A Changing Land(50)
Claire kept her lips pressed together.
‘I will leave you to enjoy the night air,’ Hamish relented. ‘But ten minutes and no more. I am an early riser.’
‘Of course.’ Wetherly bowed as he left the table.
Claire stepped lightly across the grass as they crossed to walk the length of the gravel driveway. She was pleased with her new evening gown. Having purchased it through Grace Brothers’ mail order service, this was only her second occasion to wear it and at the rate fashions were changing, very soon it too would have to be altered. In the space of just a few years women’s clothing had gone from the rather S-shaped silhouette that emphasised one’s bust and derriere, to a more vertical appearance. Although her figure was contained by the rigid under-structure of her corset, she did like the current fashion of a slightly high-waisted skirt that fluted becomingly over one’s hips to sweep outwards at the hem. Claire lifted her skirt just a touch, conscious of the grass, leaves and dirt that would catch on the fringing. An owl swooped. The frightened squeal of a mouse followed. As the countryside bedded itself, the outlines of the homestead and station buildings slid into a glow of sun-settled pinkness.
‘It is as if we were promenading along Collins Street,’ Wetherly remarked as a wallaby dashed through the grasses beyond the garden.
Claire’s arm was linked through his as the evening stretched into darkness. It was a hot night, cloudless, with not even a zephyr to stir the air. It was a most pleasant sensation to be strolling with an amiable gentleman, especially one so becoming in appearance.
‘I see you adhere to the latest fashions, Mrs Gordon.’
‘One tries.’ Cocooned as they were within the twilight embrace of a summer’s night, Claire felt her person the subject of intent observation. When Wetherly guided her from the path across the patchy lawn to a wooden bench, his hand moved to the small of her back. It lingered only momentarily, leaving a fleeting impression of genuine care and interest. Careful, she warned herself. Had she not been forewarned of the gentleman’s indiscretions?
‘And do you enjoy your life out here? You will excuse me, Mrs Gordon, for my forwardness; however, it is a remote, lonely environment for an elegant woman such as yourself to endure.’
‘You have journeyed here.’ She made a little space between their bodies, moving slightly away from him. It was a warm night and the lace insertions stretching to her high-boned collar itched Claire’s upper back and décolletage. ‘Life requires adaptability, Mr Wetherly. There will always be fulfilment and disappointment no matter where one resides. Admittedly station life has its own set of difficulties, yet once one grows to understand the parameters of their existence, life tends to become easier.’
Wetherly crossed his legs. ‘It is a burden to be endured.’
‘On the contrary, it is a challenge. Isolation causes one to be a little introspective, Mr Wetherly. If you are expecting me to pine for the perfect life you will be disappointed. What is the perfect life anyway? I can admit to disliking the dearth of social engagements available, the annoyance of petty conversations and the lack of women of my own elk with similar interests and accomplishments; however, these are petty complaints, I believe.’ A swirl of stars began to dust the sky.
‘You are not what I expected,’ commented Wetherly.
She gave a gay laugh. ‘Nor you, Mr Wetherly.’ Around them the barest of winds stirred the air. It carried the scent of dry earth and spoke of parched grasses clinging tenuously to lifting soil. ‘May I enquire as to whether you have family in New South Wales?’
‘Alas, no. The family seat is in Devon. My older brother, Harold, has the good fortune of residing there.’
‘So you have come to make your fortune?’
Now it was Wetherly’s turn to be amused. ‘It is a little long in the making, I fear.’
Claire gave a wistful sigh. ‘England. I dream of the coolness the very word evokes.’
‘Ah then, I shan’t tell you of lush grasses, sparkling streams and the picking of wild strawberries in the summer.’
‘Do tell.’
He took her hand, drawing Claire towards him with a delicate slowness. ‘If I told you, that brave exterior in which you’ve cloaked yourself would surely crack.’
His features were barely visible. Claire could just discern the strength of his jawline and the outline of his hair. She could have chosen to be annoyed at his familiarity, instead she wondered at his own charming facade.