“I can’t tell if that was a criticism of my artifice or a compliment of my vocal performance, Mr. Fletcher.” Miss Hayward gave him a sidelong glance, adjusting the basket on her arm.

  “Oh, the latter, I assure you. Your voice is stunning. I was quite enchanted by it,” he said with sincerity.

  She blushed with pleasure, and her lips turned up in a hint of a smile as she kept her focus on the blackberry bush.

  As much as Edmund enjoyed the banter he exchanged with Miss Hayward, he was determined to engage in a more serious discussion with her today. Finding time alone was difficult, to say the least, and he was determined not to use it all facetiously. “I am sorry about you mother’s health. Has she been ill for long?”

  Miss Hayward nodded. “I’m afraid so. She’s been in poor health ever since I can remember. I’m told my birth was very hard on her constitution. I’ve heard others describe her as outgoing and sociable, but I’ve never known her as such. She seems a different person from who and what she once was.” Deep in thought, she paused her activity for a moment. She seemed to struggle to put her thoughts into words.

  “That must be difficult.” Edmund sympathized. “It’s always hard to see those we love suffer.”

  “Yes,” agreed Miss Hayward with a touch of reluctance. “It is. But there’s something more than that. I think it is difficult for me, knowing she has become unwell, not just in body but in mind and spirit. Instead of having a mother, I have an ill mother. It is difficult to explain, but it’s touched every part of her life. She lives in a cage created by her own mind, and that is far more powerful than the confinement of any actual malady she suffers from.”

  She took a breath, looking up at him. “Have I said too much? I’ve never confided this to anyone.”

  “No, please, go on.” Something in him warmed at her willingness to entrust him with these thoughts.

  She blinked back tears. “I don’t blame her for it; she gave her health in exchange for me. But I mourn the mother—the person—she might have been in different circumstances.”

  This newfound depth in Miss Hayward, who outwardly appeared so carefree, tugged on Edmund’s heart. “That must have been especially hard on you growing up. I hope you did not blame yourself. It is a habit of children to believe themselves responsible for things they cannot change.” He thought of his own childhood experience, and his mouth pulled down in a slight frown.

  “Yes, I think you’re right. But I had many people to take the place of my mother back then. My grandparents doted on me, and I daresay I was spoiled by my governess. By all measures, I’ve had a wonderful life.” Miss Hayward smiled and resumed her blackberry-picking. “But enough about me and my family. I’m sure you have heard plenty for one day, Mr. Fletcher.”

  “Edmund, please,” he said impulsively. “And may I call you Eleanor?”

  She looked over in surprise. Her face glowed from the warmth of the afternoon sun, and he loved the variation of expressions he saw filter through her coppery eyes.

  “I’d like that . . . Edmund.” She said his name slowly as she used it for the first time, and he felt a thrill at the sound of it. Never had a woman so enthralled him.

  She blinked and looked away, and he realized he’d been staring at her. He cleared his throat. “Something you said a moment ago struck a chord in me. About how you mourn the mother yours might have been in other circumstances.”

  “Oh?” she asked.

  “I believe I mentioned that my brother, John, died when I was young,” Edmund began.

  “Yes, you did. How old were you at the time?”

  “I was twelve. Both of my parents took it very hard. But more difficult than how devastated they were individually was what it did to their marriage.” Edmund frowned as he remembered. “I don’t recall much from when I was young, and it could just be youthful ignorance framing my memories, but I thought they had been happy together. Once John died they fought and argued all the time. There was very little love or laughter between them. And what you said about your mother made me think of their marriage and how different it might have been if John had lived.”

  “How devastating. To not only lose their son but to also lose each other.” She gave him a pained look. “And of course your life would have been very different too.”

  Edmund nodded, thinking. As she moved closer to him, he noticed the basket was full of blackberries and growing heavy. He laid a soft hand on her elbow, and she looked down in surprise. “Here, let me take that . . . Eleanor,” he said, slipping it off her arm.

  She beamed with pleasure and then sobered again. “Was it very difficult for you? Were you close to your brother?”

  He nodded. “I idolized John; he was everything I hoped to be. And, on top of that, suddenly I was the heir. It seemed to me it would have been better for everyone if I had been taken instead of John. So many of my parents’ hopes and desires for the future seemed to die with him.” Edmund looked away for a moment, thinking of the weight that had descended on his young shoulders at the realization.

  “But of course that wasn’t true!”

  Edmund gave her a pained smile. “Perhaps, perhaps not.” The memory came back, hitting him full-force.

  He’d been outside riding but had come in quietly and heard his parents arguing in the parlor. With the door open, he easily heard the entire conversation. He stood there quietly, staring down at his shoes, noticing how badly they needed to be shined.

  “To lose a first son,” his father said bitterly. “A young man in his prime. It’s senseless.”

  “If you had called for a doctor like I suggested, he might still be here with us. Thanks to you, Edmund is now an only child!” his mother wailed, her voice full of misery. She started to sob.

  Edmund almost went in, wanting to comfort her.

  “How dare you blame me for the death of our son!” Father shouted, banging his hand on a table with such force that Edmund froze. “I loved John more than anything! I would have gone for the doctor myself if I’d thought he needed it!” His voice quieted, becoming malicious. “And don’t speak of Edmund to me.”

  “Why?” asked his mother petulantly, clearly trying to wound her husband. “Someone has to remind you that you have another son.”

  “Not the son who was supposed to inherit,” he said with resentment. “Edmund will never be what John would have been. He doesn’t have the same drive, the same vision!”

  A cold pit formed in Edmund’s stomach as he stared at his scuffed shoes. It occurred to him that John’s shoes had always been freshly polished.

  “Perhaps not, but he’s still our son.”

  Edmund could almost taste her disappointment.

  “Not the son I would have chosen.”

  Edmund didn’t stay around to listen anymore. He bolted back outside, fists against his eyes to hold in the tears. His twelve-year-old heart was already devastated with the loss of his brother, and he was now convinced that he was the second son in not only birth order but in his parents’ affections as well.

  “But how could it be?” said Eleanor, pulling him away from his past. “Their grief may have made them selfish, but surely they didn’t love you any less.” Her proximity surprised him. She searched his face, and Edmund gave her a grim smile.

  “Of course no loving parent would really prefer one son over another,” he said, not wanting to burden her with his past.

  She touched his arm softly, a gesture of comfort. “I’m always amazed at the unforeseen events that can alter the course of our lives. What would your life be like if John hadn’t died? I always wonder if, given the same circumstances as my mother, I would become an invalid the way she has.”

  Eleanor’s nearness was intoxicating. She stared up at him with her luminous copper eyes, and Edmund involuntarily reached out, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I can hardly imagine it,” he breathed. “You are too full of life.”

  “I’m sure my father thought the same thing when he fell in love with my mother,” she said and then flamed red, realizing her implication. She stepped away, a hand on her burning cheek.

  Without thinking he reached for the hand that hid her embarrassment. “Promise me you’ll never allow yourself to wither that way. I couldn’t bear it.” The touch of her skin sent blood pulsing through his veins.

  “I don’t think I could. I long for happiness too much.”

  She glanced down at the hand he held, and he let go, concerned he had been too forward. Edmund was starting to feel troubled at how much he’d come to feel for this woman in so short a time. He needed to ground himself, to lighten the moment. “Of course you do, Eleanor,” he said with a smile. “And I long for some blackberries. Shall we head back and enjoy the fruits of our labor?”

  “I’d be delighted, Edmund.”

  ***

  Mrs. Clark approached them as they crossed over the bridge. “Why, Mr. Fletcher, you’ve outdone yourself! Do you mind sharing your basket with a few of my dear friends? You don’t mind, do you, Miss Hayward? There are still a few people I need to introduce him to!”

  She didn’t wait for an answer before taking Edmund’s arm and dragging him and the basket of blackberries in the opposite direction. Eleanor let out a slow breath. She had been subjected to Mrs. Clark’s snubs before, and usually she just laughed it off. Mrs. Clark couldn’t help her attraction to those who were moneyed and titled any more than her own mother could help being ill. But, for some reason, today it felt particularly hurtful.

  Eleanor spotted an open seat near Miss Weston and her brother and sat down to join them. They ate while they talked and exchanged pleasantries, but her heart wasn’t really in it. She hated that her glance kept straying toward Edmund and the fine-looking woman at his side, who seemed to find him very amusing. When he offered her some of the blackberries he and Eleanor had picked together, Eleanor sighed aloud.

  “Are you quite all right, Miss Hayward?” asked Mr. Weston, making Eleanor a little ashamed at how little attention she’d been giving her friends.

  “Yes, I think I’m just a little tired,” she replied, the truth being she was tired of this new web of jealousy that was weaving its way around her heart.

  “Do you want to join us for a walk in the gardens?” inquired Miss Weston.

  “No, thank you. I think I’ll just stay here and rest a bit. I’ll meet up with you a little later.”

  The Weston siblings left, and Eleanor forced all thoughts of Edmund from her mind. Full of blackberries as well as the bread and cheese that had been provided, Eleanor sat contentedly back against the trunk of a tree. A moment later Colonel Godwin, currently home on military leave, walked over. Ten years her senior, Eleanor found him to be a bit intimidating, especially since he always dressed in full military attire.

  “Good day, Miss Hayward.”

  “Good day, Colonel Godwin.”

  “Have you had your fill of blackberries? I have a full basket here,” he said, holding out his spoils.

  “I’ve already eaten so many I’m quite sure I won’t be able to eat for the rest of the day. But feel free to take a seat and enjoy your pickings.” She motioned to the open blanket.

  Colonel Godwin sat down next to her, closer than she might have expected. He was polite but very formal, asking about her family and inquiring after her brother. Eleanor never felt quite comfortable in his presence but did her best to hide it, smiling and talking despite the wave of fatigue the afternoon brought.

  As she covered her third yawn, Colonel Godwin arose. “Thank you for allowing me to join you, but I can see that you are tired. I’ll just go and thank Mrs. Clark for inviting me. I hope to see you again soon.”

  “Thank you for your company, and I hope I didn’t offend you. I’m afraid the sun has worn me out.”

  “Not at all. Good day, Miss Hayward.”

  She smiled. “Good day, Colonel Godwin.”

  As he walked off, Eleanor yawned again, grateful to be alone at last. She loved the feel of the sun shining down, urging her drowsy eyelids closed against the brightness of its rays. Within a few moments she’d fallen into a comfortable sleep, the slight breeze keeping her cool, even without the protection of the shade.

  It was difficult to say how much time had passed when she awoke. Most people were still eating, enjoying the remnants of the picnic, but some had finished and were back at blackberry picking. A few were heading back toward Claremont, perhaps planning to rest and change before dinner.

  The trees to her right now blocked the sun, and Eleanor pulled her shawl up around her shoulders.

  “I was wondering when you were going to wake up,” teased Edmund, standing a few feet away. He leaned back against a tree, arms folded across his chest, looking particularly pleased about something. He grinned at her, jolting Eleanor out of her disoriented state and into an acute awareness of her dishevelment. She noted the creases in her lawn dress and tried, with little result, to smooth the wrinkles and then patted her hair, wondering how much damage had been done by the breeze.

  She moved to stand up, and Edmund quickly closed the distance between them, offering his hand to help her. Chagrined, she took it, noting the warmth of his hand around hers and the easy strength with which he aided her. A trail of heat flooded up her arm. Was it obvious how much his touch affected her?

  “I believe I still have your gloves,” he said, releasing her hand.

  She looked at her hands, feeling rather exposed. “Yes, I believe you do.”

  He reached into his coat and handed them to her.

  Quickly putting them on she looked up accusingly. “How long had you been watching me?” She felt very vulnerable all of the sudden, knowing he had caught her napping. He seemed to be enjoying some sort of secret satisfaction at her clear discomfort.

  “Long enough to know that you bear an uncanny resemblance to the common centaury, or as I like to call it, the napping flower,” Edmund said, his face serious. “You are full of life and adventure in the morning, but you close up and take a nap in the afternoon.”

  Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh. “I take it as a compliment that you remember my botany lesson,” she said, covering a yawn with her hand. “And I do love an afternoon nap, so you have classified me correctly.”

  “I am nothing if not an excellent student.” His eyes caught hers, full of warmth. She found she couldn’t look away, nor did she want to.

  “If you continue to show an affinity for botany, I might be inclined to give you another lesson.”

  A smile quirked his lips. “And I might be inclined to insist.”

  Chapter 7

  Herefordshire, 1816

  Eleanor was ecstatic to finally be out of doors, for it was the thing she’d missed most since she injured her ankle. Caroline had insisted she join them for the picnic. “I’ll have one of the footmen carry you out if your ankle still isn’t well enough,” she vowed. “But you must come. And my brother, Richard, and his family arrive this afternoon. You must be there to meet them!” Eleanor was already learning that trying to say no to Caroline was tantamount to trying to hold back the tide on Dover’s beaches. It just couldn’t be done.

  Despite Eleanor’s qualms about socializing in such a large group, and especially the probability of encountering Mr. Fletcher, her heart yearned to be back outside. So with some misgiving, she acquiesced and accompanied Caroline. She took a seat on one of the picnic blankets, stretching back her arms to hold herself up as she tilted her head back, breathing in the fresh air. She loved the feel of the grass beneath her hands and the subtle smells of hay and wildflowers that travelled on the whims of the breeze.

  Luncheon came and went without incident. Eleanor sat with the Rowleys, so at the arrival of Edmund and the Drew sisters, there had been a brief hello but nothing more eventful. Despite her intentions to remain disinterested, Eleanor couldn’t help risking glances in Edmund’s direction. Once or twice he caught her staring, and she quickly pretended to be focused elsewhere, but not without a severe blush rising on her cheeks.

  Did he really hate her so much? During the past three years, she had cast her mind back over their conversations and interactions, trying to understand where things had gone so terribly wrong. She had always assumed he must have decided his station and circles were far above her own and the chasm between them too big a hurdle to allow their relationship to progress any further. But his recent words kept replaying in her head. I do not presume to know you. I did so once and was subjected to both duplicity and ill treatment at your hands. His accusation of duplicity was mystifying, unless of course he had somehow been mistaken in his understanding of her family’s modest means. But she had never attempted to misrepresent her status, for she’d never considered Edmund to be too good for her. Perhaps she had been naïve.

  As the picnic baskets were put away, Caroline started a game of charades. Eleanor begged off on the pretext of her twisted ankle, though it could hardly be claimed as a credible excuse since she had been walking for two full days now without assistance.

  The game began with Caroline acting out a barouche, and Eleanor watched with amusement from a distance. Once or twice her mirth got the best of her and she let out a laugh of delight, enjoying the absurdity of the game. A few moments later the carriage carrying Richard and his family arrived. Richard was the Warwicks’ eldest son, who had been off visiting his wife’s family for the last several weeks. Caroline flagged down the driver, urging him to stop. The carriage halted, and a moment later the family alighted.

  Edmund stood up in the midst of the bustle and quietly walked away from the group. Eleanor hated that she felt so aware of his every move. She turned her attention back to Richard and his family.

  The difference in demeanor between Caroline and her elder brother was astonishing. Their faces bore similarities, to be sure, but his face lacked the warmth of his younger sister and both of his parents.