Chapter Fifteen

Blythe

If I’ve learned one thing this trip, it’s that when I wish to avoid any specific event, then I must make the effort to leave the grounds. The gardens clearly weren’t far enough last night to avoid the disaster that was the ball, so this morning, while Charlotte takes her time waking from a slumber that comes after a night of endless dancing, I allow our lady’s maid to help me dress in a plain, sensible, cream-colored dress, snatch my book from my nightstand, and retreat out into the wilderness surrounding Hemington Manor.

And my plan might have worked, too. I’ve found a lovely spot near a cheerful stream to read. I’m so engrossed in my novel, my hand dropping to my side, fingertips trailing through the water that gurgles below me, that the sound of a snapping twig hardly even registers. It isn’t until I hear the aggressive thrashing of branches and a fervent swear that I’m roused from my book.

If Briggs Goswick has followed me this far into the property when I so clearly wish to be left in peace without any company, least of all his, I think I may surely break.

I tried last night at the ball, I really did. But naturally, Briggs I’m-The-Center-Of-All-Female-Attention Goswick had to go and spoil things.

I know why he did it, of course. He made that perfectly clear. He believes I’m incapable of running my business the way a man would. I’ve examined every aspect of my interaction with the Earl of Colchester last night, and in not one scenario was I flirting with him. Whatever Briggs Goswick thought was flirting was simply my passion for my work. But of course, Briggs could never understand that a woman is capable of caring about things outside of wealthy nobility and the marriage mart.

And now I only have five more days of this ridiculous summer garden party. Five more opportunities to find someone, anyone at this point, to invest before my parents take my bees away forever.

“Hello?” I call, ready to truly give Briggs a piece of my mind. But the only person who breaks free into the clearing is Lord Colchester.

“Miss Rowley,” he says. Gone is the formal attire I met him in last evening. He wears a dark blue waistcoat, his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows with no jacket, and he leads a gleaming bay mare down the path in my direction. The sunlight dapples against her warm brown coat.

But behind him, someone disappears among the leafy foliage.

“I apologize if I’m interrupting your reading.”

“There’s nothing that says the interruption must be unwelcome.” I brace myself with my left hand and push away from the tree, but Lord Colchester reaches out before me, offering me both of his hands and lifting me to my feet with ease. “Thank you.”

“I was hoping I’d find you here,” Colchester continues, gesturing for me to join him and his horse on their stroll. “I saw your cousin, Miss Barlow, playing pall-mall, and she said you had probably wandered off into the woods.”

I laugh down at my feet. “I am prone to doing that,” I admit.

Lord Colchester is young to have so weighty a title, but I think he must be older than Briggs. And slightly shorter than Briggs, too. Nothing about him quite as defined. Not his jaw, not his nose, no striking green eyes. And the day-old stubble he’s allowed to grow in looks a bit sloppy whereas Briggs’s always looks rather purposefully roguish.

I shake my head from these thoughts. Briggs Goswick’s presence has irritated me for too long, and I won’t let that feeling perpetuate even when he is nowhere to be found.

“Last night,” Lord Colchester says. He runs his hand through his straight brown hair. “I wanted you to know that I had every intention of asking you for the first dance. In fact, I would have asked for any dance at all had I not been invited to play cards so early on. Not that I assumed you wanted to dance with me. Of course.”

Again, he makes me blush. I clutch my book behind my back and pretend to make a study of the stream that has widened at this part of the woods. A crane bends in the water, observing us as we pass.

“I would have very much liked to have danced with you had my pride not been wounded,” I finally say. “But know that you were not the cause.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” His horse snorts behind him, nudging him in the shoulder, clearly searching for the carrot Lord Colchester keeps for him. “Perhaps you will allow me to keep you company this morning? I found a pretty prospect just a short walk from here. Swans swimming in a lake, a few sheep dotting a field. Will you let me show you? We never had the chance to discuss your apiaries last night.”

I know he isn’t asking me to accompany him because he’s interested in bees or apiaries. But if I don’t accompany him, he’ll never be interested in bees or apiaries.

I take a deep breath, lifting my chin, and present him my most flirtatious smile. “Thank you, my lord. I’d be glad to.” I link my arm through his offered elbow.

He leads me out of the forest and down a gently sloping hill to reveal the glassy pond before us. Two swans paddle across the surface, stopping occasionally to lift a wing and prune their feathers or give one another a sweet nuzzle.

“They’re beautiful,” I say, unable to tear my attention from their grace.

“There is a resident swan couple on my estate as well,” says Lord Colchester, running his hand down his horse’s neck. He pretends to untangle a knot in her mane, but I catch him sneaking glances at me. “They’re rather magnificent, aren’t they?”

“Indeed. At my home, Awendown, we only have a few agitated geese. They’ll chase you into the house if they have something to prove.” I bend down at the edge of the pond, dipping my hand in the water and causing ripples to reach out to the swans.

“Well, then you should come and enjoy mine at Longcross any time you’d like.”

I glance up at my companion, and his gentle blue eyes rest upon me, waiting for my reaction.

“Thank you, my lord. I would like that.” He extends his arm, and I slip my hand into his, accepting his help in standing again.

I have the sudden realization that if I went along like this, if I rewarded his attention, I could become his countess. His flirtations are clearly the start of a courtship, and it could erase all of my family’s current problems with one simple word: yes. Then I wouldn’t have to stay in this stupid arrangement I’ve made with Briggs Look-at-Me! Look-at-Me! Goswick.

Lord Colchester continues, “Shall we pick up where we left off last night before I was obliged to dance with your cousin?”

“Well, I cannot blame you for partnering with her. Charlotte is an accomplished dancer.”

“Indeed, her skills are not to be matched.”

“Certainly not by me, anyway,” I say, adjusting my hat to shade the side of my face that the sun glares down upon. “Much better that we discuss apiaries on a summer afternoon. That is my strong suit.”

We begin sauntering toward a wooden dock that juts out into the water. Lord Colchester allows his horse to roam and crop grass, and says, “I’m certain you are talented in many things, Miss Rowley.”

“I am,” I agree. “Just not many of the things that gentlemen find important, it would seem.”

He smiles almost bashfully from his place on the grass, then joins me at the end of the dock before he says, “Perhaps you’ve been spending time with the wrong gentlemen.”

“I can’t entirely disagree with you.” I lift my head to the sky, letting the cool breeze off the water rush past me. “Thank you for helping me change my ways, my lord.”

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Rowley,” he says with a smile.

I long for it to make me feel something—anything right now would suffice. I search his face for a flick of the eyes, that lazy half smile, a knowing glance that would make me feel like we share something more than what’s obvious at the surface, something I can feel in the very breath that I take. I grasp for something to say, something that might engage him, make him spar with me, but all that I come away with is my work. “I’ve always been fascinated by bees,” I start.

“They didn’t frighten you?”

Ah, at least I got that out of him. I press on. “No, never. I first knew that bees didn’t frighten me on a trip to Wrexford Park. Poor Uncle Henry—he can be quite agitated at times—was distraught over a bee in the drawing room. But I was able to save the wayward creature by cupping him in my palms and transporting him to the gardens.”

Lord Colchester stands silently beside me, his smile still plastered to his face. I give him the opportunity to interject, ask a question, but he does neither of these things.

“When I brought him back outside, I sat for a while and observed their patterns. I even followed a few of them until I discovered the location of their hives. I was enthralled. I asked my father to find me books on the subject and begged him to let me set up a hive of my own. One hive grew to four, then six, then ten, and before I knew it, I was a beekeeper. I am a beekeeper. Since then, I’ve dedicated myself to learning all the new and innovative ways to keep and protect bees in my apiary. It felt natural to help others do the same.”

He nods. Still smiling. But no actual conversation.

“And I suppose that’s the end of my story,” I add. Just to make sure he realizes.

“Delightful. Do you also like dogs?”

I blink twice. “Pardon?”

“Dogs,” he repeats. “I have four of them.”

“Yes,” I reply. “I do like dogs.”

“Splendid.”

“Indeed.” I think we are now engaged in a conversation about our favorite animals, and I have no idea what headway I’ve made about an apiary, if any.

Over Lord Colchester’s shoulder, a raucous shouting coming from the far field interrupts the tranquility. Several gentlemen gather round with their horses being led by the reins, and right in the center of it all is Briggs Goswick. Making a scene, which is hardly a surprise.

“Miss Rowley?”

“Hm?” I smile, pretending as though I’ve been present this entire time.

“Back to your bees,” he says, glancing over his shoulder to see what distracts me.

At last! Lord Colchester finally engages, but of course the timing is all off. Now I’m half distracted by figuring out what could possibly be going on in the field. “Ah yes,” I try. “Well, there’s so much to tell, we’d need to stroll along at least four and a half lakes to discuss it all. Are you interested in apiaries on your estate, my lord?”

Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.

“I could be,” he says with a casual shrug. “If that’s what persuaded you to join me at Longcross.”

This is clearly flirtation in its highest form, and a voice in my brain demands for me to interact. But truthfully, the antics of the other gentlemen across the field with their horses are distracting.

“My lord, do you know what they’re up to?” I finally ask.

We both observe Briggs Goswick mount his gray dappled gelding. The same horse he tried to jump earlier this summer, when we met in the field outside Wrexford Park.

“It’s a race, I believe,” my companion replies. “Lord Drummond has set up hurdles all around the estate, and the gentlemen are betting on their animals. They’ll start here at the lake and end down by the vicarage. I admit, Mr. Goswick’s animal is truly impressive. Must have cost him a pretty penny.”

My brows pinch together and my hands close slowly into fists. That Briggs Goswick had the audacity to accuse me of undermining my own business with flirtation last night was one thing, but that he blatantly goes and undermines my work in trying to secure Miss Dixon’s affections by gambling? With what money? Even if by some miracle Sabrina magically fell in love with him overnight, her money would do him no good if his poor fiscal habits haven’t changed.

“Are you well, Miss Rowley?”

“I am well,” I tell him, but my eyes are still on the congregation of gentlemen. “Do you not ride, my lord?”

“I do ride, but racing holds very little interest for me.”

How refreshing. A gentleman with good sense and restraint.

“Are you fond of horses?” he asks.

“Very fond of them,” I reply. I would love to see Briggs’s reaction if he knew I was watching him. He is truly the most selfish human I’ve ever met in my life. I turn my attention back to my companion. “Lord Colchester, would you not like to go and watch the race?”

“Whatever you’d like, of course.” He offers me his arm, but whatever hope I might have had to secure Lord Colchester in business, or perhaps even more, has evaporated and been replaced with my rage over Briggs Goswick’s life choices. I gather my skirts and march up the hill to where Briggs, Westley, Lord Drummond, and several other gentlemen still mingle around their horses, blissfully unaware of the simmering rage headed in their direction.