And Then She Fell(122)
She wrinkled her nose, her gaze fixed unseeing on the distant prospect. Never had she imagined she would come to this—to desiring a husband. Courtesy of their brother Luc’s disinterest in pushing her and her sisters into marriage, they’d been allowed to go their own way; her way had eschewed the ballrooms and salons, Almack’s, and similar gatherings of the ton at which marriageable young ladies found their spouses.
Learning how to find a husband had seemed beneath her—an enterprise well below the more meaty challenges her intellect demanded . . .
Recollections of past arrogance—of all the chances to learn the hows and wherefores of husband selection and subsequent snaring at which she’d turned up her nose—fed her aggravation. How galling to discover that her intellect, widely accepted as superior, had not forseen her present state.
The damning truth was she could recite Horace and quote Virgil by the page, yet she had no real idea how to acquire a husband.
Let alone the right one.
She refocused on the distant sea, on the sunlight winking off the waves, constantly vacillating. Just as she was, had been for the past month. That was so unlike her, so at odds with her character—always decisive, never weak or shy—her indecision grated on her temper. Her character wanted, nay demanded, a decision, a firm goal, a plan of action. Her emotions—a side of herself she’d rarely been swayed by—were far less sure. Far less inclined to jump into this latest project with her customary zeal.
She’d revisted the arguments ad infinitum; there were no further aspects to be explored. She’d walked here today determined to use the few hours before the other guests arrived and the house party got under way to formulate a plan.
Lips setting, she narrowed her eyes at the horizon, aware of resistance welling inside, of a shying away from the moment—so aggravating yet so instinctive, so powerful she had to fight to override it and push ahead . . . but she was not going to leave without a firm commitment.
Grasping the lookout’s railing, she tipped her chin high and firmly stated, “I will use every opportunity the house party provides to learn all I can and make up my mind once and for all.” That was nowhere near decisive enough; determinedly, she added, “Whoever is present of suitable age and station, I swear I will seriously consider him.”
There—at last! She’d put her next step into words. Into a solemn vow. The positive uplifting feeling that always followed on the heels of decision welled within her—
“Well, that’s heartening, I must say, although of suitable age and station for what?”
With a gasp, she whirled. For one instant, her mind boggled. Not with fear—despite the shadows in which he stood and the brightness of the day behind him, she’d recognized his voice, knew whose shoulders blocked the entrance arch.
But what in all Hades was he doing here?
His gaze sharpened—a disconcertingly acute blue gaze far too direct for politeness.
“And what haven’t you made up your mind about? That usually takes you all of two seconds.”
Calmness, decisiveness—fearlessness—returned in a rush. She narrowed her eyes. “That is none of your affair.”
He moved, deliberately slowly, taking three prowling steps to join her by the railing. She tensed. The muscles framing her spine grew rigid; her lungs locked as something within her reacted. She knew him so well, yet here, alone in the silence of the fields and sky, he seemed larger, more powerful.
More dangerous in some indefinable way.
Stopping with two feet between them, he gestured to the view. “You seemed to be declaring it to the world at large.”
He met her gaze; amusement at catching her out lurked in the blue, along with watchfulness and a certain disapproval.
His features remained expressionless. “I suppose it’s too much to hope there’s a groom or footman waiting nearby?”
That was a subject she wasn’t about to debate, especially not with him. Facing the view, she coolly inclined her head. “Good afternoon. The views are quite magnificent.” She paused for only an instant. “I hadn’t imagined you an admirer of nature.”
She felt his gaze slide over her profile, then he looked at the view.
“On the contrary.” He slid his hands into his pockets; he seemed to relax. “There are some creations of nature I’m addicted to worshipping.”
It required no thought at all to divine to what he was alluding. In the past, she would have made some tart remark . . . now, all she heard in her mind were the words of her vow . . . “You’re here for the Glossups’ house party.”