There is no need. I will be but a few moments.”

“Very well. I will see you soon then.”

“Yes, very soon.”

William walked his horse to the bench and—careful not to knock mud from his boots onto the young lady’s belongings—he stepped up onto the wooden seat and slung himself into the saddle.

He turned to make sure his companion was on her way, but she was not. Instead, she was removing the cork from the jar and watching as the dai… the tansy beetle flew out and across the water. There was something almost sacred in the way she watched its flight.

Feeling that he was intruding upon a private moment, William tapped his heel against the horse’s side and moved on. He resisted the urge to look back.

There was no need. For the face of Miss Verity Lockhart was now ever before him.