A tender silence settled between them, broken only by the distant cry of a night bird and the rustle of leaves. Then, without another word, Evan bent down, his lips finding hers in a kiss—gentle, yet full of all the warmth, tenderness, and emotion they had shared throughout their day. The kiss deepened, the world around them fading into the background as they held onto each other, finding solace in the shared tenderness of the moment.
When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, each still feeling the warmth of the kiss lingering in their hearts. Neither spoke for a while, content simply in the presence of the other. And in that silence, beneath the darkening sky and amidst the ruins, it was as if they both knew something had shifted between them, something deep and unspoken, but real.
They’d sat together in one another’s embrace for some while, when Emma’s thought drifted to something that had been on her mind. Brigitte and her recent change in demeanor.
She thought she had discovered the reason for it – and the reason, if true, troubled her greatly. She turned to Evan and cleared her throat.
As they approached the ruins together, Emma hesitated, a slight frown tugging at her lips. “Evan,” she began, her tone shifting, “may I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he replied, his curiosity piqued. “What’s troubling you?”
“It’s about Jonathan,” Emma admitted. “He’s been calling on you regularly over the past week. But…” She hesitated, chewing her lip before continuing, “He appears to arrive early and leave after you’ve parted ways and during such interludes I’ve noticed him speaking to Brigitte twice now. Last week, I saw them talking by the garden gate, and another time, on the back steps of the kitchen.” Her voice grew quieter. “Jonathan seems rather flirtatious, and though Brigitte insists there’s nothing to it, I suspect she’s smitten with him. She tries to deny it, but it’s obvious.”
Evan chuckled softly, his expression both amused and thoughtful. “Jonathan has always been a charmer. The women on the estate—maids and tenants alike—seem unable to resist him, but I assure you, he’s harmless. He wouldn’t ever take advantage of anyone.”
Emma nodded, her brow still furrowed. “I don’t believe he’d do anything untoward either, but I worry for Brigitte. She’s young, impressionable. Her heart could easily be broken, and she doesn’t deserve that.”
Evan’s face softened as he reached out to gently touch her hand. “I understand,” he said earnestly. “If this doesn’t resolve itself soon, I’ll speak with him directly. I’ll remind him to be mindful of how his words and actions affect others. Does that ease your worry?”
Emma exhaled, relief evident in her features. “Thank you, Evan. It does. Brigitte is dear to me, and I’d hate to see her hurt.”
“She’s lucky to have you looking out for her,” Evan said with a warm smile. “But do trust me—Jonathan’s bark is far worse than his bite. He enjoys the attention but wouldn’t go so far as to damage anyone’s peace.”
Though Emma’s thoughts lingered briefly on Brigitte, she felt reassured by Evan’s promise and was grateful for his understanding.
As the light began to fade, they mounted their horses and rode back toward the estate. When they reached the stables, Emma noticed a group of stable hands clustered around an older man. Their animated conversation quieted the moment they spotted Evan, and the men dispersed quickly, casting furtive glances at him.
Emma furrowed her brow, watching the way Evan’s posture stiffened slightly as he dismounted. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before. When he spotted them, the man nodded toward Evan but then slipped into the nearby stable building.
As they dismounted, Evan handed the reins of Emma’s horse to a nearby stable hand and turned toward the older man who stood by the stable doors. His weathered face, framed by graying hair, carried the weight of years spent in the saddle. His eyes, though sharp, were filled with a quiet heaviness.
“Emma,” Evan began, “this was Mr. Hatfield. William Hatfield. He was the stable master here for many years.”
Emma’s face lit up with recognition. “Oh, I heard talk of him. Did you not tell me that he used to ride with you and your mother when you first learned how?” She smiled warmly at the man, her tone gentle and full of admiration.
“Indeed,” he said. “Because my father would not and felt the servants ought to take on such duties. Allow me to introduce you.”
Together, they made their way into the stable where they found Mr. Hatfield fetching his hat which he’d evidentially left there upon his arrival.
Emma noticed the shift in the air—the subtle tension that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She glanced at Evan, whose jaw tightened ever so slightly. Something unspoken hung between the two men.
Evan cleared his throat. “Mr. Hatfield, it’s been a long time. Allow me to introduce my wife. The Duchess of Wells.”
Tension grew more taunt as the name rang and she saw in the older man’s face that he associated the title with someone else.
“Your Grace,” he said and bowed.
“It is good to meet you,” she said but Evan quickly stepped in before more conversation could be had.
“What brings you here today?”
The older man hesitated, his fingers curling around the brim of his hat. “I wondered if I might have a word with you, sir. Privately.”
Evan nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly in concern. “Of course.” He glanced at Emma. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”
Emma gave a small, reassuring nod, though her curiosity was piqued. “Of course,” she said, her gaze lingering on Mr. Hatfield.
Evan placed a hand on her arm briefly before turning and walking away with Mr. Hatfield toward the house, their voices low as they disappeared around the corner of the stable.
