And Then She Fell(48)
Miss Fotherby’s head swung his way and she stared—as if only just remembering. As if the matter had slipped entirely from her mind. “Oh—ah, yes.” She colored faintly. “That is . . .”
He felt even more compelled to speak, simply to end the tangle the situation seemed to have become. “I’ve decided that my affections lie elsewhere, something I hadn’t realized then. I must thank you for your suggestion, but I am no longer searching for a . . . convenient bride.”
Miss Fotherby blinked, then her gaze seemed to focus. She looked at James as if finally truly seeing him, then she glanced at Henrietta, and her lips quirked in a fleeting smile. She dipped her head. “Indeed. I must thank you for speaking so plainly, and while you might not believe me, I sincerely wish you well.”
But she was already turning away. “And now, if you’ll excuse me . . .” Without waiting for any reply, with a vague nod she continued on her way.
“Well!” Bemused, Henrietta watched Miss Fotherby stride off. “I must say that wasn’t at all what I expected.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” James had spotted Rafe Cunningham stalking along the opposite side of the croquet lawn. “I suspect Miss Fotherby is feeling somewhat besieged at the moment.”
Henrietta had followed his gaze. She humphed. “Goodness knows where that will end.”
“Well,” James said, turning to her with a smile, “that’s entirely in their hands now, and no longer a concern of ours. Which, I admit, feels like a weight off my shoulders.”
“Glossup—Miss Cynster!” From the starting peg, Channing beckoned. “You’re up.”
Saluting in reply, Henrietta lifted her mallet and walked with James down the side of the lawn. “We’re never going to get a moment to talk, not while we’re here, are we?”
James smiled. “I doubt it. But we have time enough to simply take these few days as they come, and just enjoy them.” He caught her eye. “We’re not in that much of a hurry.”
She arched her brows. “I suppose you’re right.” Looking ahead, she swung her mallet experimentally. “All right then—let’s see if we can defeat Dickie and Miss Hendricks.”
With a laugh, James waved her on.
As anyone might have predicted, the ringing of the luncheon bell resulted in the croquet competition being declared incomplete and unresolved, and the company retired to the dining room for a rowdy luncheon, during which all those involved relived their exploits and aired their opinions on who would eventually have won.
After luncheon, a half hour passed while the ladies retreated to their rooms to don bonnets, spencers, and shawls, then the party foregathered on the terrace and set out in good order, Violet and Channing in the lead, to walk to the ruins in the woods.
Such a country ramble was standard fare for any well-run house party. Even the older ladies and gentlemen joined in, although all of the older generation parted company with the rest when they reached the lake. Those younger continued on into the woods, while their elders took a much less strenuous stroll around the lake and so back to the house.
The path through the woods cut a wide, wending swath beneath the spreading branches of the old oak trees. The crumbling detritus of last autumn’s leaves lay thick on the ground; although sunshine slanted through the boughs and the air was a warm kiss, winter dampness still lingered in the heavier shade to right and left, the rich loamy smell of decaying drifts mingling with the crisp scent of new growth. Moss grew in a green carpet along the banks, cushioning the gray of the local stone that showed through here and there.
As Channing had said, the path was even, a very gentle downward slope leading them, somewhat deceptively, deeper and deeper into the old woods. The line of ramblers stretched out as they fell into groups, chatting as they walked. Topics were inconsequential; various guests stopped to point out a bird flitting through the branches, or to examine a fern, and gradually the group devolved into couples ambling companionably.
A full half hour had elapsed before Violet and Channing led them around a curve in the path, and the ruins rose all around them. Coming up behind their friends, Henrietta and James both stared, eyes widening as they raised their gazes to the tops of the high stone walls, mottled and pocked with mosses and lichens, and draped with encroaching creepers, then looked further, gazes sweeping over a wide expanse filled with the remnants of tumbled-down walls.
Henrietta slipped her hand onto James’s sleeve; the chill of the shadows—and doubtless all that looming rock—sent a shiver through her, and she shifted closer, nearer to James’s warmth.