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Home had become an uncomfortable place. Cordelia’s parents were arguing more often and more bitterly. And the two of them seemed entirely determined to spend money the family didn’t have on improvements the home didn’t truly need.
Cordelia wanted to return to London. She had maintained some hopes that eventually she might. Those hopes were fading more each day. The family coffers would never fill enough for returning if her parents continued emptying them.
With the daily bickering already begun, Cordelia gathered up her parchment, lead pencils, and a small blanket, and escaped the house. She’d taken quite a number of walks around the estate, coming to know the fields and the overgrown gardens there. On this day, however, she wandered farther afield.
She left the Burnwick House grounds, even walked past the turn in the road that led to Teviot Castle. She walked farther from the house than she ever had before. Her steps took her to a low stone wall dividing the road from an extensive field. A large and stately tree growing near the fence caught her eye and piqued her curiosity.
Cordelia utilized a passthrough in the wall and slipped to the other side. She spread a blanket on the ground at enough of a distance to see the tree in its entirety, but near enough that she could also see it in detail. Pencil in hand, she began a rough sketch.
Painting was her preferred medium, but she also liked to sketch. Losing herself in art had always been calming, something she’d desperately needed lately.
Cordelia had not expected her removal to Scotland to be smooth or immediately enjoyable. Adjusting to a new life and place took time. But everything seemed to be going wrong.
She hadn’t realized until coming to this corner of the world how disagreeable her parents could be with each other. London had offered ample diversions and the two had seldom interacted, at least in front of their children. In this place, with nowhere for them to go, no one for them to call on, they were left with only each other for company, and that was proving disastrous.
Seraphina had endeared herself almost instantly to the staff at the house and those who worked at Teviot Castle. Their one brief excursion to the village had found her sister a quick favorite amongst the merchants and their families. Seraphina had an ease with people and an ability to adjust to new situations quickly.
Cordelia had never before been in a place she didn’t know well, amongst people she hadn’t known all her life. And though no one had mentioned it to her directly, she was absolutely certain tales of her mishap with her racquet had already been whispered far and wide. Her embarrassment further weighed down her mind and heart.
But in this moment, she was surrounded by the beauty of nature, indulging in a favorite pastime. A whisper of peace rested in the air. There were no parental voices raised in anger. There was no naturally friendly sister unintentionally reminding her of how naturally awkward she herself was. There was no sound but the light breeze rustling the leaves and the scratch of her pencil against the paper.
And the bleating of a lamb.
She looked up, surprised by the sudden sound. This area of Scotland was home to a great many sheep. To hear one making noise ought to have been the rule rather than the exception.
Sure enough, a little lamb was nearby. It was not, however, alone, but following close on the heels of the one everyone referred to as Sebastian of the Home Farm. He was walking through the field with a clear sense of purpose. He appeared entirely oblivious to his four-legged companion, though she suspected he was not.
There wasn’t time to pack up her things and make a hasty retreat. He was too nearby and had already seen her. Determined not to make a fool of herself yet again, she squared her shoulders, summoned her dignity, and prepared herself to greet him.
He approached but didn’t come all the way to where she sat. He took off his hat and held it at his side. “Miss Wakefield,” he greeted.
He spoke with more of an English accent than a Scottish one, and his mannerisms would not have been out of place at a Society gathering in London. Was it possible the local people referred to him as “of the home farm,” but he was not actually the Teviot Castle home farmer?
“I’m not familiar with how the land is divided up in Teviotbrae,” she said. “If I am trespassing where I ought not be, please tell me, and I will move.”
“These are open fields, used mostly for grazing and not claimed by any one person. You’re welcome to sit here if you’d like. The flock that frequents this area is on the other side of the hill. It’ll leave you be.”
“And are you taking this lamb to rejoin the flock?”
Sebastian shook his head. “This little one’s mother didn’t survive the lambing. None of the ewes would accept the little orphan.”
Cordelia needed but a moment to understand what Sebastian hadn’t said, what he seemed embarrassed at the mere prospect of saying. “You have been taking care of the lamb.”
“Couldn’t leave her to die.” Sebastian shrugged, clearly intending to look as though it were nothing at all and he had no real attachment to the tiny animal. But Cordelia was certain she saw quite the opposite lingering in his expression. “Follows me around everywhere now.”
“Have you taken her as a pet?” She’d never heard of anyone having a sheep as a pet, but she wasn’t overly familiar with this part of the kingdom. Perhaps it was rather ordinary here.
“I suppose she’s become something like that,” Sebastian said. “Though she’s proving more work than I would have expected.”
“Do you not have sheep on the home farm?” Here was an opportunity to see if her suspicion about his name being somewhat leading was correct without having to directly ask him.
“The purpose of the home farm is to grow food for the castle and tend to chickens and pigs and such. I’ve no interaction with sheep. Other than this one, that is.”
He did live and work on the home farm, then.
The little lamb wandered a little bit closer to her, but kept a distance, apparently wary of her.
“Have you given your accidental pet a name?”
