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“Oh?”
She puffed her chest and rather petulantly put her hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know I turned ten three weeks ago. Though, I don’t think anyone noticed except mama. I guess it’s because father is dead.” His little aunt said the words so casually that it told him everything he needed to know about how close she was to her sire.
“I’m sorry,” he said regardless.
She shrugged. “Eh, I’m not bothered. I think I’m supposed to be. Everyone who visits keeps acting like I should. You know, I only met him a handful of times in my life, so why should I be upset?”
“I wasn’t upset when my father died, either, if it makes you feel better.” Not that he’d even met the man in his life, but the girl need not know that.
She looked at him with wide eyes. “Really?”
“Really,” he replied solemnly.
“That makes me feel better, I think,” she replied before putting her hands behind her back. “I’m Charlotte.”
“Arthur Barrow,” he replied cordially and felt just a moment of bitterness at losing that surname.
Charlotte rocked on her heels before smoothing her pinafore. “I must be off, Mr. Barrow. Mama will be looking for me. I only snuck out because she was gone.”
“Would you like me to take you home?” he offered, knowing that the walk was likely a long one.
But his aunt shook her head. “No, thank you. I like walking.”
“Very well,” he replied with a nod, trusting that she knew her own home far better than he. “Until next time, Lady Charlotte.”
“Bye,” she said with an abrupt wave before trotting away along one of the field paths. He watched her form disappear over a hill before turning his horse back around. He couldn’t continue poking around lest she spy him again, though Arthur had learned a wealth of information, regardless. He had at least two living aunts and a distressingly young step-grandmother. She, along with her daughter, seemed an alright sort, and he could admit to feeling a pang of guilt at painting them with the same brush as the rest. The fields were obviously ill-used, even to his untrained eye, and there had been several offers to buy the unentailed parts of the property. The next step would be to see the manor house itself. After today’s rather ominous revelations, the tiny amount of optimism he’d felt was quickly shriveling up. He’d never wished to be back in London and amongst the smokey revelry of his card rooms more.
Chapter Seven
After nearly a week of only seeing Mr. Barrow during mealtimes and him almost never gracing her company without the others present, Francesca had developed the distinct impression that he was purposefully avoiding her. While it was to be expected that the men, being such a tight trio, would spend a decent amount of time frolicking about together without her, they seemed to go out an inordinate amount of times. Even when Ashford stayed behind to tend to Kitty, Mr. Barrow would accompany Jasper during his daily rounds of the estate and meetings with the steward. Why a gambling club owner would be at all interested in crop rotations or tenant management was a complete mystery, and even Kitty and Sophie had wondered aloud about the rather odd outings. Francesca didn’t want to credit herself with more importance than she ought, but she could think of no other reason for Mr. Barrow to take such drastic measures if not to avoid finding himself alone with her. She should be relieved that he saw the need for distance, and yet she only felt a stubborn sense of disappointment, that feeling turning increasingly into irritation as the week dragged on with no sign of him.
Francesca kicked a small rock from the path she walked on, annoyed that her feelings were in such a jumble during what was supposed to be a peaceful respite from the season. She paused to stare at a pond that the trail wound around, admiring the water as it glittered in the afternoon sun. She’d walked farther from the house than usual, needing some space alone to sort out her thoughts. Lady Clifton and Lady Aircourt were visiting for tea, making good on their promise. Their presence worked as a decent distraction for Kitty and Sophie, whom, while not saying anything directly, had seemed to pick up on her morose mood and the cause of it, if the knowing smiles they sent her way were any indication.
A masculine voice broke the silence. “I should have known.”
And just like that, Arthur Barrow was there. Francesca clenched her hands, willing her nerves to subside before turning to face him. He stood a few yards away, seemingly having just emerged from the woodlands in the distance. His hat missing and hair alluringly windswept, the man made for a charming tableau, even while wearing a mild frown. Jasper was nowhere to be found, odd considering he had supposedly left with Barrow that morning to visit some new tenets. Why he was here, alone and on the entire other end of the property, was certainly a mystery. “What brings you all the way out here, Mr. Barrow?”
His gaze shuddered at her question, his reply coming after the slightest pause. “I was wandering about and lost my way.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You were wandering? This coming from a man who has been quite vocal about his disdain for the country in the past?” Francesca was still shocked he’d even come to Festoon Hall at all, let alone remain there after two weeks. It was all so strange.
Barrow glared, grey eyes glittering with irritation. “You profess to know much about me, don’t you?”
“I…” She shut her mouth, at a loss for what to say to that unexpectedly harsh reply. It was a sudden, jarring reminder of just how frivolous their strange flirtation was. It shouldn’t have hurt her feelings to have that reality thrown in her face, but by God, it did. Perhaps he really had been avoiding her on purpose after having grown bored with her already. Her fingers clenched tighter, and for a brief, mortifying moment, she thought she might cry.
“That was harsh of me, I apologize,” he said suddenly, running an awkward hand through his hair and staring out at the pond. “I’ve been having an off day.”
She shook her head. “No, you are right. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“Shall we agree to disagree, then?” The charming smile he donned blasted away some of her misgivings. Some of them.
Francesca decided to accept the olive branch being thrown her way and smiled back. “I suppose we shall.” Knowing that the next words were likely unwise but wanting to maintain the goodwill they’d managed to wrest from this near-row, she continued. “I was making my way to the ruins nestled in the forest. Would you care to escort me?”
Barrow paused a moment before nodding slightly. “I would love nothing more.” He closed the gap between them and held out an arm.
The awareness of her hand on his person was no longer a surprise, but still just as distracting. “Have you seen the ruins yet?” she inquired politely as they walked, hoping that small-talk would serve as a distraction from the tension smoldering between them.
“I have not, actually. I was going the opposite way in the woods, so I missed them. Amberwood tells me they are quite the sight.”
