Riding along the boundary fence with his land steward at his side, Rumford angled his head down as he extracted his father's pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket. He firmly cradled it in the palm of his hand and clicked the latch release, popping open the gold lid to reveal the time to him. It was well after midday. If Lord French had left early, like he had stated in his last correspondence, they would be arriving soon. The prospect of sitting around the house, pensively occupying himself with work and letters, waiting for them to arrive was damn near torture. The last five days had been an affliction to his attention span. Staring blankly at nothing, losing all track of time. Befuddled as to what was his prior engagement. Distracted wholeheartedly with thoughts, worries, beguiling fantasies of her.
The five days apart had done nothing, but fuel his need to see her, to speak with her, to understand what exactly he had done wrong before they had left.
The silent treatment at the dinner table had been excruciating. While Jefferson had shared stories of the children's exploits, he had unsuccessfully tried to catch her eye, share a secret smile with her like they had done the evenings before the plan had been hatched. The sadness in her eyes had been noticeable as she had herded the portion of peas around her plate. After the plates had been cleared, Lady French had been quick to give her excuses, disappearing to her chambers before he had a chance to talk to her. She had missed breakfast the following morning, preventing him from conversing with her.
Sat in a tavern in Avonlea, waiting for the carriage, nursing the weak disgusting whiskey Jefferson had presented to him, Rumford had been deeply troubled with the change in Lady French's manner. The keenness she had shown in the gardens, the anger of his refusal, was understandable given the circumstances. It had been like a veil had been lifted, revealing the truth of her detest for him after the announcement of their engagement. Her muteness, the distance… It was as if she had been mourning a loss. The thought was preposterous, yet it was the most accurate description of her behaviour. Which left him with more questions as to what he had done so wrong. Had he not pleased her? Has she changed her mind?
When they had returned from Avonlea with the carriage, Rumford had entered the house with the sole purpose of finding her, needing her to reaffirm that their union was still what she wanted. Marrying into another loveless marriage was one thing. Forcing her to do something she didn't want to do, would be unbecoming of him. His real father had forced him to do things – sneak into peoples' houses, steal from under their noses – he could've empathised with her, if he had been given the chance to speak with her.
As though he had been in on the game, Lord French had found trivial matters to occupy Rumford's time. Accosting him outside of the closed door of the library, her father had beckoned him into his study. Their discussion had ventured from wedding arrangements to invitations, to the celebration after the wedding and anything minor, he felt needed to be reviewed. Wasting Rumford's precious time.
"Did you manage to speak to her?" Jefferson had asked, when Rumford had finally come of the house, escaping Lord French, and joined him by the carriage.
Rumford had glimpsed back at the house. "No."
Jefferson had shifted closer, lowering his voice. "Go and talk to her now."
"Jefferson, I've tried, but her father's got like a sixth sense. It's like he's doing it on purpose." Rumford had alleged.
"Maybe he is, but you've got to go and try. Otherwise, you're going to be brooding about it, all the way home." Jefferson had insisted.
"Brood? Look," Rumford had argued, waving his hands absently between them. "It's fine. She's getting what she wants."
The whites of Jefferson's eyes had become more prominent, when something caught his eye "There! Go and talk to her now!"
Following the direction of his eyes, Rumford had watched Lady French bob in acknowledgment to Rogers's bow. "This is not the time!"
"Make the time!" Jefferson had insisted, giving Rumford a pointed look. "Go over there and tell her that you're going to miss her and that you car…!"
Shunting his feet, turning on the gravel, Rumford had shoved a decisive elbow into Jefferson's ribs, shutting up his best friend, telling him in a low growl of a voice. "Shut up!"
Jefferson had placed a hand on the carriage, whilst blowing out a hard breath, then had glared at Rumford as he had said. "I know you do! You wouldn't have agreed to do, if you didn't!"
"What I feel and don't feel are not up for discussion, Jefferson!" Rumford had warned, aware Lady French had been a short distance away from them, inspecting the carriage.
"Bloody hell," Jefferson had cursed, pressing his hand to where Rumford had hit him. "You've got bony elbows."
"All the better to elbow you with." Rumford had teased as someone had called his name. "Lord Gold."
Turning to the voice, Rumford had found Lord French waving a wad of folded papers at him. He had strolled over to him, leaving Jefferson to nurse his ribs, and had taken the papers from her father. Again, her father had broached the subject of the wedding, hashing over things they had agreed upon in the study. Out of politeness, for his future father-in-law, Rumford had allowed the Viscount to prattle over the arrangements again.
Rumford had nodded his head at something Lord French was saying, whilst he turned his head to glance at Jefferson, hoping his friend would see his distress and save him. Caught by the scene of Jefferson clasping Lady French's elbow, aiding her, Rumford had swallowed hard. They had talked, animatedly gesturing between them. There had been no reason for Rumford to take despise what he had seen. Nevertheless, as Lady French had raised an eyebrow at Jefferson, he had felt a tension building within him, stiffening the muscles in his shoulders, his arms, his fingers - Jealousy. It wasn't a foreign feeling to Rumford. Being jealous of his best friend had never been a factor of their friendship. In spite of that, Rumford had been envious of Jefferson as he had conversed with Lady French, who had been receptive to him, meeting his gaze, not shying from the smile his best friend had given her. It hadn't mattered how many times Rumford had offered her a smile, and had tried to catch her eye. She had blatantly closed herself off to him.
Closing his hand and the cover of his pocket watch, Rumford pursed his lips together, regretting that he hadn't done as Jefferson had suggested. That the coward in him, had chosen the easier path. To avoid the much-needed conversation and rejection, which was absolutely on the horizon for him.
He threw his gaze across the landscape, blindly looking in the direction of the house, while he stowed his pocket watch back in his waistcoat's pocket. A trepidation had been festering in his gut all morning. A rotten feeling. One, he had thought, would've passed during his ride around the estate, inspecting the work on the boundary fence. He was a thirty-four-year-old man, a father, the ninth Earl of the Frontlands, a prestigious member of the royal court… And Rumford was terrified of encountering the young woman, half his age, who was soon to be his wife.
It was absolutely ludicrous. Whatever fondness he held for her, had nothing to do with their arrangement. Lady French would be his associate, not his wife. Brooding, as Jefferson had called it, on what could've been and should've been, was not helping matters. It was making them worse. The more he considered her, coveted her, fantasised about her, the more his anxiety grew. If he could get a small glimpse at the cipher, which would unlock her from her silence and educate him as to why she snubbed him, he would be a happier man.
Rumford didn't quite understand why the silence disturbed him so much. The year leading up to Milah's death, she had hardly ever spoken to him. Silence had been welcomed after the vicious arguments. Their cordial conversations were saved for guests, sustaining the pretence of a happy marriage. His mother, Jefferson and his wife, were the only ones who had known the truth. Performing the duty of a bridge, between him and his late wife.
Whatever he had envisioned for his accord with Lady French, it wasn't what he had shared with Milah.
"Lord Gold!" A distant voice called.
Gently pulling back on the reins of his horse, Rumford twisted in the seat of his saddle, peering over his shoulder in the direction of the call. Fast approaching was young Henderson, one of the stable boys. Hunching his brow over his eyes, he suspected why Henderson was racing towards him. The knots in his gut tightened as Rumford guided his horse to turn, preparing to greet Henderson.
"My Lord," Henderson greeted, clumsily bowing his head forward as he pulled on the reins, hastily stopping in front of Rumford. "Your presence is needed at the house. Your guests have arrived."
Nodding his head at the piece of news, Rumford curtly responded. "Thank you, Henderson."
A single nod at Rumford and Henderson yanked on the reins, pulling the horse round, and kicked the horse's flanks, kickstarting it back in the direction they had come from. Rumford absently watched as Henderson quickly dashed across the expanse of green, kicking up turds of grass behind them, becoming an unrecognisable figure on top of the brown horse.
"Would you like me to continue without you, my Lord?" Geoffrey 'Smithy' Smith asked the land steward, whilst steering his horse to stand beside Rumford's.
"You might as well." Rumford turned his head to address Smithy. "Meet me back at the house afterwards and we'll discuss the repairs needed."
Smithy bowed his head. "As you wish, my Lord."
A short nod of his head to Smithy and Rumford patted his horse's sides, directing his horse to follow the path Henderson had taken. Holding the reins loose, but tight in his grip, Rumford breathed in deeply, attempting to quell the eels wriggling around in his gut. The worries he had concealed from everyone, rushed to the forefront of his mind, plaguing him with unnecessary doubts. So, what if Lady French had reconsidered her ploy, deciding her fate was better off with the Baron, after all; or her father had persuaded her to refuse Rumford's hand; or she had realised she couldn't spend the rest of the days stuck to him. His life would continue to be what it was before her, building a sizable inheritance for his son, providing for those in his care. He could and would survive, if Lady French had changed her mind. He wouldn't blame her.
Rumford wished she would just tell him and put him out of his misery. Save him from the torment of picturing her in his study, legs curled up beside her as she read in his favoured armchair, whilst he worked at his desk. The ghost of her occupying the neighbouring chair at dinner, like she had done, blushingly meeting his gaze, treating him to a sly smile. Watching her play with the children, joining in with their little fairy-tale of knights saving the princess from the evil sorcerer. The come-hither look, she would give him, while waiting patiently for him to undress for bed. Damning himself with fictitious dreams.
Except the one dream he hadn't taken into account, wasn't his dream at all. Reflecting on it now, it was obvious to Rumford. However, when his mother had told him, 'All children need a mother, Rumford', arguing reasons why he should remarry after Milah's death, he had disregarded her sensible reasoning. His own pain had been too much to bear at the time, to consider taking another wife. As the years had passed, Neal had mentioned his mother less, to the point where she was a distant, long forgotten memory. Or he had assumed she was, and that his son bloomed regardless of the absent mother figure.
Nevertheless, witnessing the excitement on his son's face as he had sprinted from the house, dying to greet his father, had made Rumford question his own reasoning. The glee in his son's eyes had been bright. His toothy goofy smile had been infectious. The tightness of Neal's embrace had been suffocating. Taking in each aspect, Rumford had to confront the apparent truth – Neal had been overjoyed with the news.
Grasping his father by his arms, Neal had bombarded him with questions. "Where is she? Is she following you? Will she be here soon? What should I call her? Lady French? Mother? Mama? Is she interested in dragons?"
"Woah, woah!" Rumford had urged his son to slow down, holding up his hand to him, whilst kneeling down onto his right knee, taking himself down to Neal's height. "Calm down, don't get ahead of yourself. Lady French might not feel comfortable with you calling her, 'mother' or 'mama'."
"But when is she arriving?" Neal had exclaimed, grasping Rumford's shoulders.
Chuckling at his son, Rumford had told him. "Soon. She'll be arriving on Saturday, for the ball."
"What's she like? Does she like tag? Or hide and seek?" A thoughtful look had pressed his son's dark brows down over his eyes. "Or is she all proper like Lady Mills?"
Rumford had grasped his son's waist as he had said. "I'm more than sure, Lady French will help you, and the other children, get into plenty of mischief."
"She will?" His son's face had lit up with a wide grin. "I can't wait to meet her!"
"Shall take it that you're happy with me remarrying?" He had felt foolish as he had asked his son, needing to hear the obvious from him.
"If you've found true love, papa, then I'm happy for you." Neal had quoted Rumford's letter that he had sent ahead of them.
Having his son's blessing had been, surprisingly, a weight off his shoulders. But… The revelation of his son being keen for a mother had also added to his troubling thoughts. If Lady French did wish to end things, Rumford worried how his son would take the news. He had been beaming a smile since Rumford had returned home. Eager to know if Rumford had received any correspondence from Lady French. Picking books out from the library for them to read. His son's enthusiasm for Lady French had concerned him enough that he felt a quiet word was needed after breakfast.
"Now, Neal, Lady French and her father will arrive, while I'm out with Mr Smith inspecting the boundary." Rumford had begun to say to his son, as he put on his coat. "I need you to be on your best behaviour. Remember, you're a young master now, you need to start behaving in a proper manner when greeting guests."
"Yes, papa." Neal had consented, bowing his head in response.
Ruffling his son's dark curls, he had told him with a smile. "You'll be Earl someday, son. Remember that."
As Rumford steered his horse through the open gateway, traversing from grass to the gravel path, he slowed the pace of his horse with a gentle tug on the reins. His horse, Gertrude, let out a loud chuff. He smiled at her, even though she couldn't see, and canted himself forward to stroke and pat her neck. She bobbed her head happily, following the path round to the side, knowing her way back to the stables. Whilst they turned off the main path to the house, Rumford looked at it, envisioning that she was strolling the hallways, exploring the many rooms, intrigued to learn more about her intended.
All she would see would be a façade.
The manor disappeared behind a hedgerow, derailing his train of thought, and turned his gaze forward to see a simple black carriage parked in front of the stables. Henderson was leading two horses into the large paddock at the side of the stables. Rumford pulled back firmly on the reins, slowing Gertrude down to a gentle trot, while he watched them. The crunch of the gravel succumbed to the click and the clack of the bricked yard of the stables.
"My Lord." Called Perry, the Stablemaster, appearing from the back of the carriage. "I'll take Gertrude from you." He motioned for Rumford to come to him.
"Is that Lord French's carriage?" Rumford inquired, while slinging his left leg backwards, allowing him to hop down clear of his horse.
"Yes, my Lord, they arrived twenty… thirty minutes ago." He estimated, catching the reins by the length that hung down from her bridle, halting Gertrude to complete stop.
Eyeing the carriage, Rumford absently stroked Gertrude, telling Perry. "Can you check her rear left leg? She felt like she was favouring her right a bit too much."
"Oh, really…? Hmm…" Perry leaned to inspect the leg in question. "I'll check her over now."
"Thank you, Perry." Rumford patted the other man's shoulder as he walked past him, heading towards the arched hedgerow path leading to the main house.
"My Lord." Perry said, nodding his head as Rumford departed.
Strolling by, he ran a closer eye over the plain black carriage as he crossed the vast yard to the arched hedgerow path to the main house. His heart fluttered at the evidence of her arrival. Rumford tore his gaze away from their carriage and rolled his eyes at himself, whilst forcefully clasping his hands behind his back, compelling himself into his guise of the Earl. Six days. They had been engaged for six days and hadn't set foot down the aisle, hadn't spent a moment alone together since the library, and his feelings and fantasies were already out of control.
His boots kicked at the gravel path of the arched hedgerow path, dragging his feet, prolonging the inevitable. His heart wanted him to run. Preferring to live in the illusion that Lady French wanted him. That she had felt the same thing, when they had met - the spark of interest, the pounding beat of their joined hearts, the smouldering thoughts burning them from the inside out.
Life could've been so different, if she had.
The arched hedgerow ended, succumbing to a shorter hedgerow, no taller than his hip, bordering the path either side. Glancing to his left, his gaze went to the roses, planted in the flowerbed cut into the centre of the immaculate lawn. A small memorial for his dearly departed mother. She would've rolled her eyes at him, smirking her knowing smile as she said, 'You can have happiness, Rumford, if you let go of the past'. Words she had spoken one evening in his study, contesting his drunken argument that he was done with love and no woman in their right mind would want him, if they knew the truth. 'Your father and I wanted you and loved you, regardless of your past'. Tilting his head down at her words echoing in his mind, Rumford felt teary, missing his mother and her guidance.
Unclasping his hands from behind his back, Rumford tugged at the hem of his waistcoat before pulling at the flaps of his coat, rolling his shoulders, preparing himself as he entered the west entrance hall. The heels of his boots tapped on the stone floor of the hall, pausing briefly, when he sidled up to the double doors and pulled one open. A housemaid crossed his path as he came through the door.
"My Lord." She halted and curtsied to him, with a slight smile.
Rumford gave her a curt nod of his head as he passed her. "Miss Forbes."
The wood panelled hallway cut near enough through the centre of the house, concluding at the main foyer. The red carpet stretched the length of the hallway, cushioning the clunk of his boots on the oak floor. He vaguely remembered Daphne, Mrs Potts, mentioning something about the sunning room to him. Nearing the end of the hallway, he ran through the maze of rooms in his head, planning himself a quick route to the room in question. Rumford clicked his fingers as he did a one-eighty in the hallway, retracing some of his steps to take the door into the smoking room. The room was unoccupied as he traipsed through it, cutting through into the drawing room. Ambling around the furniture, Rumford headed to the far corner of the room, where a secret passage was hidden behind a panel in the wall. It simply pushed open, granting him access to the narrow space, leading to the pink room, his mother's favoured sitting room, which would take him to the sunning room.
Opening the secret door to the pink room, Rumford could hear the murmurs of a conversation in the air. He guided the door shut, while angling himself to peer through the open doorway into the sunning room. Jefferson sat in his preferred seat near the doors, smiling, listening intently to whoever was speaking. Edging himself closer to the doorway, he sneaked a peek inside, seeing Neal and Grace sat on the small two-seater together.
"I can't even remember the last ball I attended."
Upon hearing her voice, Rumford's chest heaved in a breath. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked. Butterflies swarmed in his stomach. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, urging him to burst into the room and proclaim his affections for her.
"Course, you do." Her father claimed. "We attended the winter ball at Lord Saffroy's estate."
"Yes, of course, we did. How foolish of me to forget." Lady French recanted her earlier claim, while Rumford braced himself against the wall, spellbound with the sound of her voice.
Jefferson moved the conversation along. "I believe the Earl has three or four balls throughout the year. So, you'll have those to look forward to in the future."
"Will the children be attending?" She asked, sounding like she was smiling, probably at the children.
"Oh, can we?" Grace pleaded with her father.
Supporting Grace's plea, Neal begged as well. "Can we? Just for a little bit?"
"No," Jefferson answered with a small chuckle. "They'll both be sent to bed before the festivities get underway."
"They might be sent to bed, but I'm sure I'll be peeping down into the foyer, when the guests are arriving." Lady French speculated.
Rumford could see Jefferson sit forward, collecting his teacup from the tray on the table. "You've known them only a moment, yet you know them so well already."
"Only because I did it with my hand maiden, when we were children." Lady French revealed to them.
Closing his eyes, Rumford recalled the first time he had seen her. Popping up out of her hiding spot behind the banister, her luscious curls of brown hair bounced with the motion, drawing his eye to the landing above them in the foyer. Bright blue eyes had met his gaze, stunning him with their beauty. His knees had been weak, almost dropping him down onto the floor, so he could worship the beautiful goddess, gracing him with a chance to look upon her exquisite face.
"Yes, the pair of them used to cause plenty of trouble for her governess." Her father added with a small chuckle, breaking his recollection.
Pushing himself away from the wall, Rumford had to see her. All the worries that had been hounding him could be damned. The foreseeable refusal of their engagement, he would take like a punch on the chin. The gut-wrenching heartbreak could near enough kill him, but he had to see her. Wanted to see her face, needed to speak to her, demanded to be in her presence.
Otherwise, Rumford would be consumed with his yearn for her.
He straightened his back, clasped his hands behind him, thrusted his chest out, projecting his Earl persona, and stepped into the room, revealing himself as he said. "I told you, she'd help you get into plenty of mischief."
"Papa!" Neal exclaimed, excitedly.
There was a chorus of China chinking as the adults of the room hastily stowed their teacups on their sauces and rose to their feet to greet him. Her father was in the opposing chair to Jefferson and closest to Rumford. Across from him, with the small table dividing them, was Lady French, sitting beside the open doorway, extending the room out onto the rear patio area, looking out onto the vast lawn at the rear of the house, bordered by the west and east wings. The deep ocean of her eyes swallowed him up, drowning him in her beauty, causing him to be breathless at the sight of her. While the others bowed and gave a quick curtsey, Rumford was barely aware of them as Lady French averted her gaze and curtsied to him.
"Lord Gold, it is good to see you well." Her father addressed him.
Rumford tipped his head, acknowledging their regard, and allowed his eyes to deviate from her for a second, to look at her father. "Likewise, Lord French." The corners of his lips turned up into the slightest of smiles, quickly panning his gaze back to her. "I hope your journey wasn't too taxing."
Her father turned to her, saying to Rumford, but asking her. "It was long, but it was a smooth journey. Wasn't it, Belle?"
The muscles in her throat worked, whilst her blue eyes finally lifted, first glimpsing at her father before they blinked to settle on him. "Very smooth, my Lord."
"I'm glad." Rumford's smile grew.
"We were just discussing the ball." Jefferson informed him as he motioned for the children to vacate their seat, obliging them to linger in the open doorway.
"Oh, no! Sit. Sit!" Rumford urged the children to stop, holding up his hand to them, and skipped to the other side of the room, taking the spot in the doorway the children would've taken, putting him in arm's reach of Lady French. "I'd much rather stand after riding all morning."
Jefferson raised a curious eyebrow at him. "Funny, it's never bothered you before."
Her father said as he retook his seat, claiming his tea from the table. "Surely, you remember the first days of courtship or your engagement, Mr Mandermer. When your thoughts are completely occupied with your intended, you can't bear to spend a moment apart." He scoffed, while clasping the handle of his teacup. "The last five days must've been insufferable, my Lord, as it was for me, when I was waiting to marry Belle's mother."
"Father…" She warned him, while she scooped her skirts into the back of her legs and sat down.
"What? If the Earl is in love with you, as much as he proclaimed in my study, then there's no doubt he's been missing you." Lord French defended himself to his daughter.
Rumford clasped his hands behind his back, taking it in his stride. "You're very wise, Lord French. Yes, I've missed her very much."
As Jefferson sat down, wobbling the teacup on his saucer, Lady French shifted in her chair, angling herself to look up at his face. "You have?"
"Course, I have, my love." His eyes flitted to her father before giving her a hard look. "Just like I hope you've missed me as well."
Blown wide open, her eyes were full of query as though she had forgotten about her ploy to undermine the Baron's proposal. His lungs stung from the breath caught in his chest. Unable to take another breath, his heart stopped dead as though it had just realised, it had all been a ruse. The truth tangled and knitted his gut into painful knots, punishing him for the cruel fantasy that she might possess a small wisp of affection for him.
"Oh!" Lady French gasped, blinking her eyes at him as it dawned on her and whipped her head round to speak directly to her father, propelling some of her loose curls into the air. "Of course! I've missed seeing and conversing with Lord Gold!"
Her father scrunched his brow at her. "I already know that, my dear. I'm not blind. Why else would you have been moping in the library for the last couple of days?"
"Yes, we've had our share of brooding too." Jefferson commented, then took a sip of his tea.
Giving Jefferson a quick glare out of the corner of his eye, Rumford offered his hand to Lady French as he said to everyone. "With that said, you all couldn't blame me, if I invite my intended to take a wander in the gardens."
She snapped her gaze from her father to his hand, then up to his face, before she laid her hand in his, allowing him to pull her up out of her seat, while she said. "I'd love to, my Lord."
When they stood beside each other, she was slightly shorter than him, Rumford was taken aback again with her loveliness. The smell of violets and lavender drifted around them. Gently, but firmly, clasping her hand in his, he led from her chair, pivoting on the spot, steering her round to take the doorway out onto the patio.
"Papa, may we accompany you and Lady French?" His son asked, a hopeful tone to his voice.
"It may not be appro…" She squeezed his hand, gaining his attention. "I'd welcome Master Gold and Miss Mandermer to accompany us."
Rumford bobbed his head to her. "As you wish."
"Come on, Grace!" Neal insisted, grabbing her arm and pulling her off the chair with him.
The two rushed off onto the patio, brushing past Lady French's skirts, as Jefferson said to Lord French. "Once we've had our tea, we could have a game or two in the billiards room."
"Sounds most agreeable." Her father raised his teacup to Jefferson and drank down the last of his tea.
"Shall we?" Rumford gestured to the patio, waiting for her to take the first step.
"Yes." She gave him a soft smile as she took a step.
Matching her step, they traversed onto the patio together, pausing on the outside step to share a glance at one another before they stepped off the step together. He let go of her hand and clasped his hands behind his back, shifting effortlessly back into his earlier façade. They meandered across the patio. Keeping pace with one another as they aimlessly advanced to the lawn. The movement of her lifting her skirts caught his eye, leading him to turn his gaze to her, watchful of her step as she stepped down the shallow step onto the grass. Naturally, his gaze rose to her face, finding her peering at him from the corner of her eye. Rumford didn't know why, but as their eyes met this time, they both swiftly threw their gazes elsewhere, avoiding what they couldn't bear to see in each other's eyes.
Ahead of them, Neal and Grace were playing an impromptu game of tag, giggling as one chased after the other. Rumford observed them, jealous of how easy their lives were. No cares in the world, apart from their schooling and where they could acquire more sweets. Spending most of their days terrorising the household, running the hallways, screaming off their heads like they were being chased by a murderer. Whereas he had countless things to worry about – the estate, the businesses, the people in his charge, the children themselves, and now… With a sly peep at Lady French, he counted her as the last entity on his list of worries.
He dropped his eyes to the ground, watching each step he took on the neatly trimmed grass. The troubles he had briefly forgotten, rushed back to the forefront of his mind like the waves to the shore. His brows pushed together for the slightest of moments. Finally having her alone, able to speak freely and they had immediately fallen into silence. Rumford rolled his eyes at himself, cursing the shadow of the coward riding on his coattails.
Summoning his courage, Rumford rubbed his thumb and forefinger together as he cleared his throat and said to her. "My Lady, I must apologise for not speaking to you in private before I left."
"There's no need to apologise, my Lord." Lady French skirted his apology. "It's understandable that you were busy with preparations for coming home."
"No, I must insist. Yes, I had preparations to make and arrangements to discuss with your father, but I could've made more of an effort to speak with you." He confessed to her, while his thumbnail dug into the skin of his forefinger.
She turned her head to the side, giving him her full attention. "Was there something you wanted to discuss?"
"Not so much as discuss, but ensure you're certain that you want to go ahead with this deception." Rumford was blunt with her.
Abruptly, she stopped, leaving him to carry on walking, whilst she enquired in a worried tone. "Are you recanting?"
At hearing the uneasiness in her voice, he halted and spun to face her. "Do you want me to?"
"No." Lady French took a step, closing some of the space Rumford had gained. "No, I don't." Her brow wrinkled at him. "Unless that's what you want."
Unclasping his hands from behind his back, Rumford briefly held up his hands to her, then dropped them down to his sides as he told her. "The arrangement is still prosperous for me. I've no reason to recant my offer."
"Then we are in agreement, my Lord." She proclaimed, fidgeting with her skirts.
"Indeed, we are." He agreed with her.
Holding her gaze as he breathed in, Rumford found it hard to take in a deep enough breath. His chest felt tight and heavy, like it had the day when Lady French had clumsily rammed into his chest, knocking him off his feet in her haste to find him and had fallen on top of him. The vivid memory brought with it the urge to hold her, to embrace her tightly to his chest, knowing he would breathe easier with her closer. His lips parted to say something, but he shut his mouth, not knowing what he would offer her – reassurance, comfort, his heart. Lady French nervously shifted, grasping her hands in front of herself, as she held him with her gaze.
"Papa!" His son called from a distance.
Neither of them looked. Neal called again, but Rumford couldn't tear his gaze away from her. Point blank refused to have her out of his sight again. There was so much he wanted to say. Confessing too much in some maddening endeavour to prove his fantasies could be real. Tell her how she was most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. That she had entrapped him with her smile. Captivated him with her brashness and her shrewdness. Things he wouldn't dare say aloud as they would reveal him to be weak. It was one thing Milah had taught him. Wearing his heart on his sleeve had cost him dearly already, he couldn't dare to do it again.
"Papa!" Neal suddenly appeared at his side, grabbing at the sleeve of his coat. "Come and join us!"
Reluctantly, Rumford casted his gaze down to Neal on his arm. "That wouldn't be appropriate right now, son. Remember how we spoke about behaving ourselves."
"Oh… I'm sorry, papa." His son bowed his head, remorseful, and let go of Rumford's sleeve.
Neal dragged his feet as he turned to leave them, but was called back by Lady French saying. "Master Gold, what is it you and Miss Mandermer are playing?"
"Tag, my Lady." Neal said in a sulky tone.
"Hmm…" She moseyed towards them, closing the gap. "Tag, you say."
"Yes." His son glimpsed up at Rumford, pulling at the heavy heartstring that belonged to him.
Her head nodded, taking in the information, while Rumford noticed her gathering her skirts into one hand. "I was very fond of tag as a child."
Neal titled his head slightly, raising his gaze to meet hers, as he asked. "You were?"
"I still am, really." She gave his son a smile, making Rumford jealous of the attention, before her free hand thrusted out to touch Neal's shoulder and dashed off, yelling back at Neal. "TAG!"
Bewildered and amused, Rumford scoffed at the scene of Lady French running away from his son, who was quickly catching up with the brazen woman, as he turned to watch them. It was absolutely frowned upon, but most definitely enjoyable to watch, whilst Lady French evaded his son with a quick sidestep. Neal stumbled, yet recovered quickly. Waving at Grace to join them, Lady French dodged another of Neal's attempts to tag her. Helplessly, Rumford watched them, floored by the young woman, who had stolen his heart.