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Until his marriage, Kenver had never noticed how much of his life was overlooked. He’d felt he had privacy where none existed, it seemed.
“Should we take Merlin a sandwich?” she said.
“No. What the deuce is an elf bolt?”
She grinned again, looking mischievous. “That’s what some people call the old flint arrowheads one finds now and then. I think they’re actually just remains of the ancient Britons. But elf bolts sound much grander.”
Merlin appeared, seemingly to carry a basket to the barn but actually to peer at their food like a hopeful dog. “I wish I had an elf bolt now,” Kenver muttered.
“He has no bread,” replied Sarah. “He told Cecelia he was no baker.”
“He could buy some in the village. Or trade vegetables for it.”
“I suppose. But we are not going to finish it all.” She gathered up a selection of their viands and held it out. The blasted fellow hurried over, but instead of accepting the gift and taking himself off, he sat down at the edge of their blanket to eat.
“It was really the lantern, wasn’t it?” he asked Sarah, pointing at her scorched skirt.
“You don’t believe in elf bolts?”
“If there was anything uncanny hereabouts, I would have found it.” He sounded regretful.
“Because you’ve searched?” Sarah asked.
“Oh, aye.”
“Being on your own here.” She looked sympathetic.
Sarah was all quicksilver sweetness and bright leaps of insight, Kenver thought. She seemed to see through things that he looked past. He could have understood that Merlin was lonely, but he hadn’t bothered. The thing was: it was easier not to notice, sometimes. And he still felt the man should help himself rather than relying on his wife for company. “I’ll saddle the horses,” he said.
He did so. They gathered up the picnic and stowed things away. Then Kenver could only help Sarah onto her horse with lingering hands while he gazed at her with the hunger of a man seeing paradise just out of reach.
Sarah rode home in a haze of delight. They could slip up to her room as soon as they reached Poldene, she thought. There would be no Cranston to thwart them today. If they went in through the side door, they would take up from where they’d left off before the accident with the lantern. Scandalous things, she thought, flushing with heat at the thought.
But when they rode into the Poldene stable yard, a groom was sent running, and a footman came rushing back with him. “Her ladyship wishes to speak to you,” the latter said to Sarah.
“To me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
This was not good news. What could Kenver’s mother want?
“We will see her at dinner,” replied Kenver, starting to sweep by the servant toward the door.
“She left orders that the young lady was to be brought at once, sir. As soon as she returned.”
“I must change out of my riding clothes.” Sarah looked down at the scorched spot. Lady Trestan would certainly notice it. She saw everything.
“Her ladyship was quite…insistent,” said the footman.
Which translated as furious. What could she have done? Sarah wondered. They’d been away since breakfast.
With a muttered protest, Kenver turned toward the drawing room. Sarah followed, her mood rapidly descending.
They found both Kenver’s parents sitting on a sofa, looking thunderous. Cecelia was sitting with them with the air of someone who would not be moved. The atmosphere wasnotharmonious. “You have received a letter,” said Kenver’s mother to Sarah. She put her hand on a sealed sheet of paper as if to hold it down.
Sarah didn’t see why this should be an accusation. In the first place, it was merely correspondence. In the second,shehadn’t sent it.
“From our daughter,” the woman added. She looked outraged. Kenver’s mouth fell open in surprise.
