Page 53 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

“It seems like an awful lot of fuss,” Rosalind said, leaning against the window. “I wish we were still in London, or that Mother and Father were here with us.”

“So do we all, dear child.” The dowager duchess’s eyes softened. “Parliament cannot hold the session forever. In the meantime, we must enjoy our spring and summer as best we can.”

More people had fled London, thanks to the progressively larger crowds appearing at corners and parks to listen as orators decried the economy and political situation. Which meant Josephine had managed to invite two other families, friends of theirs, to join them for a day of picnicking and games at Sir Andrew’s home.

Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Hepsworth, a family of large fortune, had agreed to come with their daughters, Maria (newly engaged, so that ought to keep her from pestering Simon), Hannah, and fifteen-year-old Elspeth, a friend to Isabelle and Rosalind.

Simon had invited the rector, who borrowed one of the duke’s horses, as he kept none of his own. And Andrew had hinted that he would invite a family or two from Bytham’s village.

Josephine startled when a rider appeared outside her window, jostling her from her thoughts. The road’s width hadn’t allowed her brother or his friends to ride parallel to the carriage for most of the journey. But there Lord Hartwell was, atop his dappled-gray steed, cutting an attractive figure as he rode.

He turned to look into the carriage and spied Josephine. He grinned and tipped his head to her, which she returned with a smile and nod of her own. Then he continued forward, moving ahead of the carriage.

Despite her agreement to explore a friendship with the man, Josephine heartily wished him elsewhere. Not with any malice, of course. But she remembered well that Andrew’s castle was smaller than her own, which meant close quarters with all the guests when they were not picnicking out of doors.

With Hartwell on one side and Andrew on the other, Josephine imagined feeling rather squeezed between them. A new “friend,” with hopes for more, and an old enemy, growing dearer to her with each passing day, would doubtless send her already complicated thoughts into a muddle.

Josephine hadn’t planned on entering any romantic entanglements this year. Or the next. But perhaps one couldn’t plan for such things. And once they came, everything moved quickly. Too quickly to wrap one’s mind around the situation to make clever choices.

To so many of her acquaintances, ladies coming out into Society with wealth and beauty backing them, love had been a game.

But for Josephine, it was everything. And if love was within her grasp, did she dare to reach for it?

When the carriage came to a stop before the near-hidden castle, Josephine peered out at the gray-stone building that was more house than fortress. She saw Andrew, dressed in a dark blue coat and tall riding boots, ready for his guests and grinning infectiously.

It was Andrew who opened the carriage door to assist first the dowager duchess to step down. Then his hand returned to take Josephine’s, and she saw the forget-me-not blue of his waistcoat, which matched the color of her gown so perfectly it looked as though they had planned it.

Did she imagine the gentle squeeze to her hand as Andrew murmured, “Welcome to my home, Lady Josephine.”

Then he released her to help the governess and her sisters alight from the carriage, too, and Josephine looked up at the castle. There was a tower at one corner that likely allowed anyone inside to look over the tree-tops to the road.

The small castle, surrounded by trees filled with birdsong, brought back the memories of her last visit. The memories of walking through quiet, comfortable rooms where she felt she could tuck herself into a chair or window seat and read for hours. She remembered sitting beneath the trees and sketching with Emma while they talked of nothing.

Despite the sounds of people, horses, and carriages surrounding her now, the memory of that peace touched her heart once more. She relaxed. Then grinned.

Andrew led them into the castle, giving everyone time to freshen up before they continued through to the gardens. Josephine was among the first to step out into the sunshine once more, though the cool shadows of the castle beckoned her to stay and rest. Andrew waited on the terrace, looking through the hedges. He stood with a straight back, his hands clasped behind him, staring out over the maintained lawn of green stretching into a meadow and the stream just out of sight.

Josephine approached him, coming to his side and tucking her hands behind her back, too. “Your home is welcoming.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, and his smile grew softer. “Do you think so? I have always liked it, though there is much room for improvement. As your mother so often reminds me.”

“Mother loves her building projects.” Josephine arched an eyebrow at him. “You seemed quite keen last time she spoke of enlarging your castle with a new wing.”

“If it would improve things.” He shrugged. “But I don’t suppose I will make changes anytime soon. The future lady of my castle will likely have her own ideas of how things should be.”

Her heart stuttered, the warmth in her breast flickering like a candle, when he mentioned his nonexistent wife. Had she become enough enamored of him that she pictured herself in that role so soon?

The butler approached Andrew, bowing, and the baronet excused himself a moment. Josephine watched him re-enter the castle, wondering at the change that had come over him in his own home. Andrew had always struck her as confident, but here was a new sort of self-possession, a maturity she rarely glimpsed, as he behaved as the master of his home.

Grandmama emerged onto the terrace in time to catch Josephine’s stare, and she raised her eyebrows at her granddaughter as she approached. “You seem happy, Josephine.”

“I am quite content.” Josephine looped her arm through her grandmother’s. “Shall we stroll through the wildflowers?” When the dowager duchess agreed, Josephine led them down the steps and into the wilds of Sir Andrew’s gardens.

CHAPTER 18

Gathered beneath the shade of a willow, near the rapidly moving stream that bisected the baronet’s property, Andrew’s guests enjoyed a fine repast. Cold ham, rolls, slices of decadent cheese, preserves made from last summer’s berries, cherry wine, and pastries fresh from the village bakery.

The cook hadn’t been best-pleased with the idea of a party descending on him without notice, despite the fact that most would be leaving after the picnic for their own homes. Mrs. Caswell had cleverly suggested the bakery as a way to supplement the meals from their own unready larder.