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‘Who knew sour-faced old Hockley had a second cousin who is a golden-haired Adonis?’
‘Looks can be deceiving, young lady,’ said Mrs
Outhwaite who seemed determined to think ill of him at all costs. ‘But I dare say we’ll all have his full measure soon enough, although if you want my opinion…’ Which of course Sophie didn’t but everyone else did. ‘Any handsomeness on his face is spoiled by the cruelty in his eyes. The Peel family are famously malicious and those eyes are as frigid as winter.’ She shivered for effect, which made poor Aunt Jemima blanch.
‘Have you considered that he might simply be shy?’ Even as she said the words, Sophie didn’t believe them because if his fierce scowl at the butcher was anything to go by he was more likely to be a chip off the old block rather than a breath of fresh air, and therefore as curmudgeonly, humourless and standoffish as his un-mourned distant relative had been. ‘Or overwhelmed? It must be daunting to arrive in such a close-knit community burdened with such great responsibility. Especially if one isn’t used to it.’
The close-knit aspect had certainly taken Sophie a few years to get used to when she had first arrived here a decade ago in dire need of privacy, so she sympathised if he felt overwhelmed by all the nosiness. To have come from the rigid structure of the army where he would have been told what to do by the powers above, to suddenly becoming the all-powerful master entirely responsible for all he surveyed, must have come as quite a shock too. Enough that it would explain away his reluctance to engage with anyone as yet.
Hopefully.
Mrs Outhwaite cocked her head in the direction of the glaring Lord Hockley who was now stood looming over the butcher with insolently folded arms and a frown so fierce the poor baker beside them appeared to shrink several inches under the force of it. ‘Does that man look overwhelmed or shy to you?’
He didn’t.
If anything, the new Lord Hockley seemed to be in the highest of dudgeons and didn’t seem to care one wit who knew it. But even from this distance she could see Mrs Outhwaite had got one thing very wrong. There was nothing frigid about the new earl’s eyes. The unfathomable and intense heat in them burned like the sun.
As they all stared, Lord Hockley stalked away from the gentlemen and, to everyone’s horror, straight across the square towards them. Almost as if he had had quite enough of all their nonsense and was determined to put a stop to it. Mrs Outhwaite was the first to flee and within seconds all the ladies had scattered like ants, leaving only Sophie still scrutinising the same apple as if her life depended upon it and Aunt Jemima who hovered anxiously by her side.
With no other choice other than to brazen it out, Sophie picked up two more apples and thrust them at the greengrocer. ‘Can I have a pound of potatoes too please, Mr Lynch?’ With any luck, the new earl would storm past in the middle of the transaction so that she and her aunt could pretend not to notice. ‘And half a pound of onions.’ With the cobblestones beneath her feet vibrating from the furious march of his boots, he would be gone in a matter of moments, and they could both breathe again.
‘Good day to you, Lord Hockley.’ At the sound of her aunt’s tremulous voice, Sophie cringed a split second before the boots skidded to an abrupt stop. ‘I have been meaning to introduce myself all week…seeing as we are your closest neighbours.’
This was neither the time nor the place for her aunt to beg for his charity and she prayed the poor thing would see it too. Negotiating with a furious man was never going to end well. ‘I am Miss Jemima Gilbert, a spinster of this parish, and this is my niece…’ Aunt Jemima groped for her sleeve, forcing Sophie to turn and be part of the humiliating mortification of what she feared was about to come.
Two narrowed blue eyes flicked to her as if greatly put upon by the intrusion. After a brief perusal, during which he undoubtedly came to the inescapable conclusion that she was also a dusty old spinster of this parish, he turned back to her aunt with undisguised impatience. ‘We are long-term tenants of yours at…’ The blue eyes rolled.
‘Of course you are. Isn’t everyone in this godforsaken place?’
And with that, he strode away without so much as a backwards glance.
