Bridget smiled. “I would like that, I think. It has been some time since I took the air; a walk could be quite invigorating.”
Graham took her arm in a polite show of support, and together, they left the mausoleum behind. It was still drizzling, and his hair was wet with rain, his jacket dusted with silver droplets. Bridget’s attire had been mostly protected by the veil, which she now kept back to reveal her pretty face. He could not take his eyes off her as they walked, though she seemed oblivious to his admiration.
The church was just across town from the Sedgwick house, where Bridget's family had made their summer home nearly two decades ago. Upon Bridget’s birth, the Viscount Sedgwick and his wife had decided to stay in Hertfordshire. Since then, the Sedgwicks and Barnets have coexisted peacefully in thecountryside, with the two hosting numerous balls and hunts during the Season.
The village had come to life during the funeral proceedings, farmers bringing their wares to town in mule-drawn carts. Graham had not even realized it was a market day, and he did not wish for Bridget to be subject to any unpleasantness, so he led her around the edge of the activity onto a worn dirt path. She gazed up at him for a moment when they found themselves quite alone, a touch of curiosity in her emerald eyes.
“I thought you would wish to skirt the market with so much livestock around,” Graham murmured. “Being a lady, of course.”
A pleasant laugh bubbled from her chest, heating his cheeks. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I am not some London Society debutante; I’ve lived in the country all my life. These are my people as much as you are,” she paused. “You have been in the city too long.”
True to her words, she bid hello to the baker as they passed his stall at the edge of the market, tilting her chin with a lovely smile. The old man grinned bashfully, practically tripping over himself to bow in return.
“Forgive me,” Graham teased. “I didn’t realize you were a woman of the people now.”
“I learned from the best,” she said. “You were always preaching about the importance of social equity when we were younger. With your Rousseau and John Locke, you caused quite the stir amongst our circles.”
“And I almost got myself accused of treason by more than a few concerned nobles,” Graham chuckled. “I didn’t think you would remember.”
“I remember everything,” she said, but seemed to catch herself a moment later, a pretty blush painting her cheeks. “From our lessons, of course. You were quite skilled in philosophy.”
“It feels like an age ago,” he mused. “You, me, and Mary…”
He trailed off, the two of them falling silent as they thought about the loss they now shared. They passed the market and followed the well-worn path, watching as a cart rolled by every so often.
“And you?” he asked. “You’ve been well?”
“I have been…” She paused, fiddling with the edges of her veil. He feared she would cover her face with it once again, robbing him of the pleasure of looking at her. Graham felt he needed to bask in the warmth of her beauty for just a moment longer if he was to survive. They were nearing her home now, the red-brick turrets of the Sedgwick’s five-bedroom manor just over the green hill ahead of them.
“Things have been complicated as of late,” she finally said.
He frowned. “Complicated? How?”
The manor was coming into view. He felt as if he was on the cusp of overcoming some barrier between them, but time was running short, and the rain had once again begun to fall. A servant caught sight of them and hurried in to fetch an umbrella. Bridget seemed disinclined to continue their conversation.
They found their way to the gravel road that circled in front of the manor, and Bridget turned to face him. When their eyes met again, it was as if he had been struck by lightning. Now she was not crying, the glory of her lagoon-green gaze held him in thrall. A tremor ran through his entire body, his hands coming up to grasp hers entirely by impulse.
Bridget gasped, those deep pools of emerald widening in surprise and her red lips parting.
“I apologize for being so forward when it has been so long,” Graham said, trying desperately to hold on to his manners. “But you have sincerely been a great comfort to me this morning.”
Bridget’s chin trembled. “It is my solemn duty as your sister’s best friend; and, of course, as a friend of yours, Your Grace… I mean, Graham.”
He smiled at how she corrected herself, and at the atmosphere of cordial friendship now between them. “I must return to Foxglove Hall to check in on my mother, but I would like to visit you here this afternoon,” he said, “if you’ll have me.”
Bridget nodded. “It would be our honor.”
“The honor would be all mine,” Graham murmured.
She smiled once again, though there was something pained in her gaze. He wondered if it was simply the recent loss of his sister, or if Bridget Sedgwick had some other secret locked within.
“I shall see you tonight, Graham,” Bridget said. “Good day.”
“And to you, Bridget,” he smiled.
She then left him to wrestle with his emotionswhich were torn across every direction. Graham set out on foot for home, allowing the rain to stream down his face. The sky had darkened and begun to pour after she had left him, as if her departure had left him without sunlight. He'd be soaked when he got back to Foxglove Hall, but it didn't matter. Above all, he needed to clear his mind after his encounter with Bridget.
Graham had not foreseen this complication—this sudden feeling of deep and abiding companionship with his sister’s best friend. As he walked back to his family’s estate, the words of Keats and Lord Byron echoed in his mind, yet even the poetry of those skilled bards could not convey the awe-inspiring glory of Bridget Sedgwick. Graham fixated on the whisper of her skirts around her feet as she had climbed the stairs to Sedgwick house, the soft drift of her gauzy black veil as she left him behind. The color of her garb was dark, and yet her rosy visage reminded him that there was still a life to be lived—a future to look forward to. Her laughter, too, had brought warmth back into his heart, when Mary’s departure had left him so cold.