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“Isn’t it? And I can’t help but feel certain that, when he’s here, he’s going to be keen for all manner of exciting things. Else why ever would he go to so much trouble?”
“Why, indeed?” Theo soon made her excuses, completed her purchases, and hastened home, conscious of a little ping of hurt within. Not that she needed to be in the know about everything that pertained to Becky, but nobody liked to be behind the times in learning news. Especially when it concerned oneself to some degree.
Still, Theo shouldn’t be focused on herself. A recent Scripture reading drew to mind: “Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves.” Thinking she must know all was folly. Far better to spend her time in thanks and prayers for those around her rather than contemplating hopes that were not to be.
She drew in a breath, admiring the waving heads of crocuses scattered along the road. Things to be thankful for: it was spring, the weather was fine, there was no wind to chase her on her walk, Mama was well, Grandfather’s gout had improved, and Becky was enjoying time with friends.
A nicker of a horse drew her glance over her shoulder, and she straightened to a standstill. “Captain Balfour!”
“Ah, Miss Stapleton. I was hoping to run into you.” He dismounted and drew the horse to the side of the road. “I trust you are well?”
“Yes, thank you, sir.”
“I have missed seeing you these past days and have had no chance to tell you of my schemes.”
“It seems your schemes are quite the talk of the village.”
“Ah. You have heard, then?”
“That you mean to do up Mannering and host many parties? Forgive me, but I had rather the opposite impression when we last conversed.”
“Yes. Well.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw. “I wondered if rumors to that effect might occur.”
“Rumors are the bread on which many a villager feasts.”
He gave a rueful chuckle. “Precisely what I wished to avoid. Miss Stapleton, I—”
The sight of a gig on the next hill drew awareness that Frederick Bellingham had threatened to visit today. She held up a hand and stopped the captain. Heart sinking, she said, “Frederick Bellingham, the squire’s son you met the other day, will be passing this way in just a minute.”
“Are we to never have a moment’s conversation?” he grumbled.
“If you wish to converse, sir, then perhaps you might find a space of quiet in the trees over there.” She pointed to a nearby copse of oaks.
“And speak with myself?”
“And not be discovered,” she retorted. “Go. I will be finished with Mr. Bellingham shortly.”
He shook his head and drew his horse away, and amusement tugged at the sight of the bold hero of England so meekly obeying her and hiding in the woods.
It wasn’t many seconds later she heard her name called and paused her walking to turn and lift a hand to shade her eyes.
“Miss Stapleton! Allow me to offer you a ride home.”
“Thank you kindly, Mr. Bellingham, but I should not.”
“Why shouldn’t you? You have done so many times in the past.”
She winced internally, sure his voice carried to the man behind the trees. “You have offered many times in the past, but I have rarely accepted.”
“I am just trying to be a gentleman.”
“And I truly appreciate that. But I enjoy walking.”
“So you always say.”
“Because it is always true. Now, I must thank you for your kind offer, and wish you a good day.”
“But you should not be walking alone here.”
