Olivia watched Joe standing at the fountain. He wore the clothing of a man born to society. His hands were shoved in the pockets of the trousers, his shoulders slumped.
He looked sad. But, of course, he was in mourning and it was to be expected. With the day so bright and beautiful, birds singing and blossoms sweetly scenting the air—oh, the contrast must make him feel all the more forlorn.
She ought to do something to cheer him, felt a strong urge to do so, but she could not imagine what.
Not kiss him—again. She knew full well that the only reason he had done it the other night was because he desperately needed an escape from the intensity of his grief.
All she had to offer him now were words—but which ones?
In time life will go on. I’m here if you need me. I understand... All these truisms went through her mind while she watched him. Each of them seemed inadequate.
All of a sudden Victor dashed across the garden, Miss Hopp in pursuit. He latched on to Joe’s trouser leg, hugging tight.
The last thing poor Joe would want was to have to entertain his admirer.
She hurried outside, ready to call Victor to her, but Joe reached down and scooped him up. She stopped where she was because the pair of them were smiling.
Victor squeezed Joe around the neck, then patted his cheek with his plump, half-babyish hand.
‘My father is dead, too.’
Needing to know what her child had to say, she listened from a distance far enough away so that her presence would not interfere.
‘We have that in common then.’ Joe patted Victor’s back. ‘Let’s get each other through it, shall we?’
‘I’m not sad, though. I don’t cry because I miss him, only because I’m sorry I do not have a papa of my own.’
It felt as though a stone hit her belly. She was not aware that he cried. She had been dreading the day when he would begin to wonder why other children had fathers and he did not. For years she had wondered what she would say. Now in the moment all she wanted to do was weep. Her baby was far too young for this sort of hurt and not a bit of it his fault.
Cursing Henry would do no good since he was dead. But a real man, knowing a child depended upon him, would not have happily slid down the path of dissolution which no doubt resulted in a shortened life.
‘I’m sorry for that, too, little cowpoke.’
So far they did not seem to notice her. Neither did they notice Miss Hopp, who stood a distance away with her hand pressed to her mouth.
Did the governess know that Victor cried?
‘I don’t cry so much any more,’ Victor said, looking very seriously into his hero’s eyes. ‘That is why Uncle Oliver sent you to me, so I wouldn’t. I need a Pa and I reckon you need a boy to cheer you up.’
‘I reckon I do, at that. What do you suppose we can play to cheer us up?’
When had Victor begun to use the word ‘reckon’? Or to say ‘Pa’? But when had he cried and when had he stopped? She thought she knew everything about him and was stunned to learn she did not.
‘Big cowboy and little cowpoke go wolf hunting!’
Joe set Victor down, then whistled loudly. A few seconds later the door to the house next door opened and Sir Bristle burst out, tearing across the garden and scattering a flock of pigeons which had been pecking seeds on the pathway.
For all the words of comfort she had tried to summon, it was something as simple as a game that was needed.
Or something as simple as a kiss, she thought, remembering how Joe had sought comfort from her.
A kiss which was not simple at all. On the surface of it, it was a gesture of comfort. But why should it be? What was it that lay under the surface that softened his grief, if only for a moment?
Not casual friendship. Between friends, sympathetic words would suffice.
Watching the cowboys chase the wolf in circles around the fountain, she had to ask herself what it was between them, if not common friendship.
It was important she understood so that she could deal with what was coming.
Joe would be going back to America. The ranch he so loved would need him.
What she ought to do was step in and forbid the bond growing between Victor and Joe.
Yet she stood by, silent and smiling over the laughter and the barking filling the garden.
There would be consequences for it, heartache when they must be parted by an ocean, but she would deal with it tomorrow.
Today she stood in the spring sunshine, smiling inside—happy and grinning with her only worry being whether or not the poor wolf would outrun his pursuers.
Just because the world caved in did not mean Joe would quit his lessons with Olivia.
For the one thing, he wanted to spend time with her and for the other—he was a blamed baron, a peer of the realm. He needed to understand stately behaviour more urgently than he ever had.
Now that his father might be watching from the heavenly realms, he felt a greater need not to let him down. When there had been only an ocean between them, it didn’t seem to matter so much. Funny how, with mortal life separated from eternal, he felt a greater need to make his father proud.
Which did not mean he wanted to be Baron Haversmere. He did not. He wanted to remain Cowboy Joe.
What he wanted had little to do with anything any more. The plain fact was, he would honour his father.
And, by sugar, there was Olivia. What his mother had said about him finding someone special—he already had.
Sunshine in the darkness was what she was.
The other night, in that horrid moment when he thought his heart would stop beating and his lungs quit breathing because he did not want to face the next day, hour, or even moment, she had been there to make him want to.
For all that he fought the idea of being baron, there was one bright spot in it. Where there was a baron there was typically a baroness.
He knew he was getting a bit ahead in his thoughts, better to contain them to the here and now.
Just now, it was time for his afternoon lesson.
He crossed the garden. She was not waiting for him as she usually was. She might assume he no longer needed tutoring since as far as she knew he would be going back to America.
He exited the garden by the side gate, then walked around to the front door. The butler let him in with a nod and a word of condolence.
‘Lord Haversmere,’ he said with a polite bow. ‘Please make yourself comfortable while I ask if Lady Olivia is receiving callers.’
Ramsfield’s demeanour was more formal than it had been. He didn’t care for the change, but supposed it was something he had best get used to.
It took only moments before he heard quick, light footsteps.
Olivia rounded the corner and came into the room, her cheeks flushed pink.
‘Good day, my lord.’ She presented a small curtsy. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I did not realise we still had an appointment.’
‘Olivia?’ He advanced upon her, his strides firm and no nonsense. The butler pivoted on his heel and slipped out of the room. ‘I can take this drivel from anyone but you.’
The press of her lips accentuated the delicate brackets at the corner of her smile. ‘I did need to hear you say so. After all, I could not presume to—’
‘What you can presume is that you are a—’ He had to catch his words before he revealed too much. ‘A dear friend. You may presume that nothing has changed between us because I bear a title. Isn’t yours higher than mine, anyway?’
‘My brother’s is, but then I married a younger son of—well, it is all complicated muddle. The important thing is that our friendship has not changed. I’m very glad of it.’
Her blush looked pink, pretty and warm. Funny how he felt his own skin flush. Maybe her high colouring was because she was thinking of kissing him. He sure was thinking of it. She had no way of knowing there could be more kisses between them. Many of them if he got his way.
It took him a moment to respond to what she had said because he was so blamed grateful she did not revert to calling him Josiah. By sugar, he nearly hooted out loud.
It would have felt good to hoot. Pa would like to hear him hoot and just knowing so made it seem that he was not so—gone.
‘Now that I’m titled, I suppose I’ll need even more training.’
At that she looked surprised, which made her lips open slightly.
As yet, she did not know he wasn’t returning to America. Nor could she imagine that the ideas he had suppressed as futile no longer were.
When her lips pursed in confusion, he gave himself free rein to imagine them under his, hot and pliant.
‘Do you mind if we go to the garden room?’ he asked.
‘If you like.’ Her brows arched. Perplexity wrinkled her brow, but she led the way without asking questions.
‘I like it here.’ He took off his fancy coat and set it across the back of the chair. He wished he could take off being baron as easily, but here he was.
Not take it all off, though, he thought while walking towards the aviary. Many doors had closed for him with the death of his father, but this one having to do with Olivia had opened.
She followed him to the birdcage, where they watched the feathered creatures flit about.
‘How are you today?’ she asked, the puzzle lines still creasing her brow.
‘Everything is a mess.’ He glanced away from the birds and into eyes the colour of the sky. ‘Nearly everything.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Only listen, if you would not mind.’
‘Shall we sit? I will ring for tea.’
He followed her to the table, sat down, even though his stomach was still too raw for even tea.
‘I’m curious about something,’ she said.
So was he—curls, to be exact. They brushed her cheeks, giving her a softer appearance than usual.
‘Why do you want to proceed with our lessons when you will be returning to America and much sooner than you expected to?’
‘That’s just it. I will not be returning.’
Her mouth fell open in clear surprise. He touched her chin.
She caught his hand, pressed it back down to the table. ‘Why ever not?’
‘My mother sold the ranch to our neighbour.’
Her mouth sagged again, but as soon as he lifted his hand she snapped it shut.
‘What a horrible—oh, Joe, I’m so sorry for it. I know how much you counted on going home. You must be heartsick.’
‘I could be bitter, if I let myself. But I reckon it’s a choice, to live resentful or to look forward to what is next.’
Clearly, Olivia had not made that choice after her husband’s infidelity. She lived in fear of handing her heart over to another man—to him.
‘A choice? I don’t know, Joe. Can one choose to feel one way or another?’ She shook her head and the curls brushed her cheeks. He thought of asking why she had—chosen—to wear them, but he refrained.
He longed to know why she was wearing a less-than-severe hair style. It looked pretty and playful. To his way of thinking it might be because her heart was opening.
True, it was a very large step from a changed coiffure to a kinship of the heart, but he hoped she was taking that step towards him.
‘The fact of the matter is, I cannot change what has happened. I had no choice in it. But I can, and I do, choose to seek a path of hope and not despair.’
‘I believe that one feels what one feels, but truly, I’m glad for your sake that you can do it.’
‘Look for the good,’ he said. ‘It’s my new adage.’
‘Is it?’ Her eyes slanted up with her smile. ‘Does that mean you will forsake your Stetson for the top hat?’
‘There is no good in it to be found.’
Olivia Shaw had the loveliest smile he had ever seen. It propelled him a step further down his chosen path.
‘Apparently you do still require instruction.’
‘It’s why I’m here.’
It was not at all why, yet he could not tell her he came because he craved her company.
If he did, she might take a step back from their friendship. It was his intention to move forward. To deepen what stirred between them—to make it what their kisses indicated it could be.
It did not take looking past his nose to see they would be right together. In loving touches, of course, but there was more. There was that heart connection neither of them had spoken of and yet knew to be there.
‘I’m still as rough as sandpaper. I’d be grateful for everything you can teach me.’
And she would be grateful to be able to help smooth his rough edges. Not that she wanted them erased. Especially not the wink, or the way he wore his Stetson so that his eyes peeked out playfully from under the brim.
The truth was, she enjoyed his company and, for all that she was dreadfully sorry for what had happened to him, she was the tiniest bit relieved he was not going back to America.
Why was that?
If he went home, she need not fear that Victor was forming an attachment which might break his heart.
Because, for mercy’s sake, there was no way she would be able to explain to a small boy that he must choose to be happy. That he should simply set aside his tears and be glad that he had known a cowboy at all.
She could not explain it since it made no sense.
Feeling halfway giddy inside because Baron Haversmere would remain in London made no sense either. Better that she did not linger over wondering why it did not.
If she did, what would she discover? Maybe that in spite of all she had learned about the risk of giving herself to a man, she, too, would adopt a new adage?
Hmm, what would it be if she did? Dance until you trip and fall? No, rather, Dance as though you will never trip and fall.
Yes, if she did adopt an adage she liked the second. It was far more hopeful. Truly, what was the good of having an adage that was not uplifting?
‘I have every confidence that you will smooth out brilliantly.’
‘So have I, but only with your guidance.’
His forehead drew together in worried-looking lines which made the corners of his eyes crease—but in an extremely handsome way. Really, she did not choose to recognise the fact, it simply was. Her rapid heartbeat and the way she felt so warm inside was also a fact. She did not choose the reaction, it was simply happening.
If there was a choice, she would choose not to be all fluttery inside.
Wouldn’t she?
Of course she would! Unless she adopted the adage she had just dreamed up.
‘I need to go up north—to Haversmere. Will you and Victor come with me—us, I mean. Ma, Roselina and Mr Bowmeyer are going, too.’
Go with them? She could not possibly. What folly.
Why would he suggest such a thing?
‘Why must you go?’ she asked instead of asking why she should. ‘It is the middle of your sister’s Season. I think it is not wise to abandon it at this point.’
‘Mischief, or so I’ve been told.’
He gave her the smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. She wished he had not, it tended to distract her.
‘But I need you. My lessons are incomplete.’
Why did he have to look at her that way, with his expression so needy, so appealing to her—to her sense of duty? ‘The estate manager at Haversmere sent a letter to my father asking him to come quickly.’
‘But why?’ Why was the estate manager alarmed was what she seemed to be asking, but what she really wanted to know was why he wished for her to go along.
‘Damage to a footbridge. A few lambs fell into the water and needed rescuing.’
‘Were they rescued?’
‘Fortunately, yes. The problem is that the damage to the bridge was done maliciously. The estate manager is worried because such behaviour is uncommon in the area.’ His expression grew sober. ‘It might as easily have been children falling in. I really must attend to the problem.’
As alarming as that was, it did not mean she could set her life aside and flit merrily away. What would that mean to Victor?
All right, her son would be delirious with joy over the trip.
‘I would take it as a great kindness if you would come along—to keep me on my studies.’
He reached across the table, cupped her hand in his, then winked.
‘Dance as though you will never trip and fall,’ a small voice in her mind suggested. If the voice was in her mind it would know that she had not adopted the adage, only considered it.
‘Can we not study when you return?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m a slow learner.’
‘Only when you do not wish to do something. Otherwise you are quite accomplished.’
Oh! Her hand! It was still lying quite contently in the cowboy’s rough fingers.
Something was very wrong. She had certainly not chosen to leave it there. She did, however, choose to yank it back.
‘Think of Roselina. She needs for me to present a good face.’
He tipped back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest while regarding her with a teasing quirk tugging the corners of his mouth. She was glad to see it, given how, under his brave face, she knew him to be deeply mourning.
And that right there, the enticing expression, was reason enough she should not go with him. The man was as tempting as a second helping of cake. Worse—as tempting as a kiss in the rain.
If she were not careful, she would actually adopt her new adage. Possibly his adage, too.
Before she knew it she would be looking for the good while in the act of tripping and falling.
‘I’ve no doubt you will behave no matter where I am.’
He plunked the chair legs down on the floor. The humorous cajoling of his expression sobered.
‘You must come with me, Olivia. Everything else aside, I will not leave you here to deal with Waverly on your own.’
‘I am capable of fending him off, quite capable.’
Although, looking back, she had not been doing a great job of it in the Duchess’s garden.
Indeed, every time the man had given up pursuit of her it was because Joe had been present to scare him away. Her sharp tongue was not much of a weapon against one such as the Marquess.
No, from all she could tell, it only increased his desire to have her.
When she thought about it, she would be much safer going to Haversmere. Which in turn meant that Victor would be safer.
So then—her choice seemed to be to instruct a handsome cowboy in the art of courtly behaviour or to fend off a drooling lecher.
She considered her potential adage. Whatever she did she risked falling. All things considered, she would rather fall into Joe’s arms than into the Marquess’s clutches.
‘Will you come?’ he asked, leaning across the small table, resting his weight on his elbows.
He wanted to kiss her. She felt it humming in the air between them. She wanted it, too.
She stood up suddenly because if any time was right to learn to resist this man, it was this one.
If she could not, then she had no hope of it, no matter where he went or she did not.
‘I’m sorry, Joe. I cannot possibly.’
He caught her hand when she would have walked away.
‘Olivia?’ His voice was a kiss—to her ears, to her heart.
His gaze held her while she took a step back, freeing her fingers. Oh, but she was not free. How could she be when he continued to kiss her with those exquisitely tender green-brown eyes?
‘Come, Olivia, I need you.’
Sitting in her mother’s chair, Olivia poked her needle into the embroidered petal of a flower and listened to wind rattle the shutter outside the window. It was a lucky thing she did not stab her finger for all the attention she was paying to the task.
‘What were you thinking?’ she said, to the chamber apparently, since she was the only one sitting here in the soft glow of lamplight.
Certainly, she was not thinking anything she ought to have been. And they were not thoughts as much as images in her mind. They flashed behind her eyes one after another like a penny slide show.
Oh, there she was taking a lovely stroll with Joe along the banks of Grasmere Lake. And there they were walking hand in hand on a vigorous hike in the fells. No matter what happened, she was not going to kiss him while standing on the peak, gazing at the majestic view below—probably not at least.
From all she had heard, the Lake District was among the most beautiful places in all of England.
Although, it was also very rainy.
Olivia had no intention of finding out for herself, but if she did change her mind, she would need to bring Miss Hopp.
What was to say Miss Hopp would be willing?
Joe had been correct in saying he needed to learn to behave. Although it was not behave as much as repress the wild charm that made her—oh, for goodness sake, he really did need to learn to withhold that wink.
For Roselina’s sake.
The sweet girl needed the boon of a dozen beaux to select a husband from. It would not do for her to fall into the false embrace of the first dandy to—ah, but it was not Roselina’s folly on her mind, it was her own.
No doubt she ought to go north if only to guide Roselina in her decision. She had her mother, of course, but the lady was as new to society as her daughter was.
For their sakes, she ought to give the offer serious thought.
But then, perhaps Miss Hopp did not enjoy rain.
Indeed, would she not be endlessly drying out Victor’s shoes and stockings? And they would be wet since he would find endless pleasure attempting to ride grazing sheep no matter the weather.
‘Ouch!’ Poking a needle in her finger could be a sign that she should not go—a warning of—
Of finding pleasure in a man’s arms—in Joe Steton’s arms to be precise?
Everything going on in her mind was second to this.
Joe had spoken of becoming bitter—that he was choosing not to. In spite of all that had happened to him, he was able to smile.
For a very long time after her husband’s death and the discovery of his faithlessness, she had not smiled at anyone, with the exception of her baby.
Setting her handiwork aside, she sucked on her pricked finger while looking down at the garden.
Perhaps the warning of the needle had been about closing herself off, allowing her heart to decay.
Bushes lashed about below, making the shadows appear eerie. There was a gate at each end of the garden, but neither one of them was locked.
Joe had been correct to caution her about the Marquess. The fact that she had thwarted his advances did make him all the more eager to press them. While it was true that he had not accosted her recently, he would. It was how he pursued his prey—attack and retreat—time and time again. She had seen him do it to other widows.
Were she to take Victor to Haversmere she would not need to be constantly looking over her shoulder. Perhaps by the time they returned, the cad’s attentions would be settled on some other widow.
She took her finger out of her mouth, the prick only a small red dot on the tip of her finger.
A movement that was not a thrashing shrub caught her attention.
Sir Bristle dashed across the garden, following what appeared to be a ball. Joe walked after the dog. Even from here she could see his slumped shoulders. He must be struggling to walk his hopeful path.
It was late for a game of fetch, but not, she decided, too late to join them in the game.
She caught her coat off the rack and hurried downstairs.
Joe stood at the fountain with his back to her, staring at the blowing spray of water. The moan of wind over the stone path muffled the tread of her steps.
Sir Bristle noticed her and bounded forward with the ball in his mouth, his great tail wagging joyfully.
When Joe turned he was smiling, although she was certain he had not been doing it a second ago.
‘It’s awfully dark and windy to be outside,’ he commented.
‘And yet here you are.’
He took the ball from Sir Bristle and threw it. ‘Dog needed exercise.’
And Joe needed time to think, to deal with his heartache.
What an admirable man he was, to stand there and smile at her—to follow a path he did not want to travel and yet do it with such courage.
Olivia had not been courageous in her trial. She had folded up on herself, stuffed away life’s joy as if she were packing a trunk which she then slammed and locked.
What she was beginning to suspect was that Victor’s cowboy had the key to her trunk and was prying at the lock.
All of a sudden she wanted to push the lid open and burst out of her trunk, to laugh out loud, to twirl and sing.
To dance as if she had no fear of falling.
‘I’ve come out into the dark and the wind because I want to ask you a question.’
‘Shall we sit?’ He indicated a bench with a sweep of his hand.
She shook her head. The temperature was falling quickly and she had only brought her light coat.
‘Joe, do you know how to dance?’
‘Does a frog know how to fly?’
She laughed out loud and it felt so very good.
‘Truly? You do not know any dances?’
He shook his head, his lustrous hair tossed madly in the wind.
‘All I do is stomp about. Roselina says ladies hide when they see me coming.’
‘This is a problem, a severe one. Did you know it is required of a gentleman, to be proficient at dancing? Why, it is bad mannered to attend a ball not having the skill.’
‘I’m afraid then that my sister and my mother will be put to utter shame.’ He shrugged, tossing the ball to the dog again. ‘Unless someone teaches me before the Duchess’s gala I will appear a disgrace.’
He was smiling when he said it so she could not help but return the warmth. And it was warmth—delightful and very wonderful.
‘It appears that I must go north with you, then. I would not see your sister’s suitors scattered to the wind on your account. When shall I be ready to travel?’
‘Will the day after tomorrow be too soon?’
‘No. I’ll make arrangements.’
Now that she had made her decision she felt good about it. But more than good, really—she felt giddy, all bubbly inside with anticipation.
She could not recall the last time she had felt this way. It had certainly been before her marriage.
‘Goodnight, then,’ she said to Joe because he just stood there, coat lapels flapping nosily against his shirt while he stared at her.
She turned to go back inside, but he caught her hand. It felt so very solid and warm wrapped around hers.
‘Thank you.’ Rather than letting go of her, he drew her in, slowly, giving her time to resist the coming kiss if she chose to.
Well, she did not choose to—not this time.
He placed their joined hands behind her back, drew her so close that there was not even a breath between them.
‘You will not be sorry, I promise.’ His mouth lowered, but she rose up on her toes to meet him.
Wind tugged them, snapped her skirt and his coat. The thud of Sir Bristle’s ball hit the stones near her skirt.
Cowboy Joe gave her a fever, a chill—an assurance that no matter what, as long as she stood here in the circle of his arm she would not fall.
His mouth left her, but slowly. ‘I look forward to learning everything you have to teach me.’
‘About dancing?’
He nodded, released her hand, let his arms fall away from her.
‘The most important thing is to not step on your partner’s skirt. It would not do to let her trip and fall.’
‘Better get back inside, darlin’. You are starting to shiver.’
She was. But it was not caused by the cold wind alone.
Nodding, she turned away and hurried back towards the house.
‘Olivia?’
She stopped, glanced back over her shoulder.
‘I won’t let you fall.’
‘I know,’ she murmured, then hurried on her way.
Going through the dark garden room, she found that she was excited to tell Victor of their coming adventure.
No doubt, in his joy, he would dash about whooping like a cowboy.
But what she hoped above all things was that she would not whoop about with him—as eager for a spot of fun as he was.
Just because she had unpacked her miserable old emotional trunk did not mean she could leap about laughing.
She was a mother, a woman of great responsibility. And yet, there was that young girl inside her, tentatively swishing her skirts and feeling free for the first time in years.
What harm could it do to let her frolic for a bit? Tomorrow would be soon enough to pick up her mantle of responsibility.
Tonight she was going to visit the girl she used to be.