I stopped under a stone archway, examining the vines that climbed up the sides, much like the ones in the gardens at Sedgwick Manor where Mama had bid me farewell. I closed my eyes, breathing in the earthy smell of rain and the faint scent of sweet flowers. I sang a tune under my breath. Mama had warned me against ever singing in front of anyone, as my pitch was ‘the worst she had ever heard,’ but had encouraged me to sing to my heart’s content when I was alone, for singing was the only way to truly free the soul. I sang in a quiet voice at first, letting my soft, shaking voice join the birds in the trees.
O’er mountain, o’er valley, o’er rolling green hill
Little Anne goes riding
O’er stream, o’er woods, with a lone quadrille
A man she soon be finding
My voice grew louder as I began the second verse, and I spun in a circle beneath the archway, closing my eyes as faint droplets of rain fell on my cheeks.
“Good morning, Miss Sedgwick.”
I staggered back at the voice that came from behind me, pressing a hand against my chest. My heart beat more wildly than the wings of the robins in the nearby tree as they took desperate flight away from the sound of a gentleman’s voice.
If only I had wings too.
My stomach plummeted. Had he heard me singing? I did not have to face him to know who it was. That melodic, deep voice was not easy to forget. Elegant, but not too elegant, flashed through my mind again, and I realized just how far from elegant I was in this moment. I had left my hair in a braid over my shoulder, rather than a neat, more acceptable coiffure. I hadn’t expected to encounter anyone this early in the morning, and especially not Mr. Hill.
Perhaps I was mistaken. It could have been a groundskeeper or some other man who somehow knew my name. Or rather, Sophia’s name. I turned around with as much timid indifference as I could manage. My heart continued its wild pounding as my hopes crashed down around me.
It was not a groundskeeper.
“Mr. Hill,” I choked, dropping a quick curtsy. In my mind, I had foolishly expected to see him with jam still smeared on his cheek. But instead, he didn’t have anything on his cheek but faint stubble and a deep dimple from his lopsided smile. Drat. What had I done to make him smile now? And why did it do such strange things to my stomach? I swallowed, searching for my voice, which had somehow deserted me after my loud and horrific singing. “F-forgive me. I did not expect to see anyone this early.” I stared at a pebble near my boot.
“What is there to forgive?” he asked, a smile still evident in his voice. “It was a privilege to hear your…lovely singing.”
I glanced up, stepping a pace backward at the same time. “You must forgive me for subjecting you to such a horrendous sound.” I paused. “Additionally…you must forgive me for the tarts I assailed you with yesterday. It seems I have now trespassed on what is likely your daily routine, for which I should also apologize and excuse myself at once.” I took another step back, but he filled the space I made, tipping his head to one side. I leaned against one edge of the archway, crossing my arms awkwardly in front of me.
A deep chuckle escaped him. “This is not my daily routine, but if it becomes yours then I might have to make it mine, as well.”
My heart leaped. “I, well, I have no intention of exploring the gardens this early again. The weather is still a bit cold, you see, and I have never been one to abide cold weather.”
“You seemed to have been enjoying yourself immensely before you saw me.”
I remembered the way I had been standing, eyes closed, singing with deep content. I had been enjoying myself. But now it seemed Mr. Hill was enjoying himself far too much. What else could I do to repel him? I searched my mind for an idea, but nothing came. Surely he was simply accustomed to flirting with any lady he conversed with; this couldn’t possibly be out of the ordinary for him. But then, the fact that he was voluntarily conversing with me at all was unsettling. “I was quite content, if you must know,” I said. “I much prefer being alone than speaking with others at this hour of the day. I am not at all amiable until at least ten o’clock, and not fully amiable until the afternoon.” I put on a scowl, hoping it would frighten or jar him at least a little.
His smile only grew, and those blasted dimples appeared again. “I see. You did seem quite amiable yesterday afternoon when you spilled the tea tray.” One of his dark eyebrows arched, and a teasing glint entered his eyes. “You helped me escape an unwelcome gathering in the drawing room.”
“Unwelcome?” I cursed my tongue for questioning him. It would only prolong this conversation that should not have even been occurring.
He studied my face for a long moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “It is no matter. Let it be sufficient that I am grateful for your well-timed interference.” Another deep chuckle came from him, and I scolded myself for allowing the flutter it caused in my stomach. Why should a man like Mr. Hill need Mrs. Ollerton to help him find a match? He could have had his pick of any young lady, but instead he was resigned to picking between five. Well, four, since I was not to be included.
“How can you be grateful? I soiled your clothing and spilled tea on your shoes…” my voice trailed off. I did not care to relive that dreadful experience.
His lips curled into a playful grin. “I was most grateful to see your blush as a result, and I must say I find it quite becoming.”
As much as I willed them not to, my cheeks burst into flames at his words, burning hot at the centers. “It is not charming,” I blurted as fear caught up to me. What was I saying? Trying to convince him of my shortcomings seemed the only way to erase that smile on his face. “I daresay I look very much like a lobster.”
Mr. Hill chuckled. “You must allow me to contradict you, Miss Sedgwick. I have never seen such a pretty lobster.”
Where were those robins? If only they could each take hold of one of my sleeves and fly me up into the air where Mr. Hill could not see the increasing dismay and color on my face. Completely bereft of a response, I did what I could to drive my claim that I was not amiable in the morning: I shot him my most cutting glare before turning on my heel and marching toward the doors I had escaped from that morning. My heart pounded as I hurried away.
Mr. Hill’s boots scuffed distantly over the path behind me, but I didn’t turn around, desperate as I was to escape the sound of his chuckling.
“Mrs. Ollerton has planned a trip into Bibury this afternoon,” he called, stopping me. “I look forward to finding you in your most amiable state.”
I bit my lip, debating whether or not to turn around. Deciding it would be better to pretend I had not heard him, I hurried inside the doors.
I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the quick beating of my heart against my palm. Willing myself to relax was proving a difficult task. Did Mr. Hill flirt so shamelessly with all the ladies here? I could easily envision the tall, blonde woman, Miss Downsfield, flirting back and enjoying every moment of it. Was Mr. Hill simply testing me, to see if I were just as eager to win his attention as Miss Downsfield? He seemed to delight in the attention.
Well, he would be getting none of it from me.
I took a deep breath, hastening back to my room before Mrs. Ollerton could find me.
Or Mr. Hill, for that matter.