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Could he be a servant? None of the men appeared to be dressed in particularly well-made clothing, but neither were they outfitted in rags. Pippa cared not for what station he claimed, though she knew her sister might have an opinion on the matter. But it wasn’t as if Pippa were thinking long-term. She merely wanted an opportunity to meet the man.
Her first objective would be to discern whether or not the handsome man was married, for he appeared to be a good handful of years past twenty, at least. Her second objective: learn his name.
The blond man set to clearing away some of the ivy climbing along the stone exterior of the cottage, revealing where mortar had deteriorated and chipped away, while the older man watched, drinking from a flask he appeared to have pulled from his pocket.
Minutes ticked on as the men worked, and Pippa hadn’t caught sight of the dark-haired gentleman in ages. Perhaps if she scooted over on the branch a little, she would be able to see around the side of the cottage or at least find a more comfortable position. She knew the shed to be on the east end of the back garden, and it wasn’t too far—
A deep voice came from below. “Do you realize that it is far easier to spy on people with the help of a telescope?”
Pippa yelped, taken by surprise, and lost her seating. She slid off of the branch, only stopping her fall when she twisted and wrapped her arms around it. She jolted to a stop, hanging from the branch with every bit of strength her arms possessed. Thank heavens she had a decent handle on the tree, or she would surely have broken a leg, or worse.
Pippa glanced down and caught the startling light blue gaze of the dark-haired gentleman. She froze, nearly losing her grasp on the branch. Good heavens, this was not how she’d imagined their first meeting. Clearing her throat delicately, she set her mind to the task of finding purchase on the branch below with her feet.
It rankled, though, that the man’s expression remained surprised while she sought a safe perch. His dark eyebrows lifted, his mouth firmly closed, his hands resting casually against his waist. Should he not at least attempt to save her? Never mind that she would prefer to save herself, she would have liked for him to put in the effort so that she might refuse the help.
“If I had been attempting to spy,” she said, resting her feet on a branch and lowering herself to sit on it. She crossed her ankles again to keep her skirts wrapped tightly around her shaky legs. “Then perhaps I would have already been holding a telescope.”
He nodded slowly. “Then may I ask exactly what purpose you had in climbing a tree, Miss . . . ?”
Purpose? Drat. She should have fabricated an excuse earlier. Her eye snagged on a bird’s nest in the tree ahead of her. “I was trying to catch a nightingale.”
He looked up in the higher branches as if searching for the bird. “Ah, of course. How silly of me not to guess that you were hunting for a bird. Were you merely taking a break from your search when I came upon you?”
“Of course. Climbing trees is tiresome work.” She hurried to add, “And the nightingale got away from me.”
He nodded. “Well, since the bird escaped, and you have no further reason to be in the tree, would you care to come down so I might introduce myself properly?”
Pippa straightened her back primly. “No, I thank you.”
His eyebrows lifted higher, though she would have previously assumed that to be impossible. “Let me guess,” he mused, a rakish tilt to his head. “You are hoping the nightingale will return?”
“Of course not. Don’t be silly. I’ve merely yet to determine whether or not you are a dangerous man.”
The man froze. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, his damp shirtsleeves sticking to his skin in places despite the chill in the air. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and she wondered what he’d been doing to the shed to work up such exhaustion. The last time Pippa had ventured into that area behind the cottage, the shed had seemed to be in perfectly good order.
His blue eyes narrowed slightly, and a thread of interest laced his words when he spoke. “How do you plan to make your decision?”
The sly wolf from her niece Elinor’s favorite story was brought to mind. The moral of The Little Red Riding Hood expounded on the dangers of interacting with strangers—even those who looked rather enticing. She swallowed. This stranger looked very enticing.
Pippa needed to be careful.
“Perhaps you could begin by telling me your name,” she said, glad she hadn’t donned her scarlet cloak today. That would have been far too similar to Elinor’s story for comfort.
“William Blakemore.”
Her stomach tightened. The man was possessed of a name that was every bit as strong and sturdy as he appeared. William Blakemore. Blakemore. Why did that name sound familiar?
“Will you return the honor?” he asked. “Or if you’d prefer not to tell me, I am more than happy to guess.”
Well, that sounded far more entertaining. She lifted a hand, palm up, in approval of this scheme. “Please do.”
“Sarah?” he asked, his pale blue eyes sparkling.
She shook her head. Sarah? She looked nothing like a Sarah.
“Harriet?”
Pippa scrunched up her nose. Harriet was even worse.
