Page 43
Less than a month after leaving behind London in order to severely economize, Mother and Father left with the laird to go spend a great deal of money in Edinburgh.
How Cordelia had wanted to vocalize her objections and concerns! She knew better. Even the tiniest tiptoe toward expressing her worries had led to a scolding from Father in front of Archie McCrory and Sebastian of the Home Farm.
Seraphina was as frustrated as Cordelia was. They both knew better than to discuss any of it with their parents. Nothing was ever talked about in their family—nothing that mattered anyway. Attempting to force such conversations always ended badly.
Her sister had taken possession of the small sitting room in which the pianoforte had been placed, making it their erstwhile music room. Seraphina had spent the hours since their parents’ departure singing, something she did whenever feeling strong emotions, be those emotions joy or sorrow, elation or frustration. Cordelia felt certain this day’s upheaval was of an irritated variety.
Feeling quite a lot of that herself, she claimed her artistic escape, fetching her lead pencils and her parchment and slipping from the house. It was likely not entirely proper to be wandering about without a chaperone, to call on a man she was not related to in order to indulge in a diversion her parents didn’t entirely approve of.
If they had concerns, they ought to either have remained at Burnwick House or never forced the family to leave London in the first place. Teviotbrae was to be her home now. She would live here in whatever way afforded her a bit of happiness. And every moment of happiness she’d had involved either her sister or Sebastian.
And thus, she took her minimal supplies directly to the home farm at Teviot Castle. Luck was with her; Sebastian was working near the house, saving her the difficulty of searching him out.
“Good morning, Sebastian.”
He tossed the slop bucket into the pig trough, then setting it aside, popped his hat off his head. “Good morning to you, Miss Wakefield.”
She stepped onto a rock beside the stone wall, making her tall enough to easily see him over it. “It is a little odd that I call you Sebastian and you call me Miss Wakefield. Either I need to know what your surname is, or you need to call me Cordelia.”
He stood facing her from the opposite side of the wall. “Would you not think me a terrible upstart if I called you by your Christian name?”
She smiled. “I call you by yours.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement of that. It was one of his many mannerisms that marked him as someone who’d spent time in fine society and had been versed in all the civilities. He was such a mystery. A rather lovely one, truth be told.
“What’s brought you to the home farm, Cordelia?” He said her name with just enough of a hint of Scotland to make it sound almost magical. She liked that very much, indeed.
“If it would not cause you any inconvenience, might I work on my sketch of Shadow?”
“No inconvenience at all, Cordelia.” Oh, the way he said her name!
He was everything that was considerate and kind as he saw her settled on a three-legged stool in the small hedgerow-lined pasture where Shadow was passing the morning. He asked if she was in need of anything that he might obtain for her. When she assured him she had all she needed, he insisted he was available should that change. The contrast of his courteousness with her parents’ selfishness proved a balm.
“I hear that the laird left for Edinburgh this morning.” He made the observation with a tone that indicated he understood why that would be of particular concern to her.
“Yes. A departure for Edinburgh most certainly occurred this morning.”
Empathy immediately filled his expression. “Family ought not add to one’s worries. I am sorry that yours does.”
“Thank you, Sebastian.” No matter that she’d been calling him by his name from their first meeting—there was something more personal in it now.
He dipped his head. “I will leave you to your art, Cordelia.”
“You will come back to see it when I am finished?”
“Would you like me to?” he asked, a little more quietly.
Cordelia held back the admission that she’d very much like him not to leave in the first place. She kept herself to a simple, “Yes, please.”
With another dip of his head, he returned to his work, leaving her to see to hers.
Shadow was perfectly content to wander about the meadow, exploring and occasionally taking a nibble at the grass. Cordelia forced herself to focus and not look back in the direction Sebastian had gone. She had enjoyed her interactions with him, even looked forward to more. This was, however, the first time she’d felt such a strong pull. It was somehow both pleasant and upending.
The lamb was content in her grazing, affording Cordelia ample opportunity to study her sweet little face and make adjustments to the sketch. The day was fine, a light breeze adding an idyllic quality to the setting without making the air overly chilled. The natural perfume of flowers and meadow grass wafted about. The lamb’s vocalizations drifted to her, as did the thumps and cracks and heavy footfalls of Sebastian seeing to his work. Now and then, he even called out in answer to Shadow’s plaintive cries.
Cordelia quickly filled in the details her sketch had been missing. She added a few extra things to the scenery, thickened a few lines where it made sense, and generally refined the drawing. Her fingers itched to make an attempt at drawing Sebastian, but she would want to sketch him as he’d looked at Loch Tev—sitting on a rock, gaze on the water, thoughts clearly far away. That moment, that look on his face, had returned to her again and again in the time since they’d made that short journey.
What had he been thinking? Where had he been imagining himself? What had he thought of her presence there?
