Edwina grinned. “I do not know whether to be flattered or insulted,” she said.
With a dramatic flourish, Miles placed his hand over his heart. “Flattered, I assure you.”
“All right, if you say so,” Edwina responded. She had to admit that she rather enjoyed this playful side of Miles.
As they continued down the road towards the village, Edwina’s eyes widened in surprise as she saw their crested coach parked outside a modest cottage, just set off the path.
She pointed towards the coach. “That is my uncle’s coach,” she revealed. “But what is he doing here?”
“Are you certain this is not the home of his solicitor or man of business?” Miles asked.
Edwina fixed him with a pointed look, challenging his thoughts. “Why would he visit one of their homes when they have offices set up in the village?” she asked. “Besides, this cottage is where Mrs. Wallington raised her children. She recently passed away, leaving it vacant. I hadn’t realized anyone else moved in.”
“Clearly someone has.” Turning towards the driver, he ordered, “Stop here. We shall continue on foot to the village.”
The driver reined in the team before asking, “Are you sure, my lord?”
“I am, but I will expect you to wait for us in the village,” Miles replied firmly.
A footman stepped off his perch and came around to open the door. He offered his hand in assisting Edwina down the step.
Once she was standing on solid ground, she released the footman’s hand and clasped her own in front of her. “What do we do now?” she asked as Miles came to stand next to her.
Miles gestured towards the woodlands, thick with towering trees that seemed to stretch on for miles. “We can position ourselves in the cover of those trees and wait for your uncle’s appearance. With any luck, we may discover why he has come here.”
“I think that is a fine plan,” Edwina agreed.
As they made their way towards the edge of the woodlands, Miles said, “I do hope we do not soil your gown.”
“The gown is the least of my concerns,” she admitted. “My uncle is a liar, a cheat, and who knows what else.”
Miles offered her a sympathetic smile. “I am sorry for what you are going through. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”
“Nothing is as difficult as losing my father,” Edwina shared, her voice filled with emotion. “Everything else seems to pale in comparison.”
With a nod of understanding, Miles said, “Yes, death has a way of putting things in perspective.”
They stepped into the woodlands and the rustling leaves and melodic birdsong surrounded them. The canopy of trees covered their heads, creating a sense of sanctuary from the outside world. A nearby stream added to the calming ambiance.
“It is peaceful here,” Edwina acknowledged.
Miles turned his attention towards the birds that flitted around them. “Perhaps I should learn how to mimic a bird call.”
“It truly is not hard.”
“It is for someone who can’t whistle.”
Edwina’s mouth dropped. “You can’t whistle?”
Miles simply shrugged. “It is not uncommon for someone to not know how to whistle,” he defended.
“But it is so simple,” Edwina insisted, demonstrating with a low whistle from her lips.
Miles’ expression was a mixture of wry amusement and resignation. “Do you think I haven’t tried doing just that at least a hundred times?”
“I have never met someone who couldn’t whistle,” Edwina remarked.
“It is not exactly a topic that comes up in conversation,” Miles said dryly.
