More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (15 page)

Mama wasn’t the only one feeling frustrated. Evie’s clasped hands squeezed together into a tight ball in her lap. “Why are you so resistant to the thought of me following my own dreams rather than the dreams laid out for me by others?”

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Mama drew a slow breath and exhaled. “Sweetheart, you simply have not fallen in love yet. Once you find the right gentleman, your dreams will change. You can’t give up and hide out here. What if he shows up and you miss him because you couldn’t be bothered to come out of your shell for a few months?”

“Then I suppose it was not meant to be.” Evie scooted forward on her chair, looking her mother directly in the eye. “Really, Mama, if I haven’t met him in five Seasons, then I doubt he will make some sort of heroic entry during my sixth.”

“How can you just give up? Society will view you as something to be pitied. Is that what you want?”

At this, Evie stood. She had endured just about enough of society’s dictates. “Hang society. What has it ever done for me? Given me endless rules and restrictions to live by, that’s what. I keep my work hidden away to please society, I endure dreadful posturing and gossip at the hands of society, and I have given the last five springs for absolutely nothing.”

Mama’s face paled, and Evie felt a pang of regret. She hadn’t meant to be so blunt. “I’m sorry, Mama. It’s just that it has been building within me for some time now, and I feel rather passionate about it.”

“Clearly.” After a few beats of silence, her mother rose to her feet. She placed a cool hand on Evie’s overheated cheek, and Evie could see the sincerity in her eyes. “It’s not that I am not on your side; I
am
, which is why I don’t think stepping away from the marriage mart is the right thing.

“Can’t you at least think about it? Consider my wishes? I am nearly three-and-twenty, Mama. Old enough to know my mind. Old enough to know what I want for my life.”

Mama’s eyes searched Evie’s face. Evie willed her to see all the things she was feeling; to understand that she didn’t want to live her life at the mercy of a man, one who might love her one day and turn his back on her the next; to acknowledge that Evie’s work, and the horses, were safe, predictable, and meaningful in their own way.

At last her mother pursed her lips and gave a short nod. “I will consider it. For
this
Season only, mind. For reasons I don’t understand, your father is in support of you, so I am willing to concede that there is much to think about.”

Of course Mama didn’t understand Papa’s reasoning. She didn’t know what Papa knew—
no one
did. He had promised to keep her secret all those years ago when she had very nearly disgraced herself, and he had never waivered. Mama had never known why Papa had taken Evie under his wing at the tender age of sixteen, allowing her to work at his side. But she had accepted it. And Evie could only hope she would accept this, too.

“Thank you, Mama. I hope you’ll see that this is the right thing for me. This is what I want above all else.”

Smoothing a hand down her skirts, Mama sighed. “You may want to save your thanks. While I am trying to understand your father’s point of view, I will also do everything I can to make him see mine.”

That did
not
make Evie feel good about her prospects. But what could she do?

Mama offered her a small smile with steel in her eyes before striding to the door. She paused before opening the door, and half turned to look Evie in the eye. “I think there is someone out there for you, Evie. I think you need only open your eyes and your heart, and you will find him.”

Chapter Eleven

Who knew you could be so very thoughtful? Thank you a dozen times over for my gift. Does my handwriting look very fine now? The swan feather was the perfect fit for my hand, and our butler had the tip precisely cut. Now my words are not only wiser with age, but more attractive with my newest implement.

—From Evie to Hastings

E
vie was fifteen minutes late to meet Benedict, thanks to the conversation with her mother. The unsettled feeling in her stomach had yet to go away, and a long ride sounded like the perfect thing to get her mind off the whole thing.

The horses were already saddled and waiting, and Benedict leaned against the tack wall, his head bowed. He looked . . . sad, somehow, as if he were balancing the world itself on his broad shoulders. Well, with the way she was feeling, they would be a fine pair, indeed.

“I seem to be in the habit of making you wait,” she said quietly.

He looked up, his dark eyes as fathomless as a still lake at midnight. “You are well worth the wait, my lady.”

She smiled at his sweet words, a ribbon of pleasure fluttering through her. “Nonetheless, do please accept my apologies. Are you ready for our ride?”

“Lead the way.”

Within minutes they were mounted on their respective horses and heading across the lane toward the rolling fields surrounding the estate. Several yards behind them, a groom followed discreetly. With things as they were with Mama, appearances must be maintained now more than ever.

They lapsed into a companionable silence, and she relaxed as she took in the comforting sounds of the horses’ breathing, the creak of the leather saddles, and the clomping of hooves on damp earth. She struggled to push her conversation with Mama to the back of her mind. It was out of her hands now. Fretting about it during a perfectly lovely ride with a perfectly lovely companion was not going to make things any better.

Beside her, Benedict moved easily with his mount, as if they had been on dozens of rides together, and she had to remind herself not to stare. His back was straight but loose, absorbing Brutus’s steps effortlessly. They were quite the handsome pair, the dark horse and his dark rider.

Offering Benedict a warm smile, she said, “You look quite comfortable in the saddle. Where did you learn to ride?”

Benedict shrugged. “I rather taught myself.” The sadness she had glimpsed earlier still colored his tone. Why would that be? One would think he would be proud of the accomplishment.

Evie glanced to his face but couldn’t read his expression. “That’s actually very impressive. I may brag about my skills, but I would be worthless on a horse without all of my father’s instruction. To learn without a mentor must have been very challenging.”

“Yes. Sometimes we have little choice in the matter.”

“Did your father dislike riding?”

“No, he merely disliked me.”

Goodness. Evie cringed, not sure what to say to something like that. It was hard to imagine a father who would turn his back on such a fine man. Her own father was so important to her, it was impossible to imagine her life without his support. A fleeting memory of Papa galloping toward her on a moonlit night so many years ago flashed in her mind. He had been so gentle with her, despite his fury, and had helped her move on from her heartbreak. Not many men would have been so understanding of their wayward sixteen-year-old daughters.

She pressed her eyes closed briefly and put the memory from her mind. They needed a change of subject—better yet, a change of speed. Pointing toward a pond nestled in the rolling hills halfway between where they were and the distant tree line, she said, “That is where the hunt will begin. Would you like a closer look?”

At his nod, they set off toward the pond, picking up their pace to a brisk trot. The warmth of the sun and the lovely breeze were invigorating. Riding over the ridge of the hillside, she could just make out the church’s bell tower several miles away in town. The grass covering the gently sloping ground was finally turning green again, and trees proudly displayed their tiny buds and newborn leaves. In a word, it was glorious.

Their trot was about half the speed Evie wanted to go. She glanced at the silent man beside her and grinned. It was time for a little fun. Without a word to Benedict, she sent Epona into a gallop. She gripped the reins tightly and leaned forward as the mare increased her speed. The wind whistled noisily by her ears and brought tears to her eyes as they tore across the countryside. Epona’s legs pounded the ground, her nostrils flared, and her muscles bunched in rhythm with her graceful gallop.

Evie laughed with abandon at the extraordinary feeling of racing over the ground. It never diminished, no matter how often she rode. She had always imagined this was how a bird must feel, gliding over the earth’s surface with the crisp, clean air rushing past.

When at last she reached the pond, she slowed her horse to a gentle trot, patting her neck approvingly. “Well done, love. Didn’t that feel wonderful?”

In response, Epona, damp with sweat and breathing hard, shook her head and snorted. Given her head, the mare would likely run all day.

She craned around and searched out Benedict, who was a good distance back. He held Brutus at a brisk trot with the groom still several paces behind him. It was the perfect opportunity to watch him without worry of censure. He truly was a handsome man. His hat mostly covered his dark hair, but she could still see the ends curling above his ears. The slim cut of his clothes accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow hips.

As he approached, she was pleased to see a genuine grin on his face. His white teeth flashed in the sunshine as he pulled up on Brutus’s reins and brought the gelding to a stop beside her. “You and your mare are something to behold. Did you enjoy your run?”

Evie smiled easily. Galloping away had been the right thing to do. For once his facial features were completely relaxed. She set their pace to a gentle walk and said, “Yes, very much. Didn’t you want to give a go of it yourself?”

“No. I was more than content to watch you in your glory.” Benedict patted his mount’s neck soundly. “Besides, Brutus and I were getting to know each other. You, however, are clearly accustomed to Epona. When you’re galloping like that, it is hard to tell where one leaves off and the other begins. I can see why you’re so proud of her.”

Pleasure at his praise lifted her heart. She brushed a hand over Epona’s mane. “There is no better feeling in the world to me than riding at top speed. It does give my mother fits, however.”

“I can’t imagine why. Perched atop an insignificant little saddle on an enormous animal, flying across uneven ground at a gallop—I can’t think of what might upset her about that.” His musing made her grin.

“It is a mystery,” she said, lifting a shoulder in mock confusion.

Shaking his head, Benedict chuckled. The sadness from before had completely lifted, and he seemed lighter, happier, sitting beside her as they bantered. Something about them at that moment just fit. She
should
feel reserved, even aloof with this near stranger, but instead she relaxed beside him, soaking in his smiles and reveling in his praise.

Evie gave the reins a little flick and set the pace to a gentle walk. Before them, the lake shimmered in the afternoon sun, reflecting the cheery blue skies. She sighed with pleasure and looked to Benedict. “Tell me something about yourself.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “What would you like to know?”

“Anything, really. I feel as though you know much about me, while I know almost nothing about you. How about . . .” She pursed her lips and searched for a topic, careful to avoid any more mentions of his father. She should probably avoid his family altogether, just to be safe. “I know, tell me about how you and Richard met.”

“Let’s see,” he said, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Richard and I met as first years at Eton. Like many of our classmates, we became friends when we were both compelled to participate in the school’s production of
King Lear
.”

Heavens, they did have a long friendship. Richard had written about the play in his second or third letter after arriving at Eton. “Oh, I remember when Richard was in that play. My parents were so excited to see him in his first performance. I was crushed when I was not allowed to attend, but I begged every last detail from them when they returned. I cannot believe you were in it as well! I must know what part you played.”

“Alas, my dramatic skills were not on par with your dear brother’s. I was one of the unfortunate boys stuffed into black clothes and forced to tend to the
real
actors. I believe Richard and I bonded over the excellent tea I brought for him, errand boy that I was.”

She tried to picture him as an eager young boy and failed miserably. It was impossible to imagine him as anything less than the tall, powerfully built man beside her, especially after having seen for herself exactly how well-built he was. She realized he was watching her, waiting for her to respond. “Well, er, I suppose that makes sense. I have a very hard time picturing you on stage waxing poetic, skull in hand.” She put her own arm out dramatically, as if holding the skull in question.

“Right, well, since it was
King Lear
and not
Hamlet
, I don’t think we would have had to worry about such a scene.”

Drat—she knew that. That would teach her to think of his half-naked form while trying to hold a normal conversation. She dropped her arm and grinned impishly at him. “I was just testing you. Of course I know the famous grave-digging scene is from
Hamlet
.”

He snorted in disbelief. “I don’t believe for a moment you were testing me. Shame on your governess for not teaching an impressionable, young English rose such as yourself proper English literature,” he said with mock gravity. Solemnly, he made a tsking sound, shaking his head.

“This above all else: To thine own self be true!” she replied. “See, I knew exactly what I was doing. I merely wished to see if you were as clever as fellows are rumored to be.”