Page 65 of A Figure of Love

“Mr. Lockheart says this might be how the great statues on Salisbury Plain were moved. Mama, did you know that?”

She did, only because he had told her at least six times. “Is that so?” she asked, glad to listen to his excited chatter rather than her own thoughts.

It occurred to her, unhappily, that Oliver had become quite attached to Gareth Lockheart in the weeks he’d been at Rushton Park. It was good he was leaving tomorrow. Already it would be heart-breaking to pull Oliver away from a place he was beginning to think of as home.

She’d been a fool to take this job and believe they could live a normal life. With Etienne always nearby they could never live normally. His constant blackmailing would ensure they never had enough money to live anything other than a hand-to-mouth existence. And while killing him had more than a little appeal, she’d known—once her temper cooled—that she could never kill another human being. Not even one who deserved it.

Although they were early, there were already a surprising number of people milling around, admiring the dimensions of the rock, looking at Gareth’s simple mechanism for moving it, and generally enjoying the holiday-atmosphere of the sunny, warm day.

Gareth was standing with Mr. Flowers and the two men were looking out over the area that would soon be covered with water.

Oliver took her hand. “Mama, there are Robbie and Tom.” He pointed to the two young boys she knew to be Cook’s nephews.

“Go ahead and play. Just make sure you stay well away from the workers once the work begins.”

He was gone, the other two boys already running to meet him.

“Mrs. Lombard?”

Serena turned to find Mrs. Cooper, the owner of the little shop of all needs in town. She smiled. “Hello, ma’am. Have you run away and left Mr. Cooper in charge today?”

The older woman chuckled. “Oh no. ’Tis a holiday for him as well. Besides, there is nobody in town to buy anything today. ’Tis like a ghost town.” She stepped a little closer. “I hope it’s not forward of me, but I’ve brought some lemonade and a cask of ale. The other ladies have brought a few things as well.” Her round cheeks flushed. “We don’t often have a day like this, all together, and we thought to make a small picnic.”

“What a wonderful idea, Mrs. Cooper.” Serena noticed that blankets were being laid and the beds of the few sturdy wagons to have made their way from Rushton Park’s drive were serving as impromptu buffet tables. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that and we might have had a tent and tables.”

Mrs. Cooper waved her hand. “You’ve had enough to do what with organizing tonight’s dance, as well.”

Serena laughed. “Now that I cannot take credit for. Mr. Jessup, who is a wizard when it comes to such things, made all the arrangements for this evening’s festivities.”

Another lady, this one a stranger, approached, and soon Serena was surrounded by happy, chattering townsfolk.

∞∞∞

Gareth felt her before he saw her. He was not a mystical person—quite the opposite, but he knew, without a doubt, when she arrived. The fine hairs on the back of his neck lifted and his skin prickled with awareness. And then Mr. Flowers had looked over his shoulder, smiled, and said, “Ah, there is Mrs. Lombard.”

Rather than feeling gratified at being correct, Gareth was unnerved at his body’s response. He was in control of himself, not his flesh. Or was he? Yesterday flashed through his mind and he frowned. Thinking of the scene at the river made him cringe; she’d manipulated him as skillfully as she’d sketched him.

Fortunately for his sanity, his anger had cooled during the night and the result was a more stable emotion, like ore that had been forged in fire, impurities burnt away until only cold, hard iron remained.

Gareth would not discharge her; why should he? She meant nothing to him. Just a temporary disarrangement of his thoughts. Nor would he waste any time plotting some elaborate revenge. He would simply ignore her, which would probably do enough to hurt her pride.

Satisfied with his decision, he tucked the unproductive thoughts away and turned his attention to the task at hand.

Gareth’s pulley, net, and log system ended up moving the big rock up the hill in almost half the time he had planned for it. He believed the entire village and more than a few farmers had taken the day as a holiday and come to watch the event. Women had brought food, children ran wild, dogs barked, and the sun shone its benevolent rays over all of it.

Had he not felt so . . . muffled, he would have enjoyed immensely the sight of the big rock rolling out of its hole as if it had wanted to move all along. The pulley had shifted it with admirable smoothness, the uniform logs he’d chosen rolling as surely as the finest crafted carriage wheels. When the rock reached the summit of the small hill a cheer went up. Mr. Flowers clapped him on the shoulder and then realized what he’d done when Gareth flinched.

“Ah, beggin’ your pardon, sir, Mr. Lockheart.”

Before Gareth could respond, another hand touched his other shoulder and gave a light squeeze.

“Congratulations, Mr. Lockheart!”

He turned at the sound of her voice, his face schooled into the same expression he always wore: an expression that gave nothing of his thoughts away.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lombard. It went far more smoothly than I anticipated.” Because he was watching her with the intensity of a scientist monitoring an experiment, he saw how his cool, civil response surprised her, and not pleasantly.

Her smile dimmed a little and she took an almost imperceptible step back. “Our neighbors have provided food and drinks for the festivities.” She gestured toward the wagons and blankets on the opposite side of what would soon be the lake. “Would you care to join me?”