They rounded another corner in the forest path and chose one much brighter than the last. Here, there were rocks and pebbles, and a stream trickled in the distance, the babbling brook keeping them company.
“He talked to me of what it was like to be born into this position,” he spoke quite impassively, with barely a hint of resentment in his voice. He halted and stared at the stream. “He talked of how I had to live up to his reputation, and if I could make the reputation for the dukedom even better than before. ‘It is our lives, my boy.’” He adopted a deeper tone, mimicking his father. “‘Duty, constant duty.’” He scoffed.
Dorothy halted beside him, and the two of them looked at the water together.
“What would he have made of you falling in the water the other day?” she asked in a small voice.
“Hard to tell.” Stephen shifted his gaze to her. “Making an exhibition of myself? Oh, he would have been horrified. Doing it to protect a lady, even one so—” He broke off abruptly.
Dorothy felt as if ice ran through her veins, the coldness washing over her.
“Even one so unladylike.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you were about to say.” She shook her head and looked away, not wanting to hear another word from him.
“Please, Dorothy. Surely the mere fact that I pushed you back from the water’s edge shows you that I do not think the worst of you. How can I after all… after all these years?” His voice had turned quiet.
Yet, Dorothy couldn’t look at him. It was the very fear that had kept her out of bed, and Stephen had been on the verge of saying it to her face.
“I think I’ll tell you a story of my own now.” She held her chin high, determined not to be cowed by his words, and looked at him again. There must have been something sharp in her look, for he flinched. “The night before my debut, I confessed how nervous I was to my mother. She urged me to be myself. She told me that true friends would like me for who I am, and not how I perform to the ton’s standards.”
She shook her head slightly. “My lovely mother was sadly wrong.” She walked away from the stream, with swiftness in her step, and heard Stephen following behind her. “At my debut, I heard ladies scoff repeatedly. I heard the whispers, heard the gossip, saw the censuring looks when I didn’t know the right steps for a dance.”
“You danced many times that night. I remember it.”
“And not one of the men ever asked me to dance again,” she reminded him, glancing over her shoulder. “More than one curled their noses when I did something wrong, or when I said something strange, such as responding with ‘no’ when they asked if I play a musical instrument or explaining that I was fond of the outdoors.”
“Dorothy, please, slow down.”
“No.” She shook her head and plowed on, returning to the main path in the forest. “Then guess what I found, coming here to this house, a place I so badly did not want to come to. I found a suitor.” She swallowed uncomfortably, feeling strange at the thought of Lord Chilmond. “Someone who actually expressed an interest in me. Our wager aside, let us face it and be honest, I am unlikely to have any other suitor.”
“What? Dorothy! Do not be absurd.”
“I am speaking plainly.” She halted halfway down the path and spun so fast to face him that he skidded to a rather ungainly halt, struggling not to bump into her. “Lord Chilmond might be the one chance I actually have at making a match, and what did I hear this evening when I danced with him? I hear the usual whispers, the usual gossip. ‘Lady Dorothy, not quite the lady, is she?’ And to hear that after all of that, you…”
She gestured toward him, a sudden lump in her throat. “You think the same thing? Is there nothing redeeming in my character at all? Am I such a rebel that you dislike me for every part of who I am?”
“I do not dislike you,” Stephen said with sudden heat, stepping toward her. “Not in any way.” His hands rested on her shoulders.
“Do not lie to me.” Tears prickled her eyes, and she blinked fast, trying to suppress them.
“I am not lying,” he said firmly. “Yes, perhaps you do not have the greatest poise in the world, but that does not equate to anything that truly matters.”
“You were about to call me unladylike!”
“I fumbled my words,” he insisted, hurrying to get through what he was saying now. “Hardly the first time around you. Dorothy, after all that has happened between us on this trip, do you imagine that any part of me could actually hate you?”
“You argue with me. Constantly.”
“Webicker. We jibe at one another, and yet we keep hanging around each other, do we not? You keep coming back for another argument.” He leaned toward her, his voice suddenly husky and deep. His hands were soft on her arms, and her hands found the edges of his frock coat.
What are we doing? What does he mean by this?
“Just as I keep coming back to you,” he whispered, his lips moving closer to hers.
I am not imagining it this time. It is no trick of the light.
