He wasn’t wrong. He had left when Mary was fourteen, and since then, she had grown into a woman. All he knew was the little girl he had left behind, not the strong, capable lady whom Bridget had clearly loved so much. The short trips he had taken to Hertfordshire for Christmas had been only enough to glimpse how Mary had changed.
“If you want to know more about her, let us stop for a moment to sit and talk,” she said. “Just beyond this copse of trees is an enormous old willow where Mary and I frequently spoke of poetry and current events. I’ll tell you all you wish to know in a place she truly treasured.”
Graham smiled sadly. “I’ll follow your lead.”
Bridget pulled her horse’s reins to the right, and together they made their way deeper into the woods. The willow tree loomed ahead of them just a moment later, and Bridget took her horse into the shade of its canopy before dismounting and tying the reins to the trunk. Graham joined her, looking up into the leaves until the sun dappled his face.
“You say that you and Mary came here often?” he said. “It’s beautiful.”
She nodded. “Yes, so much so that we actually hid a blanket in here; just give me a moment.”
Bridget moved to a hollow in the tree, and reached inside to find the blanket the two had left here on their last visit two weeks prior. Her heart ached at the sensation of it on her fingertips, yet she felt some excitement too at being able to share that part of Mary with Graham. Bridget pulled it from the tree and returned, spreading it out across the grass.
“Please—you first,” he said.
Bridget smiled. “I was actually waiting foryouto find out if the ground was too damp to sit.”
Graham laughed. “Then, by all means, I’ll fall on that sword.”
He sat, patting the blanket around him to see if any watersoaked through. Finding it dry, he beckoned to Bridget to sit beside him. They remained silentfor a few minutes, simply listening to the birds overhead and watching a squirrel scurry up the tree trunk.
“Those were Mary’s books in the library,” Graham remarked. “I was looking at them yesterday; they have her name scrawled in the front cover.”
“Yes,” Bridget said. “We often read Shakespeare together; we would each pick out characters and play them in our own little performances, sometimes with other girls from the village. Last summer, during the Season, we even put on a performance for one weekend.”
“The Tempest?” Graham asked.
Bridget nodded. “Yes,” she said. “It is my favorite, after all.”
“And let me guess… you played Miranda?”
She laughed, a real, true laugh, and nodded again. “Could you picture anything else?”
“I can’t,” he said. “And who was your Ferdinand?”
Bridget blushed. “I am still looking for him, Graham.”
She knew she should not have said it, but the smile that graced Graham’s features made it worth it. It was not fair to lead him on—she was certain of that—and yet here, in the shade of a willow tree far from the village, she wanted to believe he could court her as she wished.
“So you like Shakespeare,” he said, breaking the silence of the moment. “What else do you fancy reading?”
“Hm.” Bridget mused. “Well, I enjoy some of the classics of Gothic horror. Some think it inappropriate for a lady, but a story that chills the bones on a stormy night can be quite enjoyable.”
Graham laughed. “I would not have expected that from you.”
“And why not?” Bridget asked. “Am I too sweet for such things?”
“I’m of the mind that you are too sweet for a great many things,” Graham murmured. “Too sweet for… philosophy, perhaps.”
“I read some from time to time,” Bridget said. “Though I am enlightened, per se, in no small part thanks to your tutelage all those years ago. I remember you raving often about Rousseau, however, and I am no particular admirer of the man.”
Graham raised his brows, clearly surprised by how well-read she was. Bridget wondered if he had met many ladies who indulged in philosophy. “You dislike Rousseau?”
“I dislike his thoughts on the role of women in an equitable society,” she said. “Though I do appreciate his analysis of man in the state of nature.”
Graham scoffed and shook his head, though he was not disappointed with her opinions. Instead, Bridget saw the clear admiration in his gaze, and in the way he leaned ever closer to her.
She was in dangerous territory. And yet, she could not resist his charms.