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“Taking her mind off her anxious waiting,” Laurence said insistently.
“Of course, of course.” James’ eyes rolled here and there playfully, a smirk on his face. “I’m sure it’s all nothing, really. Besides, I imagine she is most unpleasant to look at, a pale little city thing like her. All elbows and teeth, I’m sure.”
“Absolutely not!” Laurence protested, a flush coming to his cheeks. “She’s…well, she is a lovely young lady. Green eyes like summer grass, and very…well-proportioned.” His flush deepened, though he was not sure whether this was due to continued offence on Alicia’s behalf or embarrassment at his own lack of appropriate words to describe her.
“Ah, yes, yes, naturally, my mistake,” said James, putting up his hands as if pacifying a raging bull. “All looks, then, not a thought in her head except for how to manage her beauty. I’ve known the type—those high society city ladies are all the same.”
“No, that’s not right,” said Laurence, feeling himself deflate somewhat. “She’s…well, she’s interested in all sorts of things. Plays and literature and travel. She was full of so many questions today when we walked around the farm. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone quite so curious.”
James’ wide smile practically beamed despite his yellowish teeth. “Why, she sounds a most wonderful young lady indeed. It sounds as though you’re rather fond of the girl already, hmm?”
Laurence blinked, suddenly stricken by what he had been saying. Shaking his head in consternation, he turned and walked off to get to his task of bringing the sheep back to the barn for the night. “Jog on, you ninny,” he tossed over his shoulder, sending James off in a fit of laughter.
* * *
Laurence focused all of his attention on keeping the storm cloud of irritation leashed firmly to his side, though James, as ever, did not make it easy. Still, every time his long—time friend cut a caper or made some idiotic joke, Laurence would stop himself from gratifying the buffoon with a smile by reminding himself how offended he should be by the man’s implications.
There’s nothing wrong with offering a lady in trouble your hospitality,he would think, turning away from James and trying half-heartedly to focus on some invented pre-supper chore.I simply cannot fathom why James would not correct those windbags at the pub and stop that horrible slander. He knows I’d never take advantage of a guest, no matter how winsome she might be.
Then his mind would flash back to the feeling of her hand in his while they were in the barn earlier that day. At these thoughts Laurence would feel a strange sensation of warmth in his ears, and the leash on his ire would begin to slacken before he pulled it back with a more insistently furrowed brow.
Still, he thought with some perverse satisfaction, he was glad he was able to maintain his bad mood more or less intact by suppertime. Even as he listened to James and Mary-Anne banter back and forth in front of Alicia and Jenny, who paid great if quiet interest to these friends’ vigorous rehashing of decades-old disputes.
“I still say there was no way itwasn’tyou who released that pig into the meeting hall, James Barton.”
“And I should certainly be happy to confess to such,” said James, waggling a bit of potato at Mary-Anne from the end of his fork. “Just as soon as anyone is able to present any evidence of my supposed involvement.”
“Right when Deirdre had just been gotten into her wedding dress, too, if you can believe it,” Mary-Anne explained to Alicia with an exasperated smile. “Has he no shame at all?”
“Mary-Anne, you are entirely too intelligent to ask such a stupid question,” James replied, waggling his eyebrows. “Either that, or I am a far poorer judge of character than I let myself believe.”
Laughter rang from the rafters as Alicia and Jenny joined in the merriment that maddeningly pierced Laurence’s scowl. Not for the first time he envied Margaret and Dennis, who took their own supper in the kitchen or carried it back to their homes to eat in peace. Even eating in the barn would be less bothersome than this.
“Just what is your profession, Mister Barton?” asked Alicia as she helped herself to another portion of fresh summer peas. Laurence tried to suppress a wince.
“Our Mister Barton is something of an artist, you might say,” said Mary-Anne with a stoic expression Laurence had long since learned concealed what she surely thought would be a terrific joke.
Alicia, on the other hand, was still unused to his sister’s ways, and her eyes brightened at this proclamation. “Really?” she asked James, smiling. “Are you a painter, then? Some of Mister Constable’s works are quite beautiful, and I understand he was inspired by the English countryside much like this area.”
James brayed with laughter, giving Mary-Anne a rough nudge on the arm with his fist. “That’s not my medium, I’m afraid. Not much with a brush, you see.”
“It’s just a silly jape,” said Laurence into his plate, perhaps a bit more grimly than he felt. “James is a farmer, like me.”
“Nobody’s a farmer likeyou,” James said snidely as Mary-Anne adopted a look of mock surprise.
“I had no idea you had lost your vocation, Mister Barton!” she said with wide eyes, reaching out a hand in sympathy to James. “Please, tell me they have not ended your residency at the White Hare! I’ve heard from some of the leading art critics that you were beginning to do some of your best work on the theme of ‘gossip and beer.’”
James reached out to slap Mary-Anne’s hand playfully, but she pulled it away just in time. “Why, you might have to actually return to working in the field!” Mary-Anne laughed. “Such a shameful thing, and all because you have the poor luck to be a farmer!”
Laurence rolled his eyes at this display, and tried to put it out of his mind as his gaze fell to Alicia. She seemed to have recovered completely from the doldrums she had been in earlier, and from her emotional outburst in the barn. Now, in fact, she seemed more relaxed and comfortable than ever, her brow unfurrowed, eyes bright and smiling. Laurence could not help but notice just how beautiful she looked when untroubled like this.
Then he could not mask his surprise when she turned her smiling face to his, looking to him with an expression of ease and happiness he had not seen from her before. His pet cloud of anger slipped its leash immediately and escaped up the chimney.
“If Mister Barton really is as much of a rascal as your sister claims—” Alicia began to ask him.
“I’m not!” James interjected.
“You are so, and don’t interrupt,” Mary-Anne put in.
