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“And yours to me, but do not say it like this is a goodbye, for it does not have to be a goodbye.”
“Yes, I know, you are right.”
“Before you go back to your estate, we must give you a last day of such good humour and amusement that you’ll be able to bear the difficulties of being heir to a Marquess. What do you say to fishing tomorrow?” he said, leaning forward. “You have professed to be a fine fisherman, perhaps it’s time we put your alleged skill to the test.”
“How could I refuse?” Marcus said, smiling a little sadly. He was glad for the distracting words, for he felt a little choked up about his confession. Maybe it was the port loosening his tongue or maybe it was the genuine fear of having to say goodbye and not see this young man again, but it all made him feel a little wrongfooted.
He didn’t want to lose this friendship.
***
Violette was heavily distracted. After the arm wrestle with Lord Northrive the night before, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way his arm curved against her own, or the muscular hand in her grasp. If he had noticed the delicacy of her fingers against his in the evening light with the candles around them, he hadn’t mentioned it, but it hadn’t stopped Sherborne from berating her on the fact.
“You should really put your jacket back on,” Sherborne said at her side as she set up her fishing rod beside the river.
“I am perfectly fine,” she said. “I am covered up.” She gestured to the long-sleeved shirt and waistcoat she was wearing, reminded of how Sherborne had said she was flashing too much skin with her rolled-up sleeves at the races, and it may well have given her ruse away.
“That waistcoat is still a little tight,” he whispered, glancing away from her. They were both watching Lord Northrive as he approached along the side of the river, carrying his own fishing equipment. “It shows off your figure too much.”
“It does not. You are merely looking because you know I am a lady. That is the difference,” she whispered hurriedly to Sherborne.
“Hmm, maybe,” he said, but he did not look convinced. “Just please, put the jacket back on.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She snatched up the tailcoat and put it back on, hiding her body from view. “There, all good. You can go and get some lunch for Lord Northrive and myself now,” she said, handing him some coins in the hope it would get rid of Sherborne and give her some time alone with Lord Northrive.
Sherborne pulled a face at her, showing he knew exactly what she was doing before wandering off, just as Lord Northrive arrived.
“Getting rid of your attentive valet?” he asked with a smirk.
“Is it that easy to tell?” she asked with a small laugh. The moment Sherborne had turned a corner at the end of the road, she flung off the tailcoat again, focusing on her fishing rod, certain she was covered up enough that Lord Northrive would not notice who she really was. He had been staring at her for about a week now and hadn’t noticed!
“How is your throat after that cigar last night?” Lord Northrive asked with a knowing smile as he began to set up his own fishing rod.
“Still sore! That seems absurd, does it not? I only had it for a brief second.”
“It is what happens. I am told people can grow to love that feeling.” He affected a shudder at the idea. “I myself have no liking for it. My father though, he loves it.”
“Tell me more of your father,” Violette said as she stood beside him on the riverbank. “What is he like?”
“He’s…strict,” he said after a beat of silence. “Rather like your family, he has lofty expectations of the way things should be, yet it is more than that.” He paused again, for longer this time, though he continued to stare out at the river, as though seeking an answer from within the watery depths. “It is grief, too.”
“For your brother?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“Yes, I think so,” Lord Northrive said, stalling with the fishing rod. “It was a shock to us all to lose James as we did, but to my father, I do not think he just lost James. I think he lost the idea of what he believed his family’s future would be like.”
“You think he is grieving in two regards? For James and this future he had expected?” Violette said, stepping nearer toward Lord Northrive. Part of her wanted to take his hand and offer comfort when talking of such painful subjects, but as Mr Blake, she could not do it. She was forced to stand apart from him.
For the first time, she wished he truly did know who she was, but then she recalled that as Lady Violette, she would not have had this week with him, nor been as physically close to him as she had been and enjoyed all that they had shared together. No, she did not regret their time together, even if she was pretending to be someone she was not.
“Yes, grieving twice, that is the way to describe it.” Lord Northrive returned to his work with the fishing rod. “I am rather glad that my father will be away from home when I return.”
“What time do you leave tomorrow?” she asked.
“Early,” he said, with clear regret and angst as he hastily finished setting up the fishing rod and sat down, lifting up his sketchbook. He placed it on his lap and began to sketch the scene around them. She could tell from the quick pencil movements and the ways his eyes danced across her and the landscape across the river.
“You do not sound pleased.”
“It is because I am not,” he said, hesitating for a moment with the pencil before continuing.
