The Bad Luck Bride (The Brides of St. Ives #1)(23)

When she entered the part of the path lined with tall and ancient hedgerows, most of the wind was blocked, and it became a silent world but for the sounds of nature. Bees flew lazily and the cry of seagulls was nearly always present. She heard the sound of an approaching horse long before she saw it, and pressed close to the side in the event the rider did not see her. Alice and her friends had nearly been trampled more than once by a rider heading to Tregrennar—including her own father. This rider, however, seemed to be in no hurry, for every once in a while the horse would stop, then start, until finally the rider came into view. Her entire body went briefly rigid when she recognized Henderson’s tall form riding toward her.

“Henderson. Hello,” Alice called, wishing her heart wouldn’t speed up quite so much every time she saw him. He smiled, and something in that smile made her heart pound, it was just that beautiful. “Christina mentioned that she saw you in the Downalong going into the new bookstore.”

He dismounted and held the reins loosely in his hands, giving her a small bow of greeting. “Miss Hubbard, a pleasure. Why didn’t your sister say hello?”

“She said she saw you from a distance and didn’t want to shout.” Alice couldn’t stop her smile, couldn’t stop the hope that caused her chest to hurt. Henderson was not only in St. Ives, he was very obviously heading to Tregrennar. When she was sixteen years old, she’d come across Joseph and Henderson walking on this very path; she’d been heading to the overlook and they’d been coming from town. Henderson had slung an arm around her shoulders for exactly ten steps, a brotherly gesture that didn’t even garner a raised brow from her protective brother. Ten steps of feeling that heavy arm around her, of having him so near she could feel the heat of him, his manly scent of horse, cigar, and sea. She wished fervently that he was still so comfortable around her that he would do the same, throw his arm around her so that she might just one more time know what it was like. “Why didn’t you write to say you were coming to St. Ives?”

“There wasn’t time. I’m here to see Lord Berkley. You know him?”

Disappointment pierced her, a sharp little slice that made it difficult to maintain her pleasant smile. “Lord Berkley died just this past week,” Alice said, keeping her voice even.

“Well, apparently there’s another Lord Berkley in residence.”

Alice stopped walking and looked at Henderson in surprise. “Not Augustus. I thought he’d gone to Australia or some such thing. America? There were some terrible rumors about him two years ago when his wife died. At any rate, no one has seen him in St. Ives for years. I’ve never met him, actually.” Alice willed herself to stop speaking as she tended to babble overlong when she was nervous. “Is this about famine relief?”

“It is, though I fear I shall be disappointed again. Apparently, his father was the one with great influence in the House of Lords. I doubt if Berkley has even taken his father’s seat. From what I understand, the old Lord Berkley was a man to be reckoned with, but I have no idea if the son holds any influence.”

“I’m afraid I cannot help you there. I know nothing of the man. Perhaps Mother can be of some assistance. Have you had any success thus far?”

A shadow crossed over his features before he answered. “No, I have not. Otherwise I would not be here wasting my time.”

Of course, Henderson hadn’t meant to be so cruel; he didn’t know she was in love with him, didn’t know her heart sang every time she looked at him, every time his beautiful blue eyes looked at her. How could he know? To say such a thing, however, only brought home how ridiculous her feelings were. Alice forced a laugh and prayed it sounded sincere. “And here I was thinking you’d come to St. Ives to have some of Cook’s cherry tarts.” Or to see me.

“My God, Mrs. Godfrey is still with you?’

“Indeed, she is. And I know when she learns you’re in St. Ives, she’ll be sure to make you your favorites.”

“Then the trip was worth it,” he said, sounding like his old self and looking down at her with real fondness. Yes, Henderson was fond of her. Like he was fond of cherry tarts.

Alice stopped and glared up at him with mock anger. “Mr. Southwell, I have just realized it is very close to tea time. Is it possible you planned your visit accordingly?”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Indeed I have, Miss Hubbard, although I hadn’t thought there would be even a small chance of tasting Mrs. Godfrey’s cherry charts. My God—” His hand threw out to stop her mid-step. “An adder, Alice. Don’t move.” With his hand still pressed against her stomach, he pushed her back slightly, slowly, and Alice wasn’t certain whether it was the venomous viper that was making her heart thud in her chest or the feeling of his strong hand against her.

Beside them, the horse had also sensed the danger of the adder, which lay in the sun, basking on a section of soft sand in the very middle of the path. “I didn’t see it,” Alice said, her voice shaking slightly. Though adders were not deadly in most cases, being bitten by one was exceedingly unpleasant. “I would have stepped directly on it.”

The small brown snake flicked its tongue before moving off beneath the hedgerow, and Alice let out a sigh of relief.

Grinning, Alice threw her hands over her heart dramatically and said, “Sirrah, you have saved my life. However shall I repay you?”