Sally hadn’t been sleeping well, and when she did sleep, odd dreams tormented her. Shaking and breathless, she’d open her eyes to darkness, with vague memories of running down endless corridors in search of something she never found. Last night, Caro had commented on her uncharacteristic distraction.
Now she sat on a red lacquer bench in the charming Chinese pavilion, trying to puzzle out the source of her fretfulness, a fretfulness that had started with Amy’s wedding nearly a fortnight ago.
Mercifully she was alone. The rest of the party, including eight energetic children, had taken an excursion to a local beauty spot. But she’d cried off, saying she had letters to write. This urge for her own company wasn’t her usual style either.
Generally she was an even-tempered creature, willing to make the best of circumstances. Through charity work, she’d even managed to find some purpose through the endless years of her marriage. She was someone who held her head high through any storm.
Except now there was no storm, and she had no real troubles. Yet yesterday, when she’d broken a vase in her room, she’d burst into tears like a hysterical girl.
“So you dodged the trip to the castle ruins with the children, too?”
The deep voice startled her, made every nerve tighten. Sally straightened and surreptitiously wiped away the few tears she’d shed, watching the late afternoon light over the lovely rose garden before her.
For a sensible, equable lady past first youth, she was acting more like a dizzy adolescent than Meg ever did. Even as a girl, she couldn’t remember crying over a sunset like a sappy heroine in a Minerva Press novel.
“Sir Charles, you caught me unawares.” As she cursed the husky edge to her voice, she tried to read his expression. But even in the wilds of Leicestershire, Sir Charles Kinglake’s perfect urbanity remained impenetrable.
She felt the familiar surge of admiration at the sight of him. He was casually dressed in a bottle green coat and buff breeches. The faint breeze ruffled his thick brown hair where the long rays of light discovered rich russet highlights.
He didn’t look like the elegant London gentleman who had escorted Meg and her chaperone to balls and the theatre. He looked in his element, as if the country suited him.
She must still be suffering the aftereffects of his unexpected appearance. Her heart was racing so fast that her breath caught.
“I’m sorry.” That very nice smile appeared, as did the charming dimples. “I’ve been here a few minutes, but you were so lost to your thoughts, you didn’t notice.”
Damn and blast. Had he seen her crying?
She plastered a bright expression on her face. “I was thinking how lovely it is here.”
“It is indeed.” Those attractive laughter lines deepened around his eyes. “Although anything that doesn’t involve four legs, a tail and a whinny looks good to me at the moment.”
She mustered a laugh at his disgusted tone, but her inexplicable edginess lingered.
Not that she could blame him for tiring of the company. So far, the talk had been very…equine.
Meg and Brand and Carey directed discussion toward horsey matters at any opportunity—and given Helena and West bred the best horses in England, opportunities had been numerous. Silas and Caro made some attempt to shift the focus, but with little success.
If Fenella were here, Sally would owe her an apology. It had been a complete waste of time, trying to hide Meg’s monomania from Sir Charles.
“Don’t you like horses?” she asked curiously.
Norwood had considered himself a great expert on horses. Actually Norwood had considered himself a great expert on everything under God’s heaven. The thought of her late, unlamented husband reminded her how much she liked Sir Charles, who spoke to her as if she had a brain between her ears.
Sir Charles ambled across to sit beside her and stretch his long, booted legs out across the tiles with
their red and white chinoiserie design. That inexplicable catch in her breath was back. If the evening had been cold, she might understand it. But it was perfect weather for late spring.
He sighed. “Not for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”
“Has it been very dull for you?” Without thinking, she placed her hand on his. At the contact, a strange frisson tingled along her arm.
All her earlier awkwardness rushed back, and she snatched her hand away to set it trembling in her lap. She really was acting like an idiot. Perhaps when she returned to London, she should consult her doctor.
Sir Charles surveyed her thoughtfully. “There have been some compensations.”
Ridiculously Sally found herself blushing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed. Before her marriage surely.
She hurried into speech. “I promise you that Meg does talk about other things. I think she’s just so excited to see all these champions in one place.”