Page 13 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

Benny gave a merry little yip of greeting and hurried forward.

This time, Clara did not shriek with alarm, aware that the duke’s horse had impeccable manners. She was startled, however, when the duke dismounted, displaying an ease and athleticism that made her foolish heart skitter in her chest.

“Good day to you, Benny,” his grace said, bending to ruffle the dog's ears. Benny wagged his entire body now, overwhelmed with excitement to see someone he had clearly decided was one of his people. Clara did not know how she felt about that but watched with delight as the big horse also condescended to greet him, snuffling at Benny with interest and giving him a gentle push with his big, velvety nose. Benny huffed and trotted off, head held high in a show of indignation.

“Well, they seem to have made friends,” Clara remarked with a laugh.

“Sultan does seem to have taken to him,” Hawkney agreed, gazing at his horse curiously. “It’s odd, for he dislikes dogs as a rule.”

“Perhaps because Benny does not bark and growl,” she suggested, wondering why he was here and had troubled to dismount to talk to her. In the back of her mind, the memory of the last letter she had written him burned, making heat crawl up the back of her neck. Had he come to reprimand her?

He hesitated, looking a little tense. “Were you going for a walk? Please do not let me stop you. I hope you do not object to my accompanying you for a short while.”

Clara stared at him. His deep auburn hair looked brown in the shade of the trees, but then it caught the light, sparks catching fire, glinting like garnets. An odd sensation tickled beneath her skin as she wondered if it was as soft and thick as it looked. She looked hastily away. “I don’t object.”

They walked in a not entirely comfortable silence for a few moments before he spoke.

“I understand you have stopped coming to the Hall?”

She looked up at him in surprise. “Why, yes, of course. I knew you only intended me to use the piano whilst you were in town.”

He frowned, his dark brows drawn together as Sultan walked obediently behind them and Benny trotted on ahead, nose to the ground. “Well, perhaps I did, but there is no need to stop your visits. Most of the time the piano is unused, and it seems a shame when it gives you such pleasure. I hope you will continue to visit as usual.”

Clara opened and closed her mouth, uncertain what to say. “That is most kind of you, your grace, but surely—”

“Hawkney,” he said abruptly.

Clara stopped in her tracks, too startled to take another step.

He gave an impatient shrug, his words clipped and echoing the movement. “Well, I believe we know each other well enough to drop such formality. You have written to me several times now.”

“You wrote to me first,” she shot back, as it had sounded somewhat like an accusation. Clara bit her lip uncertainly. Whilst it had been true, she ought not to have thrown it in his face.

“My grandmother—” he began stiffly.

“Yes, I know. Forgive me,” Clara said, cringing inwardly. “It’s entirely different. I ought never to have written to you, and with such a lot of tittle tattle. I don’t know why I did. Please rest assured I will not do so again.”

He glanced at her, his deep blue eyes unreadable. “I did not forbid you from doing so.”

“No, I…” Clara swallowed, uncertain what to say, uncertain what he meant. It seemed as if he was giving her permission to do so if she wished, but… but that couldn’t be right? She subsided into an awkward silence.

“Well, Miss Halfpenny, will you continue to use the piano?” There was a note of challenge to the words now and Clara could not help but respond to it. She put up her chin.

“I will, thank you, your… Thank you, Hawkney.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, curiosity flickering in a blue so deep Clara was entranced, finding it impossible to look away. Then he simply gave a curt nod and turned back to Sultan, mounting the great horse with the same powerful grace with which he had dismounted. Clara’s eyes slid to his muscular thighs, encased in soft buckskin and a simmering heat bloomed beneath her skin.

“I’ll bid you a good day then, Miss Halfpenny. Enjoy your walk.”

With that, he rode away, leaving Clara on the path, fizzing with strange sensations she had no name for and no idea what to do with.

Chapter 5

Foundations

The Grand Hotel Building Site, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 18th July 1816

Gideon smiled at Mr Ridley as they stood side by side, perusing the accounts ledger. Every farthing for materials had been accounted for, every delivery dutifully noted in a precise hand. Truly, it was a thing of beauty.