“Yes, of course.” She smiled brightly at Christopher. “It’s a fine day, and an hour or so’s ride would be lovely.”
Thus it was that, half an hour later, Christopher and Ellen, mounted on their steeds, ambled in the wake of Julia, perched atop a nice-looking bay mare, and Robbie, on his roan. The leafy lanes were perfect for walking or trotting along, and Robbie, who rode every day, had learned where all the bridle paths were. Unerringly, he led them through a gate and onto a path that ran beside the stream, on the opposite bank to the gypsy encampment.
They rode along, letting the horses stretch their legs in a gentle gallop. The sharp-eyed gypsy children spotted them, then recognized them and ran to line the opposite bank, cheering and waving.
Ellen laughed and waved back.
Smiling and waving himself, Christopher glanced at her, and his smile deepened as he took in the sight of her ribbons bobbing about her ears. Strangely enough, these days, he barely saw them—or rather, they no longer signaled to him what they once had. Ribbons, rosettes, frills, and furbelows were no longer a sight that sent him running; now, they drew him in with the promise of passion, warmth, and a contented future.
Enjoyable, relaxing, and without incident, the ride was a great success. Mindful of instructions, Robbie turned them back in time to reach Bigfield House just as the luncheon gong rang out.
They dismounted in the stable yard and walked to the shrubbery—to where, beside the long pool, the staff had stationed two wicker armchairs. Emma sat in one, with Sir Humphrey in his bath chair alongside; both were chatting with Kirkpatrick, in the other armchair, while footmen and maids put the final touches to a repast laid out on several blankets spread on the grass.
In proposing the picnic, Emma had asked Christopher if his guests at the manor would care to join the company. Knowing all three were hoping for a true day of rest—a day of doing nothing at all—he’d demurred on their behalf.
It was a glorious summer’s afternoon, with blue sky above and not a cloud to be seen. The drone of bees and the twittering of birds provided a muted background chorus as, with appreciative smiles and exclamations, the four riders disposed themselves on the blankets, and the wine and food was passed around.
Christopher had attended innumerable picnics, but none so simply pleasant and undemanding. Sir Humphrey was clearly having one of his better days; he’d recognized Christopher and was holding his own in a conversation with Kirkpatrick.
Christopher exchanged an encouraging look with Ellen.
She leaned closer and whispered, “Luckily, Mr. Kirkpatrick knows nothing about farming or local matters, so anything odd Uncle Humphrey says, Mr. Kirkpatrick simply assumes is correct.”
Regardless, the two older men and Emma continued relaxed and content.
Likewise, Robert and Julia were getting on well—which left Christopher and Ellen to their own company, to sharing smiles, whispers, and soft laughs while they plied each other with morsels from the dishes arrayed on the blanket before them.
Eventually, the food was mostly gone, and two footmen arrived and carted the remnants away, leaving the company sipping wine and cider and lazing in semisomnolence in the afternoon’s warmth.
Sir Humphrey’s chair and the two occupied by Emma and Kirkpatrick had been set just in front of the hedge; soon, the three elders were nodding in the shade cast by the high green wall.
Before any of the rest of them fell asleep, Robert suggested a game of croquet.
Nothing loath, Christopher and Ellen got to their feet, settled their clothes, and followed Robert and an eager Julia out of the shrubbery and around to the square lawn set aside for the game.
Ellen halted under the spreading branches of an oak bordering the lawn. Christopher halted beside her. After a moment, he found her hand with his and, with his gaze on Robbie and Julia, who were collecting the hoops, balls, and mallets from a small cupboard to the side of the lawn, he raised Ellen’s fingers to his lips and brushed a kiss over them.
She glanced his way, curious. He met her gaze and smiled, letting his feelings, his embracing of the simple pleasure of the moment, show, then he released her hand and set off across the lawn to help Robbie position the hoops.
They played as partners, Christopher and Ellen against Robbie and Julia, with much laughter, banter, and good-natured teasing, until a footman arrived bearing a summons from Emma to present themselves for afternoon tea.
They rejoined the trio beside the pool to find the older folk considerably restored.
After passing around the cups, sipping, and eating several delicious cakes, Christopher finally took his leave, sincerely thanking Emma and Sir Humphrey for a most enjoyable day.
Ellen walked with him to the stables. While they waited for Storm to be saddled, she heaved a happy sigh. Meeting his inquiring look, she explained, “Today has been simply lovely. I don’t want to think of all we have to do tomorrow—I’m going to concentrate on enjoying the here and now.”
Holding her gaze, he replied, “A wise and laudable sentiment.”
Before the stableman returned and stole the moment, he dipped his head and kissed the luscious rose-tinted lips she tipped back her head and offered.
For a moment, the connection held—not flaring hotly but more in the nature of an anchoring sureness, a reassurance of unconstrained, unconditional togetherness—then the clop of a hoof reached them, and they broke the kiss, held each other’s gazes for an instant more, then stepped apart.
Christopher mounted, saluted Ellen—she who he was now certain held his heart, for what else could this feeling of deep, unshakeable connection stem from?—then wheeled and rode back to the manor.
There, he found Toby and Drake relaxing in the library. Both were reading recent editions of The Times.
Christopher arched his brows. “Anything?”
Drake lowered the sheet enough to reply, “In the papers, nothing.”
“As for any action here,” Toby said from where he sat behind the desk, poring over the news sheet spread across it, “you’ve missed absolutely nothing.” Looking up, he grinned. “It’s been blessedly quiet all day.”
“Rose?” Christopher dropped into the armchair opposite Drake.
“Not a peep,” Drake replied.
Christopher studied Drake’s for-once-openly mellow expression. “Louisa?”
Drake’s lips curved slightly. “Believe it or not, she’s resting.”
“She said,” Toby explained, “that tomorrow is going to be a hellishly busy day. She plans to head over to Goffard Hall immediately after breakfast.”
“And,” Drake said, his tone hardening, “to stay all day if necessary, which she believes will be the case. Incidentally, all three of us have been conscripted.”
“We’re to be her lieutenants, as it were.” Toby shook his head. “We needed today to gird our loins for tomorrow.”
Christopher sat back and imagined what tomorrow might bring while the other two returned to their reading.
Later, after dinner had been served and consumed and the four of them had dallied in the drawing room long enough to consume the tea Pendleby brought in, Christopher set out to walk through the gentle night to Bigfield House.
He hadn’t said anything to Ellen about joining her that night, yet as he walked past the orchards and through the fields, the notion that she might not welcome his arrival didn’t even enter his head.