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“Be that…” Emma tipped her head to the side, a soft smile touching her lips as she seemed to be speaking to herself. “I believe so, yes.” She took a step toward the bushes. “Miss May, be that ye?”
Miss May? The Miss May who had grown up in the house next to his? The Miss May he was fairly certain he’d never spoken more than a few greetings to?
They waited in silence, both of them watching the bushes remain still before another rustling shifted the leaves and a soft voice spoke from within.
“Yes?”
Had that been a question? Did Miss May not know she was, indeed, Miss May? A smile tugged at his lips.
“What…” Emma began. “What ye be doin’ in the bushes?”
More silence. “I…” The voice paused as she cleared her throat. “I fear I be quite fixed to these brambles.”
August exchanged glances with Emma, confusion shifting quickly to amusement. She was stuck?
He cleared his own throat then to rid himself of any humor he should not be feeling in this situation and drew closer to the bushes, knowing the task fell upon him. Should Emma attempt to help, her dress would become as snagged in the branches as Miss May’s dress apparently was. He, on the other hand, had no skirts to hinder him.
“Allow me to ’elp ye, Miss May.”
Looking closer, he tried to catch sight of a hand to grasp onto, but Miss May remained in the darkness. He was fairly certain he hadn’t managed a single sighting of the woman in more than two years. She was never at any social gathering on the Mount or off, and when he had thought he’d seen her, her head had been more often than not lowered into the pages of an open book.
“Oh, I be quite all right,” Miss May said, her voice taking on a higher pitch. “I be certain I can free meself on me own.”
August held back, the bush shivering as if caught in a gale off the coast. Grunting sounded within, then the bush stopped and sighed. Or rather, Miss May stopped and sighed.
Would she accept his help now?
“Miss May?”
Silence.
“Miss May, be ye still there?”
Whispers sounded behind him, and he glanced back to find the rest of the party converging nearby, curiosity in each of their gazes.
“Do ye suppose I vanished into the air or somethin’, sir? ’Course I be ’ere.”
His smile grew. For someone stuck in a bush, she certainly maintained a sense of humor and pride through it all.
“Come,” he said, pushing aside the branches with his gloved hands.
More rustling occurred as he drew farther into the bushes. How the devil had the woman become entangled so far into these branches? And what the devil was she doing there in the first place?
Another muted grunt occurred, closer this time, and he moved the branches aside farther and farther until finally, he came face-to-face with Miss May.
And what a sight she was. He’d thought he’d be observing the young Miss May from before—the one with ruddy cheeks and a rounded face.
But this Miss May, well, he’d never seen anyone so stunning. Her black hair had been tugged out by the branches, but that did nothing but add to her strikingness. Or, as Ophelia put it, her beautiness.
A soft breeze blew the leaves of the branches above them, allowing the sun to peek through and land squarely on Miss May’s face. Soft curls fell down around her elegant features in waves—high cheekbones, curved lips, almond-shaped eyes. Those eyes. How had he never noticed how blue they were? Then again, she had only been fifteen or sixteen when he’d left the Mount. Before that, he’d been so wrapped up in his own life and his own interests, why would he have ever paid attention to a girl who was the same age as his younger sisters?
Another moment passed by before he realized he was still staring at her in silence. He pulled on a half-smile. “Miss May, I presume?”
CHAPTER THREE
“…nothing is so delicate as the reputation of a woman: it is, at once, the most beautiful and most brittle of all human things.”
Evelina, Frances Burney
