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Flint usually woke early to start the day’s work but since he had none at the moment, he stayed in bed a couple of minutes longer only to turn three times and decide that sleeping in was not for him.
He changed into his riding attire and headed for the stables hoping that the duke owned a fine riding horse that he could borrow. He was given a very beautiful and lively bay gelding and headed for the nearby forest after instruction by the groom on the paths in the surrounding meadows and forest.
It was no surprise that the duke’s land was well-kept, the old forest a sanctuary from the rest of the world. The leaves had started to change color into bright red, yellow, and orange, which made the forest seem almost surreal when Flint entered it. He wished he was a painter and not an illustrator in order to be able to capture it.
Heading back towards the estate after exploring the forest for a couple of hours, Flint felt quite content having spent a large part of the energy that he would otherwise pour into his work – and congratulating himself on almost not thinking about Lady Hester and the conversation that he still needed to have with Addinggrove.
As he was riding down a small path on the border of a small lake, he came upon a truly bizarre tableau: a footman and a maid were sitting on a blanket on the ground, propped up against a tree. The maid was resting her head on the footman's shoulder and both of them were sound asleep.
Flint pulled slightly on the reins to halt his horse, looking around. No one else was in sight. He dismounted and was about to ask them whether something was wrong when he spotted a person through the undergrowth.
She was barely visible and would probably have been completely obscured had it not been for the dark green blanket she had over her legs that stood a bit out against the fading colors of the shrubbery and the dry reed. She was sitting against a tree, not looking at him but at the water. Lady Hester, of course.
His heart beat faster and his mouth went dry just by the mere sight of her. Flint had overheard when she had asked last night whether someone wanted to join her to go birdwatching at five in the morning. He had thought she was jesting but clearly, she had not been.
He watched her for a moment, contemplating whether to go on or join her. Being alone with her was dangerous, but if he wanted to warn her about Percy, he needed to be alone with her. After a moment more of indecision, Flint tied the horse to a tree close to the maid and footman, then slowly headed through the undergrowth towards her.
"Shh," she whispered without looking at him. "Sit down carefully."
Something in her tone made him instinctively do as she said, and he carefully lowered himself to sit next to her. He was probably imagining it, but he was certain he could feel the heat from her body even though their thighs were inches apart.
Lady Hester was sitting with a sketchbook in her lap, drawing a very lifelike sketch of a kingfisher.
"Do you see it?" she whispered, still without looking at him.
Flint followed the direction of her gaze. At first, he only saw the reed and the brownish-gray water but then, probably as the bird moved, he caught a speck of blue. A kingfisher. Even he knew enough about birds to know that they were a rare sight.
“Is it the first time you have seen it?” he whispered without taking his eyes off it himself. Now that he had found it, he did not dare to look away.
“Of course not,” she huffed and sounded a bit offended, but then added in a more amenable tone: “But it’s just as magical each time.”
Her soft tone made Flint look at her profile. Her strange violet eyes glistened with life and her lips were slightly parted as in awe. Sitting this close to her, Flint could not help but notice how full her lower lip was. It would be exceedingly soft to kiss. He quickly looked away, finding the bird in the reed again as he felt himself heat at the thought.
To occupy his thoughts and hands before both sent him on a reckless path, he took the sketchbook and pencil from her without asking. Lady Hester frowned at him, but Flint quickly looked at the bird to capture its features and began to draw. He felt her turn towards the bird again. Flint’s pencil flew across the paper as he tried to capture even the most minute detail. It had been years since he had allowed himself to submerge completely in drawing as he did now. For the longest time, he had demanded of himself that his drawing needed to have a purpose, like sketching Arthur as a present for Sophia and Addinggrove or making a drawing of the jewelry box he wanted the cabinetmaker to build. And of course, lately the upward of a hundred drawings that he had done of the façade of Barford Abbey.
He was so immersed in his drawing that he lost sense of time, until the bird suddenly flew, and he felt as if a spell had been lifted. He looked confused at the place the kingfisher had been sitting, before looking back at his drawing of it, then back at the place where the bird had been. All the while feeling Lady Hester’s gaze on him.
“I had no idea you are this skilled at drawing, my lord,” she stated and took the sketchbook from him without ceremony as she examined the drawing more closely. In any other woman, the statement would probably have sounded softer. When Flint imagined Cecilia saying it, her voice would certainly go up with the surprise in it, but when Lady Hester said it, she was simply stating a fact. Somehow, he liked that more than if she had been surprised. As if he of course possessed depths that she knew nothing about and that there was no reason to be surprised by them.
“Can I keep it? The drawing?” she then asked and this certainly surprised Flint.
“It’s nothing,” he began as he looked at the drawing between her hands gloved in thin black kid gloves.
Instead of flattering him as many might have at such a statement, she simply said:
“I like the angle of its head.”
There was nothing flattering about the statement. She merely liked the position he had drawn the bird in, yet Flint felt an easy smile stretch across his face as if she had sung his praise in the highest notes. He even felt something warm in the center of his chest that he desperately wanted to rub. To make it stay there.
Lady Hester only frowned again as if she found his reaction strange and Flint belatedly reminded himself that he was quite certain she thought he hated her and that he wanted her to continue in such a manner. Her violet eyes raced between his as if she was trying to work a matter out, then she abruptly asked him:
"Are you hungry, sir?"
"Starving, actually," Flint admitted and rose, reaching his gloved hand out to help her up without thinking. He was startled when the blanket fell away, and he saw that she was wearing woolen pantaloons and boots. The pantaloons clung to her feminine form, emphasizing her wider hips that he had been able to sense beneath her dresses but were now fully on display along with robust thighs and a soft round bottom. Flint felt himself gulp with a dry sound as he tried not to look at her legs, instead occupying himself by studying the moss that grew on the tree she had been leaning against.
“I’m sorry if you disapprove of my wearing pantaloons. I would not, had I known that others would be present," Lady Hester explained as she squatted to pick up the blanket. “It’s just easier if I need to climb a fallen tree or jump over a stream.”
Flint forced his eyes away from how her pantaloons tightened over her bottom as she retrieved the blanket, then rose beside him and handed it to him as if it was the most natural action in the world. Which it should not be, but of course with Lady Hester it was. She picked up her sketching block and put the pencils back in a pocket in her jacket.
As he followed her through the undergrowth, he very deliberately looked up at her shoulders in the olive-green jacket. She was a tall woman, about half a head shorter than him. He had noticed when she had kissed him on the cheek yesterday.
His body seemed to tighten at the memory of having her rest against him for a moment, wanting to feel every part of her much closer, much more intimately. Flint drew a strangled breath. He was normally only too aware of her presence but felt it even more keenly now. It had to be because he had not been with a woman in over seven months. When he had decided to find a bride at the beginning of the season, he had also thought it best to be chaste.
Lady Hester bent again to pick up a wicker basket by the still sleeping maid and footman and her pantaloons once again tightened over her bottom, making all other thoughts vanish from Flint’s mind. It looked so incredibly soft. Something to hold on to, squeeze firmly while he... He abruptly turned around to cover his beginning arousal, drawing several deep breaths to calm himself. This was ridiculous. He should just excuse himself and leave. He could always talk to her another time about Percy’s character and intentions. She probably already thought he hated her; leaving now would only be natural.
When he turned around again, he found that she had spread the blanket on a patch of grass twenty or thirty feet away and was arranging dishes from the basket on it. Flint’s stomach grumbled at the sight of small pies, pastry, bread, cheese, and fruit. He could at least eat a little before heading back, he told himself as he walked to check his horse to buy himself a moment’s more respite before joining her.
Lady Hester handed him a cold pie and he gratefully took a bite of it. They were both chewing and looking in opposite directions. Blast, had she asked him to join her out of politeness, expecting him to decline and now she wished that he was gone?
Nevertheless, Flint was sitting down next to her now and they at least had to stand each other’s company for as long as it took them to eat their pies.
“Do you do this every day?” Flint asked to make conversation as he finished chewing the first bite.
“Of course not,” she replied as if he was daft for even asking such a question. “Only when the weather permits it. I might be keen on bird watching, but until someone invents rainproof clothing, it is not diverting watching birds in the rain. That would just be a boring wet form of self-torture," she added tartly. She then smiled and he realized that she was jesting. Her humor was bone-dry, and he liked how one might not at first realize that she was teasing or jesting. It was as if it was a secret for those who knew her intimately. And Flint was only too aware of how intimately he wanted to know her. But since he wanted to give the impression that he disliked her he was rarely one to experience her jests or teasing. Apparently, the two of them being alone had changed that fact.
“What would be an entertaining form of self-torture?” he could not help but ask, smiling as well, although knowing he was approaching dangerous waters. Because she was an entertaining form of self-torture for him.
Lady Hester laughed out loud in a most unladylike but very satisfying way. Her violet eyes found his, the mirth and laughter so clearly visible that he could not look away, but immediately felt the urge to make the gleam in her eyes show again.
“Well, anything involving raspberry pie, I suppose,” she stated dryly, although she was still smiling.
It led to a discussion of favorite foods in general that Flint kept thinking he needed to end but was also far too entertained to actually find another topic. Lady Hester took the conversation extremely seriously and seemed shocked that he could feel any form of inclination towards liver.
“It tastes like a boot room smells after a thunderstorm,” she exclaimed, and Flint could not help but throw back his head in laughter at the, quite correct, analysis.
“Apparently, I like boot rooms,” he said and once again their eyes met and there was that gleam of mirth in hers before she frowned again.
***
They fell into a companionable quiet as they ate their food instead of simply talking about it. At least it felt companionable to Hester, but she did not have the need to talk constantly like others did and she had been wrong more than once about how silence was interpreted by the other part. She looked at Lord Lambourn with a frown; until this morning she had believed that he disliked her, now he was jesting with her and laughing.
“You’re not secretly Percy Eavesgrave, are you?” she asked since this would actually make sense. Not why the twins would switch roles, but his change in demeanor altogether. She supposed that if Percy Eavesgrave cut his hair and wore his brother’s clothes, the two would be completely identical except for their personalities.
Lord Lambourn was clearly taken aback by this. He had been eating another pie and started coughing on it, small flakes of pastry flew from his mouth and landed on the blanket as he tried to speak. Hester reached out and dunked his back, concerned that he might make himself choke on the pie.
“I apologize, sir. It was a strange thing to say. Why would two grown men switch places? Did you do it as children though? It is the only benefit I can see of having a twin... unless the obvious that you have a brother or sister, which is always nice. But as you are well aware, siblings do not have to be twins, which means that the only true benefit of having one is switching places with them, isn’t it so?”
Lord Lambourn blinked a few times as he stopped coughing. Hester handed him the flask of lemonade without comment and he greedily drank from it before speaking.
“I’m not my brother, Lady Hester,” he then stated, quite firmly, if she interpreted his tone correctly.
“No, I gathered that. It’s just... Sometimes I speak without thinking, often in fact, and... Sophia has tried to teach me the rules of how to behave in a conversation, my parents as well, of course, but when I feel at ease, it can be difficult to do so. And you have always seemed to...” Just in time she managed to catch the words “dislike me”.
She could not say them to the man himself. For some reason, he did not hate her, even though he had given the impression that he did. Perhaps he was overly shy. He might be one of those people who did not dare to speak to people they did not know well unless they were drunk. Except it could not be more than seven thirty in the morning and it seemed awfully early to be drunk. Unless he had not been to bed at all...
“Always seemed to what?” Lord Lambourn asked cautiously as if he was not certain that he would like to know the answer.
Hester felt her lower lip quiver as she tried to formulate a suitable answer.
“I knew that you were not your brother,” she decided to evade the question. “It was merely that we had not spoken this freely before, and I did not realize that you could be this...”
Heavens, she had almost called him “charming”. As if she was a coquettish flirt. And it would not be a harmless flirt: he had every intention of marrying another woman, yet it became exceedingly difficult to ignore how all her nerve ends seemed to tingle in a way that she had never felt before and made her feel more alive. Even though all of it was nonsense. Nerve ends could not tingle. But as they were sitting on the blanket only feet apart, she felt the strongest desire to lean in closer, to smell his intoxicating scent of pine needles, sandalwood, wool... and him.
She should not have invited him to join her, Hester realized, yet she could not send him away either. Her invitation had been based on mere instinct: she was about to eat, and he was the only other human present – besides the sleeping Miss Cooper and Jonas – and she had invited him because that was what you were supposed to do, was it not? Except not, when the man belonged to another woman. Or another woman belonged to that man, as was probably how Lord Lambourn wanted to look at it.
“Do you think your brother and I would suit, sir?” she interrupted her internal monologue, having thought that anything would be better, only belatedly realizing that it was not. Hester almost rolled her eyes. This entire conversation would have to be rewritten in her book tonight.
Lord Lambourn coughed in surprise, so fiercely that she for a moment considered punching him in the back. He recovered however and took first a large sip of lemonade then a huge bite of his pie and chewed ferociously; Hester could only interpret this as him stalling for time to find an answer.
“I beg your pardon, sir, that was extremely inappropriate to ask. I just... sometimes I forget to think before I speak. Quite often in fact, and it would make sense that you, as his brother, would have some insights into Mr. Eavesgrave’s mind. You seem rather close, even though you are so different. I have wondered whether it was due to the two of you being twins, but you also have an extremely close bond with Sophia... Then I thought that it might be due to the three of you being orphaned at such a young age...”
Lord Lambourn’s dark brown eyes went wide, and he visibly drew back from her as if he would be able to distance himself from her statement in that manner.
“Oh, I... I just made it worse,” Hester muttered and looked at her hands. “I beg your pardon again, my lord. I always seem to be saying the wrong things in your company.”
She could feel her cheeks blushing to a much deeper shade than what they already had from the cold weather. She tugged at her jacket as she tried to find a way to politely but quickly to change the topic. Polite and fast were not concepts that worked well together in Hester’s mind though. Unless it was phrases that she had been taught since childhood, fast was much more often linked with impolite rather than its opposite. Politeness required her to think the situation through much more thoroughly. At the moment her instincts told her that they might simply end the conversation faster if she excused herself, rose from the blanket, and woke Jonas and Miss Cooper to escort her back to the Great Farleigh Hall. She could be on her way in only a few minutes.
“It’s fine,” Lord Lambourn interrupted her thoughts by saying.
Hester looked uncomprehendingly at him. Was it fine that she was leaving? Had she accidentally spoken out loud? She had done so often as a child but was usually able to control it as an adult. Although she would sometimes voice her thoughts when she was very stressed, and she was quite stressed by being in Lord Lambourn’s presence. He was one of the most handsome men that she had met, and he disliked her. No matter what she said, she could not change his opinion of her, yet she still wished to.
“You don’t have to apologize constantly, Lady Hester,” Lord Lambourn explained. A smile played around his lips now and Hester was not certain whether he smiled to reassure her or was secretly laughing at her. “I like your frankness.”
“You do?” Hester blurted, frowning as she tried to recall all the conversations that she had had with Lord Lambourn and whether he had ever seemed to appreciate that she simply blurted all manner of statements in rapid succession. She was fairly certain that her book of things she should have said contained at least twenty situations where she had later thought she should have been less open with him.
Lord Lambourn’s face changed to an expression that Hester on other people would have assumed was sheepish, but this was not a feeling that she associated with the earl. He probably could feel sheepish, all people had to be able to, it was simply that it seemed impossible that he would do so in her company.
He then straightened and his face changed as if he was putting on a mask.
“To answer your question,” he began, and Hester’s mind searched for which question she had asked him, there seemed to have been at least a dozen in the last five minutes. “I do not think that you and my brother would suit.”
Hester felt her shoulders relax. There were back to that topic. Although not the safest topic, then at least a much safer one than many of the others she had blurted.
“I’m honestly not certain why my sister would think so. My brother needs...” He sighed and looked into the distance, then looked straight at her. “This is not to offend you, Lady Hester, but I think my brother would be much better suited with someone who is...”
Nicer, more amenable, more charming, not interested in birds, prettier... raced through Hester’s mind.
“A city person,” Lord Lambourn finally landed on. “And you strike me more as a country person.”
Hester nodded, enthusiastically. It was perhaps not how she would have phrased it herself, but it went along the lines of what she had imagined. Percy Eavesgrave needed a livelier woman, who enjoyed the theater, the opera, going to parties, and being surrounded by people constantly.
“Thank you, sir, for being honest. I should like a country person more myself. Although I am used to staying in the city for the season, I would not mind cutting it down to only a few months a year if necessary.”
Lord Lambourn nodded then looked away, as if he had nothing more to say on the topic and wished it to end. Hester welcomed the opportunity.
“We should return to Great Farleigh Hall.” Hester began to rise without waiting for his reply.
“Yes, we’d better. The others must have risen by now,” Lord Lambourn said as he rose as well.
Hester quickly bent over to pick up the blanket. It was not until she took hold of two of the corners that she remembered she was wearing pantaloons and that they displayed her lush bottom all too well. She did not look at Lord Lambourn as she quickly rose and folded the blanket. What must he be thinking? Miss Gaywood was slender and not that tall; he probably found her body vulgar in comparison.
If he even compared them. Which of course he did not. The little Hester knew about him from Sophia was that he was a very serious and dutiful man. He would never spend time comparing her body to that of the woman that he would most certainly marry. He was a swan whom had chosen its life partner. He would never ogle an owl that was still searching for hers.
“You should head back with Hercules, sir. He is probably becoming cold,” Hester stated as she was placing the last of their food items in the basket.
“Hercules?” Lord Lambourn asked some place above her. His voice somehow sounded deeper than usual.
“Yes, my father names all his horses after the Greek gods. In fact, this is Hercules III.” She gestured in the direction of the horse and quickly rose. The basket was heavier than she had anticipated; they had not eaten all that Cook had packed, and for a moment she stumbled before someone reached out a hand to steady her.
She looked up to see Lord Lambourn standing right in front of her. His hand was still on her upper arm. Her eyes met his dark brown gaze, which was so like Sophia’s and yet all his somehow. There was a darker spot in the right iris as if he had a birthmark in his eye. Hester looked fascinated at it, for once not thinking about how she should behave, but simply being.
Had she moved her head? Or had he? They seemed to be closer now. Lord Lambourn suddenly stepped back and released her arm, and she realized she had been looking into his eyes for far too long. He was probably uncomfortable with her. At least he hurried to Hercules and mounted the horse.
“I will see you back at the estate,” he muttered and kicked the horse’s flanks as if he were in a hurry. Hester watched him disappear down the wooden path, before turning to Miss Cooper and Jonas, who were still asleep, and gently woke them.
***
Hester had hoped not to encounter anyone until she had changed into a dress. As she neared the side entrance on the north side of the estate, she quickly realized that it would be impossible. Not only was Lord Lambourn still standing outside of the stables, but Miss Gaywood, Algernon Gaywood, Mr. Drummond, and both Misses Drummonds were there. All of them sitting on a horse and evidently headed out for a ride, except for Lord Lambourn who had dismounted.
Miss Gaywood was dressed in a beautiful crimson riding habit with a black hat with black feathers on her golden hair. The dress made a beautiful contrast to the white fur of the horse. If Hester was not mistaken, it was Minerva that she was riding, one of the horses that Hester also liked to ride. She sighed inwardly; no, there was no way that she could compete with Miss Gaywood even if she wanted to.
She had thought them too preoccupied with their conversation to notice her and lowered her head to hurry inside when she sensed the silence from the group. Almost as a reflex she looked up and caught all of them staring at her. Lord Lambourn quickly averted his gaze as if he was embarrassed.
Hester felt her cheeks burn and her eyes water. She hurried forward without looking and almost knocked Archie over as he exited the door.
“Mind where you’re going,” she snapped as she walked past him and willed herself not to run to her room.