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As they ate their food together, they talked of the view before them and what they could see of the villages, as well as the birds that kept them company, with sparrowhawks and kestrels flying overhead, in hunt of an easy meal between the rocks and tufts of grass. Marcus wanted to capture it all in the drawing.
He was careful to include the birds, but he made them more blurred to show just how fast they were flitting across the sky, almost like bullets. The trees nearby too had branches that waved in the breeze, yet something was missing.
The sketch needed a focal point.
He continued to draw, putting in a figure looking at the view. At first, he focused on Mr Blake and drawing in those features, intent on drawing the man at his side, but then he was reminded of the woman who looked so like him. Slowly, Mr Blake morphed the drawing into Lady Violette, with hair whipping behind her in the wind. Realising what he had done, Marcus snapped the book shut so loudly that Mr Blake jumped.
“Something wrong?” he asked, finishing off a small pork pie.
“No, I am just not happy with the sketch,” Marcus said offhandedly. It irked him that he kept thinking of Lady Violette. After all, he liked Mr Blake for who he was, not because he looked like someone else, so why could Marcus not get a lady out of his mind that he had only seen once in his life? It didn’t make sense. He hid the sketchbook away in one of their bags before resting back on a blanket they had brought with them and closed his eyes.
“Tired?” Mr Blake asked.
“Yes, I worked some more before going to bed last night.”
“My lord, you weren’t supposed to do that! Lord Catling extracted a promise from you.”
“Have you never lied to your brother?”
“Often, but we are talking about your brother, not mine,” Mr Blake said with wit. “No wonder you get migraines. Take some sleep now.”
“We have to trek back down soon.”
“Then I will wake you in a while. Trust me, sleep.”
Despite Marcus’ determination to stay awake and enjoy his friend’s company, his body seemed to have taken control and he slowly drifted to sleep, feeling nothing but the wind that rustled up the hills playing with the tendrils of his hair and the loose fabric of his linen shirt around his wrists.
He could have sworn in his dream-filled state that there was someone touching him. Just a gentle touch to his hand, something like that and then it moved to a light touch to his neck. His dreams took him somewhere new until he thought of the lady he had drawn in the sketch.
Lady Violette was sitting by his side on the cliffs as he slept, and it was her hand that was beginning to trace him, reaching out for that intimate touch. Then her fingers passed over his lips, tracing their shape too. He longed for her to kiss him, just once.
Yet nothing came. Only wind that brushed against his lips. Then he heard something move. This dream version of Lady Violette bent down and kissed him after all. It was a small thing, brief with just a brush of lips together, barely there at all, but it was enough to tease him with the promise of more.
He was unsure how long he was asleep before he woke up, looking around with blinking eyes and lifting himself up on his elbows. Mr Blake was still beside him, finishing off some water they had brought with them.
“How long was I asleep?” Marcus asked, yawning.
“Only a few minutes, my lord. Do you wish to return? Or would you like a little longer?”
“A little longer. I have no wish to leave this place yet,” Marcus said happily, resting back down on the ground. He was in a happy place indeed up here, looking at the beautiful view after his walk, with what was now one of his closest friends by his side. As for the dream, he would do well not to think too much about that.
After all, his father’s letter that had arrived that morning had made it perfectly clear what Marcus’ future would be, and it did not involve fantasising anymore about Lady Violette.
***
Violette couldn’t believe she had gotten away with it. Even after she had packed up their picnic and she and Lord Northrive began to trek back down the hill, she kept thinking of it.
With him fast asleep beside her on the mountain, and now knowing that she loved him, she had been weak. She had given into the want to touch him and indulged in it. First, she had touched his hand, seeing if it would wake him. Yet when it was obvious that his sleep was so deep that he would not wake, she grew bolder, touching the exposed skin of his neck and then indulging in the greatest liberty of all. It was a kiss, not a proper one, just a brush of lips. Yet it had sent a thrill through her before she retreated from him, feeling scared of what she had done.
She had tested the waters and knew beyond doubt that she loved him. Now that she had experimented in what one kiss could be like, she wanted to know another, and she wanted him to know who she really was.
For what was the point in being in love with a man if she could not tell him of it? Perhaps it was right to tell him the truth. She could tell him exactly who she was, the reasons why she had run away, and how she had fallen in love with him, never having expected anything so wondrous to happen. Yes, it could work. He was already her friend, and he had done a drawing of her back behind the piano on the day that they first met. Was it possible perhaps that if he knew the truth, he could care for her too?
“There is only one way to find out,” she whispered to herself as she clambered down the rocks, following him. “I have to tell him the truth.”
“What was that?” Lord Northrive asked, looking back up to her.
“Nothing,” she said with a smile, her mind made up.
