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Chapter 19
Baldwin ate only a portion of his breakfast, a fact that Aunt Margaret seemed overly willing to point out to the rest of the table not once, but thrice. Immediately afterwards, Aunt Margaret shot up from her chair and made an excuse. “I must write a series of correspondences this morning. I hope it isn’t too rude.”
That moment, there was a wild scream from the back of the estate. All members at the table swung their faces in that direction. After a pause, Tatiana muttered, “It’s just the boys. She really does have a way with them. I could lose them forever to the German language. I don’t know that I’d really care, as long as they remained calm in my presence.”
In the wake of breakfast, Tatiana, Baldwin, Ewan, and Marta entered the parlour. Ewan seemed a bit lost in thought and collected a book from the nearby shelf, before cuddling up with it, his hand curling away at a little lost collection of hairs near his left ear. Tatiana collapsed beside him and placed her head back on the headrest and stared at the ceiling with her hands crossed over her stomach.
It seemed, in this strange moment, that Baldwin and Marta were alone.
As though guided by some unseen force, Baldwin led Marta to a nearby sofa and perched at the edge. She settled in, her eyes large and expectant. He dared himself to say everything, to say it clearly and without pause. But of course, he didn’t wish to frighten her.
But before he could articulate, Marta beat him to it. Long after, he supposed that this was always meant to be the way. She was the braver of the two.
“Thank you again for last night,” she said. Her syllables were soft and beautiful, almost like a song. Neither Tatiana or Ewan lifted their heads.
“It was a pleasure,” Baldwin returned. “I wanted to protect you.”
The tension between them made it difficult for Baldwin to breathe. He swallowed and allowed his eyes to creep back towards the doorway. Yet again, there was a holler from the back of the house. He chuckled softly. “Your poor maid.”
“Laura is far stronger than any creature on this earth,” Marta returned.
Baldwin so yearned to draw the little blonde curl that had escaped her perfect up-do, back to its place behind her ear. Such a motion would have been too close, too sincere. He cleared his throat and said, “I don’t suppose you’d like to take a stroll in the garden with me? It’s such a lovely morning, and I always love a walk after breakfast.”
“And yet, you hardly touched your food,” Marta said.
“Aunt Margaret has already given me enough grief about this. I don’t need it from you, too,” he said playfully.
He was always so grateful to his brain when he could muster some sort of playful response. He wanted to appear clever to her. He wanted to seem like enough.
**
When they reached the garden, they fell into another tranquil silence. Marta walked about a half-step ahead of him, which allowed him time and space to gaze at her beautiful back, the way the skin caught the morning sunlight and glowed. Again, his fingers remembered the mesmerising smoothness of that skin.
Admittedly, it was strange at first to be totally alone with Marta. It wasn’t necessary that they be chaperoned; after all, Baldwin was a very close family friend, so much so that Aunt Margaret had referred to him as Marta’s family while at the breakfast table.
However, his heart told a far different story of their relationship.
How was it possible to ask her about hers?
“You don’t wish to see him again, do you?” Baldwin asked. They were deep in the rose garden, and the smells were dream-like, thick, vibrant.
Marta didn’t bother to turn. She studied a little yellow rose, one that hadn’t yet erupted into its full form. “I hope I never have to again. Although it’s been clear to me in the past months that what I want doesn’t necessarily come into fruition.”
Baldwin stabbed his hands into his pockets. “I suppose I understand what you mean. I’ve been a bit lacklustre about the state of my life since my father’s illness. I feel as though I’m on a sort of path that’s been prepared for me. I suppose that’s why Ewan can say such things about my personality. I’ve become a grisly old man.”
At this, Marta turned fully to face him. She chuckled and clucked her tongue. “Only the privileged and beautiful can joke about time in such a manner. You’re a handsome man with a worthwhile life. Ewan is, assuredly, just jealous. Or perhaps something else.”
Was it possible that Marta already sensed the feeling Ewan had for Baldwin? She was undoubtedly perceptive, a woman who didn’t dally to form her own opinion. Still, it felt as though they trod dangerous ground.
“Regardless. Around you, it seems, everyone brings up Austria. Terrible things happened to you while you lived there. Things that forced you all the way here.”
“And now, I’m faced with Lewis Remington,” Marta said. She flashed an ironic smile. “What on earth did I do to deserve such an honour?”
Baldwin wasn’t sure how to respond. He laughed and eased alongside her as they entered the next garden, then walked toward the greater grounds, with a hilltop view of the nearby forest. Baldwin marvelled at all the years he’d spent on those grounds without her. With her beside him, he felt he saw them with a fresh perspective.
Of course, this wasn’t the sort of thing he would verbalise. He couldn’t be forward. Not like Lewis, and not like many other men. He’d often wondered if this sort of view of the world, this sort of inaction, disallowed him happiness of any kind.
