Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Marcus urged Hector into a gallop across Akeley Hill toward the ancient chalk horse, carved in the hillside, visible on the distant horizon.

What a wonderful day for a ride, he thought to himself, urging Hector onwards.

His cousin, Colin, rode alongside him. "It's no good Marcus. I can't keep up anymore. Hermes is older than Hector and I think he's had enough for the day. I'll take him back to the stables and see you later."

"Very well. I'll keep going toward the white horse, then down the valley and check on Leighton Woods. The Viscount's land agent does a good job on that boundary, and I wish all our neighbors were as diligent and conscientious with their estates, but I'd still like to check the boundary for myself.

"You've been around nearly all the boundaries of the estate. It's been long overdue," remarked Colin.

"Yes, I think father has been struggling for some years. He needs a good estate manager. David Garrett has, I suspect, either been too lazy or just downright swindling the estate."

"I tried to talk to your father about Garrett several times. My estate manager and the gamekeepers kept telling me he was neglecting raising the young birds, and last year he left the fields at Home and Willow Farms fallow. Your father told me he trusted Garrett, and I could see he thought I was a young whippersnapper who didn't know the first thing about estate management."

"Your estate staff were right in their assumptions. Tomorrow I shall dismiss Garrett. If you have anyone on your staff looking to progress to estate manager, then let me know. I trust your judgment, Colin."

"Of course," said Colin as he steadied Hermes, who was becoming restless.

"The difficulty is father. He's starting to show an interest in the estate business again." He ran his fingers through his dark hair, which fell to his shoulders, loose from its simple leather tie. "I don't want to tell him what a mess the estate is in, but I can't let it continue as before. It isn't fair on the workers or tenants, and he must have been running the estate at a loss." Marcus sighed deeply and grimaced at his friend.

"Why not give him the Home Farm to oversee? It's not too far from the Abbey. You could put in a good tenant farmer who would let Uncle suggest ideas. "

"Colin, that is a very good idea. A stroke of genius in fact." Marcus replied.

"With my one good idea for the day used up I'll bid you farewell. Enjoy your ride along the north boundary." And with that Colin was off, heading back to Granville Hall.

Hector almost flew across the downs toward the white horse. Marcus felt at one with the stallion as they soared over hedges and raced across the heathlands. As he rode around the northern reaches of the Hargrove estate, he was glad the walls and fences were in excellent condition.

Viscount Leighton was a good neighbor and he determined to call soon at Leighton Manor and share his appreciation. He seemed to recall his mother saying the viscount had recently married. Perhaps his mother could ask them to one of her dinners?

Seeing the woods stretching out into the distance he decided to take the track down toward the stream. The trees would give Hector some shelter from the sun and his horse could cool down in the water. If he remembered rightly there was a pool which would be a perfect place to take a rest.

I love this ancient forest. This track has been here for centuries. My ancestors managed the forest, making charcoal and coppicing trees for firewood. Now where's the pool? I think I turn here, and it's not far away.

He heard the sound of water, wondering how he could have forgotten about Leighton Falls and the waterfall which he and Colin used to climb when they were children. He had some bread and cheese in his saddle bag, well prepared for reliving those childhood days and eating lunch in a forest glade.

Approaching the glade, he tethered Hector to a tree, wanting to approach the pool on foot and work out the best place for his horse to drink. The rocks bordering the pool could be slippery. He'd check before leading Hector down.

A roe deer startled him as it ran gracefully across the track in front of him, so close that he could almost hear it breathing. He reached the clearing, noticing how the willow trees had grown to an almost gigantic size, making the glade into a perfect sheltered hide-away.

He saw the pool of water and pulled off his cravat and began to unbutton his shirt, knowing he wanted to swim in that cool, dark pool, hardly disturbed by the cascading water from Leighton Falls.

Something made Marcus glance toward the other side of the pool, where there was a grassy edge, a perfect place for Hector to drink. He almost missed the young woman seated on a woolen blanket, her head down, scribbling in a notebook. Her straw bonnet with its green ribbon, blended into the woodland scenery. She had an otherworldly look, almost like a fairy.

As he watched, knowing he should look away, she stopped her writing and put her pencil against her lips, in deep thought. An intense concentration, thinking about whatever it was she was writing in her notebook.

How strange , he thought. Although she was dressed in a plain dimity gown, she was writing, as would an educated young lady. Perhaps she was the daughter of one of the local gentry or more probably one of the farm tenants at Leighton Manor? The path from Leighton met the path from Belvedere Abbey here.

As he moved forward to make her aware of his presence, he was startled into standing still again, as she undid the green ribbons of her bonnet and threw it down onto the blanket beside her.

He drew a sharp inward breath, seeing her hair had fallen from the pins holding it into a low chignon against her neck. She raised her hands to her wavy, hazelnut hair, and pulled it back into a restrained, tidy state. The reddish undertones glistened in the sunlight.

Suddenly she looked up and saw him. As he stood there, she looked toward him and their eyes met, fusing together, caught in a moment in time, deep within this ancient woodland.

Marcus called a greeting as he walked toward the clearing.

Suddenly she reached for her bonnet and pulled it onto her head, tying the ribbons tightly under her chin. She stood, smoothing down her skirts and checking her chignon was in place beneath her straw bonnet.

"Pray accept my apologies. I'm traveling to Longhamsted and knowing my horse needed a drink, I remembered this pool was here. I used to play here as a boy. I did not mean to disturb you."

Why have I just lied about where I'm going? he thought. I don't want to tell her I'm an earl. If she is the daughter of a local farmer, it might scare her away.

He bowed his head in formal greeting, as she nodded in acknowledgement.

I'm dressed for a day riding around the estate. I look nothing like a gentleman of the ton.

The sound of Hector's neighing echoed in the valley.

"It sounds as though your horse is restless, sir," she said, walking toward him. "You need to bring him to the water for that drink."

For a moment he almost protested at her manner, directing him, telling him what to do. However, he found he didn't mind, something about her manner intrigued him. He might be wrong about her being the daughter of a farmer, she had the air of a young lady of nobility.

They fell into step together, walking back toward Hector. Marcus untethered his horse and, as Hector tossed his mane, the young woman reached out to settle him.

"There boy, settle down," she murmured, almost whispering to the horse.

She is used to being around horses. Hmm. Quite a mystery.

"He's a fine horse. My brother used…" she stopped suddenly before continuing. "May I ask, sir, if you have travelled far today?"

As he took Hector to the pool, Marcus realized he had not yet introduced himself to this exquisite vision of loveliness. He left Hector to get a drink, and, after a moment's hesitation, Marcus said, "I must apologize, madam, I have not introduced myself. I am Mr. Brandon Hatfield," Marcus said, using his middle name, in case she knew of Marcus Hatfield. He continued, "I am seeking employment as an estate manager at Belvedere Abbey."

Bobbing a courtesy, as befitted the rules of polite society, even here in the depths of the forest, she replied, "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance Mr. Hatfield. My name is Olivia."

Marcus noted, but did not comment, that she had not given him her surname.

"And where do you live, Olivia?" Marcus asked.

Marcus was surprised by her answer. "I am staying at Leighton Manor, with a friend," Olivia replied.

What is a young lady doing out walking alone without a chaperone?

After Hector finished drinking, Olivia suggested tethering the horse in the clearing so he could rest and still see his master.

As they walked Olivia stumbled and caught her skirt in a wild blackberry bush. "Oh no, I'm caught in the bramble bush. I'm not missish, Mr. Hatfield, and would be grateful if you would help me to extricate myself."

As Marcus gently removed the thorns of the bramble from Olivia's dimity print skirt his hand brushed against hers and he felt a surge of desire, the strength of which took him by surprise.

Soon Hector was settled and tethered in the shade of a willow tree. Marcus didn't want to say goodbye to this young woman. He frantically tried to think of something to say which would make her stay a little longer.

"Might I suggest we make use of these troublesome brambles, and pick the berries, which look perfect and ready to eat."

The young lady hesitated, then surprised him by agreeing. "I have a basket with me," she said. "I had planned to pick berries later."

"Well, I have half a loaf of bread, some cheese, and several apples if you would care to join me for a picnic lunch?" he suggested.

And so, Marcus, Earl of Hatfield found himself seated on the edge of a woolen blanket, in a woodland glade in a far corner of his country estate. He shared an impromptu picnic, conversing with a young lady whose every word fascinated him.

Marcus had met many women over the years, including his liaison with the Contessa, and the many bland young ladies of quality, whom his mother was convinced would make an excellent bride.

The latest of these being Lady Cressida Lantham, who had been a regular visitor to Belvedere Abbey since his return. So many heads nodding in agreement with his every word, so careful of every propriety. He could not imagine one of those ladies, including his Contessa, sitting on a woolen blanket in a forest, unaware of blackberry stains on her chin, telling him about an encounter with a roe deer.

"Oh look," she said in her musical contralto voice. "I think I see a patch of wild strawberries over there." Indeed, the tiny berries were growing wild next to the pool. She picked one of the late summer fruits and handed it to him.

He smiled at her, eyes twinkling as he tasted the tart, almost lemony fruit. "We've had quite the feast," he said.

Neither of us is talking about family or where we come from. I'm certainly aware I'm masking my identity. I don't want to share my aristocratic background and possibly spoil the afternoon. This afternoon I'm enjoying not being an earl.

"The sun is getting lower in the sky, it must be late afternoon." He felt a pang of poignancy that soon this pleasant interlude would end, and he knew very little about Olivia.

"Tell me," he asked. "Do you enjoy music?"

"Very much," she replied. "I heard a beautiful song a few months ago, called Dido's lament and the music was so sad it brought tears to my eyes. The hero thought he had saved Dido, his love, but something goes wrong, and they can never be together.

"I know that opera," he said. "I love Henry Purcell's music."

"It's such a dramatic story of hope and lost love," added Olivia.

He noticed she seemed to be lost in a daydream. Was she listening to the lament in her imagination?

"Do you play or sing?" he asked.

"A little. I enjoy playing the pianoforte for pleasure, and I can sing a country song as well as anyone, but I'm not gifted musically."

He wished he could read her thoughts, and hoped that, like him, she did not want this lovely interlude in this idyllic woodland glade to end.

He did wonder why she had a habit of putting her hand to touch her right cheek and then pulling her hair forward.

"You were writing when I arrived. What do you enjoy reading?" he asked.

"Anything I can find," she laughed "I enjoy Mrs. Radcliffe's novels very much."

"The Mysteries of Udolpho?" he said, thinking for a moment of Italy, "and the Romance of the Forest."

As soon as he said it, he knew he had made a mistake. Olivia's cheeks blushed. They were in the middle of a forest, close to an old abbey.

Murmuring something indistinct, she told him she must leave, that she had lost track of time. She ignored his offer of an arm to help her stand and went to gather her basket and notebook, ready to flee the scene.

"You've forgotten your blackberries," he said, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Why thank you," she replied, recovering a veneer of politeness. He could see how uncomfortable she looked and guessed the spell had been broken. She was obviously concerned about the impropriety of being alone, for so long, with a strange gentleman in a forest glade. He knew reputations had been ruined for less.

He bowed politely. "Thank you, Miss Mysterious Olivia, for a most pleasant afternoon, with a lovely picnic, accompanied by a very interesting conversation. I hope our paths cross once again in a woodland glade."

She was already hurrying up the track, and he had no idea if she heard his words. His one regret was that he had not seized the moment and kissed those bramble-stained lips.