For the remainder of our visit, I managed to spend time alone in Mr. Lovell’s company no more than twice—one time on horseback as he took me to Withypool, or somewhere thereabouts, to see the free-roaming ponies so unique to Exmoor. It was a captivating sight, to be sure, and I could have stood for an eternity where I’d dismounted, my mouth hanging open as I watched those magnificent creatures go about their business completely at ease in such a wild area and lending it a certain majesty with their presence.
“They’re a gentle breed for all their wildness—indeed, they’re quite shy of people,” Mr. Lovell remarked. “I’ve always thought them to be living metaphors of some kind.”
“As well as they ought to be,” I breathed, entranced.
The ponies—there were probably ten of them in the little herd I was watching—moved idly among themselves, their long, wide heads bobbing gently up and down, almost like thoughtful scholars in the midst of a particularly involved lesson. Seize the world, their bulging eyes seemed to say, and I imagined their gazes being thorough in the way they swept over their surroundings, absorbing what they could with so much eagerness. Their broad backs appeared to gleam in the sun, but perhaps that was nothing more than enthusiastic fancy on my part as I admired their robust, bay forms.
The other time spent in Mr. Lovell’s company wasn’t a retracing of those footpaths I took some days before.
It was, rather, an afternoon moving about the ruins of Shepley Abbey’s church. He busied himself with a longish history of his father’s property, while I barely listened, my attention being largely divided between the poetic beauty of weathered rocks, half-formed walls, and crumbling windows, and Mr. Lovell himself.
I followed his hands when he gestured, indicating long-gone places within the church, with my mind struggling hard to conjure up what puny little images it could of naves, altars, and magnificent stone columns that must have soared heavenward. I listened to his voice and its light, cheerful tone, a quiet burst of laughter occasionally breaking up his words. Like those moor ponies I watched before, Mr. Lovell—though perhaps he might take exception to being compared to a horse—fascinated me in ways I simply couldn’t explain in adequate terms. I followed him about without any thought as to how I must have appeared either to him or to anyone else.
My youth and the new world that spread itself so invitingly before me kept me in a wide-eyed and yet blind state all that time, and any thoughts of impropriety never once crossed my mind.
I couldn’t recall how long we spent there, picking our way through scattered rocks or gingerly stepping over low, broken walls. In time, we were sitting amid the wreckage of the western wall, our faces turned outward.
The scenery before us echoed the turn of our conversation—rolling for the most part, at times bare, at times thickly textured, but everything wide and infinite. We’d been blessed with fine weather since our arrival, and even the moors into which we’d ridden were cloaked with brilliant sunlight and cloudless skies.
“Perhaps I ought to bring you here more often,” Mr. Lovell once joked, pausing in his tracks and gazing up with a smile. “The sun seems to follow your steps, Master Wakeman. God knows, we need as much of that here as anywhere.”
“It’s nothing more than pure luck, sir,” I replied.
Mr. Lovell turned to me, still smiling. “Allow me my romantic ideas. It’s quite rare that I indulge in them, you know.”
I could only rub the back of my neck and shrug, turning away with my face burning but feeling very pleased.
It was, I believe, during a moment of silence when I happened to glance to my right with a sigh of contentment, my gaze moving over an area sparsely lined with trees some distance from the ruins.
“Someone seems to have lost her way,” I observed, nodding in the direction of the trees.
A woman stood among the trees, but her figure was still quite visible. She appeared to be standing still and gazing at us from where she was sheltered—or at least in our direction, for I couldn’t see her eyes, given the distance. She must be tall, I thought, when I compared her height to that of the trees that flanked her. She was also quite slender, judging from the width of her shoulders. She must have been wearing a cloak of some kind, for her hair looked to be covered by dark cloth, which also hung down from her narrow shoulders, obscuring her form and keeping me from properly discerning her appearance. Her dress was a stark contrast to her cloak—made of light stuff, clearly, but as to whether or not it was white or simply a pale shade of something, I couldn’t tell. I could, however, distinguish her bodice and her skirts though with some difficulty.
Mr. Lovell’s attention was fixed on something else.
When I first looked to my right, he’d just turned his gaze elsewhere and had inclined his head accordingly. Perhaps he’d lost himself so thoroughly in his thoughts or what it was he was observing during that long quiet moment, but he didn’t appear to hear me at first.
I turned to find him staring off in the distance as though in a trance, and I gently touched his arm. He blinked and looked at me.
“I beg your pardon?”
“A lady,” I replied. “Over there. I think she knows you.”
“Oh? Is it Miss Thornber? Where is she?”
“In the trees over there,” I replied. We both turned to look and found the area deserted.
“Where?” he insisted.
“She was there a moment ago,” I replied, now embarrassed. “She must have hurried off when I caught her staring at you.”
“Was it Miss Thornber? Ah, never mind. Of course it wasn’t. She’s gone off to Bath with her family.”
I frowned as I cudgeled my brain for memories of this Miss Thornber. I saw a vague image of that young lady who had appeared with two other people some days earlier, preventing Mr. Lovell from joining me for a walk. “No,” I presently said. “I don’t think it was her.”
“She knows me?”
“It appeared so. She was looking at you when I saw her—must have been watching you for some time before I turned around, but she did nothing—just stood there.”
Mr. Lovell shrugged and smiled at me. “She could very well be a stranger,” he said. “People wander around this area all the time, what with all those paths around us. I can’t even count the number of those who appeared at our doorstep because they’d lost their way.”
I nodded and returned his smile. Miss Thornber—the name fixed itself in my mind, to my consternation. I certainly remembered her as well as Lord Thornber and Lady Graham, who was, I learned afterward, the young lady’s aunt. The thought didn’t at all sit well with me, for I’d long learned Miss Thornber was regarded by everyone as Mr. Lovell’s intended match though the gentleman had said nothing more on the matter other than a vague acknowledgement of those expectations.
I suppose I was resentful for being made to remember such a point at a moment when an escape from everything—or, rather, a selfish assurance of being the only person in Mr. Lovell’s company—was granted me, regardless of its duration. We were no longer alone. In my own way, I was resentful of the lady’s intrusion even if it was nothing more than memory, but what could I do? I wasn’t a good friend, I wasn’t a lady, and above all, I wasn’t a lady who was intended for him. I’d no claims over Mr. Lovell in any way, save perhaps for an odd moment or so spent in idle conversation, but I still agonized in a childish desire to be accorded attention despite all the facts that certainly disqualified me from that privilege.
I glanced back at the trees and found them still deserted.
The conversation picked up once again, meandering, directionless, for the rest of our time together. My spirits were a little lower than they had been at the beginning, and I didn’t contribute as much as I ought to, but I thought I sustained a cheerful enough tone and manner. As long as Mr. Lovell noticed nothing amiss, I was happy to pretend.
* * * *
I believe I spent all of six hours in Lord Lovell’s company. Vincent and I joined him for fishing one morning, nearly a week after our arrival. Then, not including meal times, we also had the pleasure of crossing paths with his lordship here and there, in various rooms at various times.
During those moments, moreover, our conversations went no further than the usual pleasantries and perhaps an odd admonition or two. Those would be placed mostly at my feet because, as he once said, “You’re too young and too impressionable from what I can see, Master Wakeman. While that might be an admirable quality for someone who lives out his life in a novel, it’s quite impractical in the real world. It’s for your own good that everyone older than you gives you a damned thorough verbal thrashing when needed, and, by God, you’d do well not to ignore them.”
Yes, my lord. Indeed, my lord. Thank you, my lord. If I could only count the number of times I’d said these and the variations in which they came…
The grumpy gentleman was otherwise quite civil to me, and for that I was grateful. He was far too brittle for me to enjoy his company more often, however, and he spent most of his time shut away, communicating only through Sebastian. Not even Mr. Lovell could change his mind, though the son might exert his influence over his father very effectively in some ways.
I never was able to experience Lord Lovell’s method of initiating one into manhood. Burgundy and sauterne remained elusive indulgences to me, and I contented myself with tea and coffee instead.
“Perhaps it’s just as well we didn’t spend a lot of time in his company, Natty,” Vincent said once, his eyes following Lord Lovell’s broad figure as it shuffled out of the parlor, where my cousin and I were enjoying an afternoon of cards. “He’s too cantankerous for my taste, and while I appreciate a lecture or two, a little goes a long way.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. Vincent was never fond of lectures, and he knew I knew it. “I like him, actually,” I said instead. “His gruffness is something I associate with a grandfatherly kind of affection.”
“Lord, you really are a bit of a baby.”
“Is it safe to assume then that his lordship took you to task over something?”
“He did, yes. Miss Elizabeth Riddell, as a matter of fact.”
“Oh.”
“I assured him, though, things didn’t go as far as he feared.” Vincent snorted, his brows creasing deeply as he cast black looks at his cards. “Thank God I saw her for what she truly was.”
“There’ll be someone else, I’m sure.”
“Now you sound like Mama. I like my independence the way it is, thank you. Indeed, if anyone ought to be married, it would be Lovell, but the damned fellow continues to hold us all off. Everyone can see how fond he is of Miss Thornber, and he even told me one reason for his inviting me here was support.”
I regarded my cousin. “How so?”
“Silly fellow wanted me to be his crutch. He told me he planned to propose to Miss Thornber, but needed a bit of support from a friend, but for all my efforts at advising him, nothing’s happened. Ridiculous fellow changed his mind all of a sudden.” Vincent shook his head and sighed. “Well, at the very least we still managed an enjoyable holiday of sorts, haven’t we, cousin?”
“Indeed.” I grinned triumphantly and threw down my cards. “You lose.”