Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways #5)(59)

Amelia, who had come downstairs after having put Alex to bed, made no attempt to hide her pleasure in the news. “I like him,” she said, hugging Beatrix and drawing back to view her with a smile. “He seems to be a good and honorable man.”

“And brave,” Cam added.

“Yes,” Amelia replied soberly, “one can’t forget what he did in the war.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Cam told her. “I was referring to the fact that he’s willing to marry a Hathaway sister.”

Amelia stuck her tongue out at him, and he grinned.

The relationship between the pair was so comfortable, and yet spiced with playfulness and flirtation. Beatrix wondered if she and Christopher could ever achieve anything similar, if he would relinquish enough of his defenses to allow her to be close to him.

Frowning, Beatrix sat next to Amelia. “I keep asking about the conversation Cam and Leo had with Christopher, and it seems nothing was decided or resolved. All they did was drink brandy.”

“We assured Phelan that we were more than happy to let him have you and your menagerie,” Leo retorted. “After that, he said he needed to think.”

“About what?” Beatrix demanded. “What is there to think about? Why is it taking him so long to make a decision?”

“He’s a man, dear,” Amelia explained kindly. “Sustained thinking is very difficult for them.”

“As opposed to women,” Leo retorted, “who have the remarkable ability to make decisions without doing any thinking at all.”

Christopher came to Ramsay House in the morning, looking very . . . well, soldierly, despite the fact that he was dressed in informal walking attire. He was quiet and impeccably polite as he asked to accompany Beatrix on a walk. Although Beatrix was thrilled to see him, she was also uneasy. He looked guarded and severe, a man with a possibly unpleasant duty to perform.

This was not at all auspicious.

Still, Beatrix maintained a cheerful façade, leading Christopher to one of her favorite walks in the forest, an outward leg with farmland to the right and woodland to the left. It continued in a loop that cut directly into the forest, crossed over ancient paths, and finished along a creek. Albert crossed back and forth, sniffing industriously as they progressed.

“. . . whenever you find a clearing like this,” Beatrix said, leading Christopher to a small, sun-dappled meadow, “it’s most likely an ancient field enclosure from the Bronze Age. They knew nothing about fertilizing, so when a patch of land became unproductive, they simply cleared a new area. And the old areas became covered with gorse and bracken and heather. And here”—she showed him the cavity of an oak tree near the clearing—“is where I watched a hobby chick hatch in early summer. Hobbies don’t build their own nests, they use ones made by other birds. They’re so fast when they fly, they look like sickles cutting through the air.”

Christopher listened attentively. With the breeze playing lightly in his dark gold hair, and a slight smile on his lips, he was so handsome that it was difficult not to gape at him. “You know all the secrets of this forest, don’t you?” he asked gently.

“There’s so much to learn, I’ve only scratched the surface. I’ve filled books with sketches of animals and plants, and I keep finding new ones to study.” A wistful sigh escaped her. “There is talk of a natural history society to be established in London. I wish I could be part of it.”

“Why can’t you?”

“I’m sure they won’t admit ladies,” Beatrix said. “None of those groups do. It will be a room full of whiskered old men smoking pipes and sharing entomological notes. Which is a pity, because I daresay I could talk about insects as well as any of them.”

A slow smile crossed his face. “I for one am glad you have neither pipe nor whiskers,” he said. “However, it seems a pity that anyone who likes animals and insects as well as you shouldn’t be allowed to discuss them. Perhaps we could persuade them to make an exception for you.”

Beatrix glanced at him in surprise. “You would do that? You wouldn’t mind the idea of a woman pursuing such unorthodox interests?”

“Of course I wouldn’t. There would be no point in marrying a woman with unorthodox interests and then trying to make her ordinary, would there?”

Her eyes turned round. “Are you going to propose to me now?”

Christopher turned her to face him, his fingers stroking the underside of her chin, coaxing her face upward. “There are some things I want to discuss first.”

Beatrix looked at him expectantly.

His expression sobered. Taking her hand in his, he began to walk with her along a grassy path. “First . . . we won’t be able to share a bed.”

She blinked. Hesitantly she asked, “We’re going to be platonic?”

He stumbled a little. “No. God, no. What I meant was, we will have relations, but we will not sleep together.”

“But . . . I think I would like sleeping with you.”

His hand tightened on hers. “My nightmares would keep you awake.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

“I might accidently strangle you in my sleep.”

“Oh. Well, I would mind that.” Beatrix frowned in concentration as they walked slowly. “May I make a request in turn?”