As I reached the dig site, my lungs straining for air, I spied a large puddle forming in the center of the canvas covering the Medusa mosaic. Worse, one of the stakes securing the canvas appeared loose, promising an imminent waterfall when its hold released. Then the pool would indeed fulfill its original purpose.
I pulled on the stake, ignoring my white gloves now streaked with filth. Grunting, I tried to stomp on it to sink it farther into the ground and stretch the canvas tighter, but the weight of the water puddling in the middle proved too much for me.
“Miss Littleton! Is that you?” a deep male voice shouted across the field. I groaned, then slipped and fell in an undignified heap of lace-trimmed skirts.
A black shape trotted across the field until I found myself staring through the downpour at the colossal horse and its owner.
Lord Hawthorn scowled beneath the dripping wide brim of his felt hat as he surveyed me, then the site. Another coat, this one in gray, made him appear more farmer than lord, although no less intimidating sitting astride his obsidian beast.
“Lord Hawthorn, what a delightful evening for a walk,” I shouted over the rain from my muddy seat.
I kept my tone fearless although embarrassment coursed through me as he continued to study me. Embarrassment turned to alarm when the canvas sagged farther, pouring water on the mosaic and filling the ancient pool with a gush.
“Medusa will be ruined!’ I cried, struggling to rise and secure the loosened stake, though it was hopeless.
Suddenly, I was aware of a great form looming over me, a hand reaching over mine and tugging on the stake with a strength Icould not match. Without a word, he shoved it into the ground, although I feared that the damage had already been done.
He glanced down at me, his gaze tightening when I ignored the hand he held out to assist me. Unfortunately, my limp feathers chose that particular moment to flop back over my face after I tried to brush them out of the way. At the very least, I managed to rise on my own, flinging the mud from my hands. Even though I pivoted away from him, a speck or two must have landed on his coat.
“Miss Littleton, we must stop meeting under such circumstances.”
“I find nothing more invigorating than being outside in nature.”
“No drawing room or gentler pursuits for you.”
I huffed loudly, forcing the ostrich feathers to puff away. “No, Lord Hawthorn. But it would appear we both prefer the great outdoors to musty interiors.”
He nodded once. “True enough. This wicked storm caught Chaucer and me on our way home from visiting tenants, but I’ve encountered worse on the battlefield. Although, I doubt either of us should linger. There isn’t much more you or I can do to secure the canvas. It won’t protect your pool, not without additional center stakes to prop up the weight.”
I felt ever more the fool for not having consideredsuch a factor.
“But I can’t abandon her to the elements,” I sputtered as I gestured to the sagging tarp. The wind turned cold and stinging, and despite my best effort, I started to shiver in my drenched gown, plastered to my form. Rain dripped down my back, but I was loath to leave the site until I could assess the extent of the damage.
“I suspect Medusa will survive a bit of rain,” he said. “She has endured far greater trials. You, on the other hand... Forgive my bluntness, but I thought we had come to an understanding that you would leave my field alone.”
“Mr. Perry’s field, sir. And as my memory serves, I agreed tono such terms. When the magistrate assures me otherwise, I will continue on as Mr. Perry’s guest in the manner I see fit.”
To my surprise, his lips quirked ever so slightly.
“And that will include wandering the fields alone again, I see.”
“If you must know, I visited a blind widow on your property and was caught by the storm on my way home. I often help my father with his pastoral visits.”
The rain poured even harder, blurring the man before me. I glanced at the horse, nervous that it might bolt or worse, but it appeared steadier than I was at the moment. Perhaps it was used to hardship, like its grim owner.
“Widow?” He frowned as he stepped closer to me. “One of my tenants?”
I frowned as well. “Surely you plan to visit all the tenants, including my father, the vicar, who enjoyed the patronage of your uncle.”
His jaw clenched. “I have been making my rounds. The Hawthorn holdings are rather vast and spread out in distance, but I have not had the pleasure of meeting this widow. In fact, I’m just returning from the Dillon cottage. What is her name?”
As for my father, the viscount made no mention. Had I ruined the relationship between them with my singular pursuit of antiquities?
“Mrs. Eacher,” I responded more curtly than I ought thanks to Lord Hawthorn’s blunt manner, but I felt protective of my friend, and I hoped she would not be the last on his list. Many would consider her a burden.
He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, as if the name were personal to him.
“You know her?” I demanded as I brushed aside the ridiculous dripping ostrich feather a third time.
