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Chapter 8
“You want to build in the vale?” Mac swallowed, scanning the vast field. It was empty now, save for the waves of long, green stalks, but soon it would be resplendent in a violet carpet of flowers. And the idea made Mac’s stomach clench.
Charles nodded, his smile widening. “The plan is to build four cottages. Six if we can manage it, but I am not sure we need that many men.”
“What does the captain think of this?”
Charles shot him a confused glance. “He has approved the venture.”
“In the vale, though?” Mac asked, gripping his hands tightly behind his back.
Charles turned, eyeing his friend closely. “Does that trouble you?”
Mac clenched his jaw. He could never admit so, but yes, it did bother him. He could not look over the field without imagining the heartrending scene of his final day in Graton before he left for the navy.
It had haunted his dreams during his time in His Majesty’s Royal Navy; seeing Mabel again had not helped, even if she had failed to recognize him. Though, that conversation they’d held earlier on the drive had been confusing. Mabel was either lying, or her memory was indeed faulty.
“My uncle has approved the vale,” Charles said, a slight edge to his voice. “Is there a reason we should consider another location?”
“No.” Mac shook his head. “I was merely surprised. If you are planning to farm the south field, this is quite a distance for the men to travel.”
“The men will certainly not mind. We are not asking them to travel to the south side of Graton, for heaven’s sake. Just to the south field.”
“When does the captain return?”
“He should have been here yesterday.”
Yesterday? “Is that cause for concern?” Mac had been under the captain’s tutelage for the last five years and had never known the man to be anything less than perfectly punctual.
“No,” Charles said, turning back to run a hand along his horse’s neck. “He had business to take care of in London. My uncle assumed he would be a day or two behind us, but that could have easily changed.”
The field spread out before him, and Mac allowed his eyelids to drift shut, to imagine the barren stalks ripe with deep violet petals, vibrantly washing over the curves of the ground like peaceful waves along the lakeshore. A soft breeze tickled his chin and he opened his eyes, subtly shaking his head to remove the image from his mind.
“Shall we look at the south field?” he asked, turning toward his horse. He climbed onto the saddle in a smooth motion, desperate to ride hard and rid his limbs of the anxious prickles unsettling his body.
Charles agreed, and Mac didn’t wait for his friend to mount before he spurred his horse forward, skirting the edge of the vale and heading toward the south field. Mabel’s story earlier had unnerved him, and he knew it had little to do with the falsity she had shared.
He could not put his finger on precisely what it was that bothered him, though. She couldn’t possibly know, could she? Surely if she had recognized Mac, she would have been angry or sad, or worse, cold and disinterested, all of which she had every right to be. But this woman? This strong, stable woman who looked at him kindly and shared ridiculous untruths from her youth? He did not know her.
But he wanted to. And that realization startled him.
“I didn’t know you wanted to race,” Charles called from behind, spurring his horse even faster.
Mac glanced down, feeling the tightness in his grip, the reins cutting into his palms as he rode hard across Charles’s land. Mabel’s family land. He needed to remove her from his mind. But this ride wasn’t doing much to help.
He reached the proper field, kicking his horse for added speed. It was once farmed but had become overgrown in recent years. There was a lot of potential for land such as this, and with all of the men returning from war with nothing to return home to, it would be a blessed thing for the captain to put his plan into motion.
But to build the tenant cottages in the vale felt like sacrilege. He was clearly alone in this thought, but Mac could not like disrupting the vale. He turned back, coming upon Charles and reining in his horse. “It’s quite a distance,” Mac said, unable to hold back a final disagreement.
“Where else would you propose the cottages go? The vale is large and of little use—”
“Not to the women. Do you not think your cousin ought to be consulted?” The words, once escaped from Mac’s mouth, could never be recalled. Did he want Mabel to be consulted? Could he manage his feelings if she admitted that she did not care for the place?
“Mabel will not mind. I am fairly certain she has not come out here herself since we were children.”
Mac knew that to be untrue, but he was not about to share the information. Charles would only want to know why Mac was aware of Mabel’s frequent trips to lay among the violet flowers and read or nap, as he had once found her doing.
The image brought a smile to his lips.
