Lord Preston looked down as if discovering her for the first time. “We cannot truly know what it is to have no society, can we? Especially not you and I. How would we eat? Clothe ourselves? Build shelter?”
They walked arm in arm. The pace was more civilized now. Lolly could feel every brush of his chest against her gloved hand. Every collision between his knee and her layered skirts. “I suppose I did not mean all of English society,” Lolly answered. “Only the Quality. Anyone who is so consumed with proving that they are better than everyone else.”
Lord Preston smiled. His smile was so very crooked. Lolly caught herself admiring it – and forced her gaze away.
He asked, “Did you acquire your dislike of norms in the American colonies? Or did you come to it on your own as a product of living in England?”
She supposed it did all trace back to Frances. “I would prefer to say I am a critical thinker, my lord. I do not dislike all norms. The norm of not murdering someone, for example, is a very good one.”
“What of the norm of calling each other by such formal appellations? Can we dispense with that?”
Surprised, Lolly looked up to see if he was jesting. But he still smiled, perfectly serious and friendly. “Since we are not actually going to marry, would that be wise?”
“What would happen if you called me Martin? Would your virtue combust?”
She couldn’t help laughing. “I am led to believe a hundred fierce matrons would rush forward with swords to defend me from such an act.”
“Perhaps you should test your theory.” He raised an eyebrow at her.
Lolly shouldn’t flirt. Not with him, not with anyone, now that she had decided against marriage. Except it was too much fun. She couldn’t help grinning back at him. “What do you think we shall eat for luncheon, Martin?”
It was a thrilling name, Martin. It called to mind a medieval knight who would fight dragons to free her from a prison tower.
“I daresay it will be a roast, Rosalind.” He darted his eyes about the fields. “There, you see? No matrons out to get us yet.”
“Call me Lolly,” she corrected.
Martin set his dark, kind eyes on her. “If you insist, Lolly.”
It was only when they didn’t stop staring at each other for long moments that Lolly realized her mistake. They weren’t marrying. Her skin wasn’t supposed to tingle under his gaze. Her lips were not supposed to yearn for his.
Her heart wasn’t supposed to skip this way.
Chapter Four
This was his favorite path. How many times, over the past five years, had he conjured it in his mind as a refuge from the stormy ocean crossings and hot deserts and overwhelming people?
Martin inhaled the smell of meadow grass and the sight of the hills rising in the distance. Everything was a little bit smaller and a little bit shaggier than he remembered. England had not sat still while he traveled. Even his own fields had changed, now growing tall with wheat instead of the rye they’d been harvesting at his departure five years ago. And this time, he walked with a pretty woman at his side.
That, at least, was an improvement over the last time he had been home.
The echo of her name resonated between them. He couldn’t think of anything clever to say next, and as the silence grew longer, it morphed into something comfortable. Lolly looked about herself, taking in the fields and hills just as Martin had. He relaxed into the moment and enjoyed the walk to the pond.
The pond was one of Martin’s favorite places in the whole world. Nestled at the conjoining dip of three farm fields, it hid from the horizon like a desert oasis. Long ago, the trees surrounding it had been removed, except for three old oak trees that refused to be felled. They offered just enough shade for soft green moss to blanket their roots. The pond itself always glimmered, even on the cloudiest day, and in the summertime, it beckoned with water warmed by the sun.
At the moment, the sky was gray, the air chilly enough to put cherries in their cheeks, and so instead of recommending a swim, Martin simply helped Lolly sink against one of the oak trees, then sat beneath the one he had, as a boy, christened The Holy Spirit.
“Welcome to my private office,” he said, sneaking her another smile. “If ever you cannot find me at the hall, likely as not I am here.”
“That would be good to know, were we to marry.” Lolly sat straight as an arrow against the tree and surveyed the pond. “I can see why you like it. It is very peaceful here.”
Martin settled into the place and moment, listening to the birds chirping above. Then, he asked the question that most pursued him. “What are you going to do instead of marriage, then? Convert to Catholicism and join a convent?”
“No.” Lolly crossed her arms. Even though they were in the country, she wore padding underneath her dress so that her skirts billowed across the mossy ground.
Martin waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, he prodded, “Don’t you have any sort of plan?”
“I will return to Boston, where I will become a schoolteacher and charity worker.” From the way she said it, Martin was not at all sure that she had formed this plan before opening her mouth.
