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She couldn’t come up with a reason that she wanted to give him and shrugged, feeling once again, like a schoolgirl. What the deuce was wrong with her? She was a woman now, in every sense of the word. She could hold her own. Why did he reduce her to a bundle of nerves?
He hurried his horse into position in front of her driving horse, and the animal slowed to a halt. She made an impatient sound and told him, “It seems, my lord, you have a habit of hindering my progress.”
He jumped off his steed and took his horse to the boot, where he tethered it, but before he could walk around, she clicked and started off, a smile covering her face.
He caught up in no time, and nimbly, athletically managed to jump into the curricle and slide across the seat very close to her.
She could see him eyeing her quizzically and decided not to talk to him. Her jaw set, but his did not as he grinned and said, “You will find you cannot get away from me so easily.”
“You do realize, however, that I want to?” she answered.
“Yes, I do, but again, why?”
“You should know.”
“Serena … whatever I said to make you feel uncomfortable about … yesterday, I do beg your pardon. That was not my intention. You must realize that I would never knowingly hurt you?”
“Must I realize that?” she asked as she turned down a narrow dirt path. Up ahead was a small farmer’s cottage.
He frowned and asked, “What are you doing?”
“We have a sick tenant. I am going to visit with them and bring them a basket,” she said, still not looking at him, still holding herself erect, as she brought her curricle to a stop and put on the brake.
His lordship jumped down before her and reached out his hand for her hand. Instead, she put a basket into his and managed to get down on her own.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, took the basket from him, and went towards the front door of the cottage, noting that he hurriedly followed her.
A middle-aged woman in a mobcap and a full blue apron opened the door and exclaimed, “Oh Miss Serena, you don’t want to come in here and take a chance of getting ill. No, I don’t—”
“Nonsense,” Serena said, cutting the woman’s objections short. “And good morning, Mrs. Tuttle. You look well.”
“And you, Miss Serena, like a ray of sunshine you be.”
Serena laughed and handed the woman the large, fully packed basked. “Mrs. Tuttle, Cook baked the bread and tarts fresh this morning. The apples are from our orchard, and there is some very fine cheese in there as well.”
“Thankee, Miss Serena. You are always more than kind, and do send our regards to Cook, and tell her I’ll be stopping by with some pickled tomatoes as soon as m’boy gets well.”
Serena frowned. “May I visit with Billy? I did not know he had fallen ill until Davis mentioned it to me last evening.” Of all her uncles’ tenants, the Tuttles were her favorite, and young Billy held a sure place in her warm affection.
“I don’t want ye catching his quinsy.” Mrs. Tuttle frowned.
“Nonsense, so if you think it won’t tire him?” Serena answered.
“Tire him?” Mrs. Tuttle laughed. “Why he would be that pleased to see ye, he would. Thinks the world of ye, he does. Tells everyone that ye be his Lady Sunshine. Ever since ye took the trouble to teach him how to fish and let him fish the Moorely pond … why, he tells anyone who will listen that you are a ‘right ’un’.”
Serena laughed and turned to his lordship. “You may go now.”
“May I indeed?” His eyebrow arched, and Serena had to remind herself to stay firmly hard-hearted. She must not think him dashing. She must not be drawn by his blue eyes. She simply must not.
He inclined his head as she turned slightly away from him and told her, “Thank you, but I would like to meet young Billy. He sounds to me to be a brilliant flirt.” The tease was in his voice. “Lady Sunshine, is it? The boy will do well when he attains his majority.”
Serena couldn’t help it—a laugh escaped her lips. Without waiting to see if he followed she went inside and made her way to Billy’s open door, where she knocked.
Billy was ten years old with wads of red hair around a freckled face and bright hazel eyes that were always laughing. He looked like the elfish, scampish youth he was as he sat up and called with vigor, “My lady Sunshine! Oi … I was wondering when you would be looking in on me.”
Serena tweaked his nose. “Brat! What makes you think I don’t have better things to do than to look in on a sickly slug-a-bed?”
“Coo …” breathed the boy, grinning widely. “Ye were worrit, weren’t ye?”
