at a very basic level that is, perhaps, nothing to be surprised about.
* * *
Laura caught Avery’s eye across the tea table and suppressed a smile. Their arrival together could not have provided Mrs Philpott, her daughters, two female callers and a youth making a cake of himself over Miss Maria Philpott, with more delicious grounds for speculation if they had planned it. The village was small, the pool of genteel company a mere puddle, a mysterious widow and an internationally well-known diplomat and earl would create a gossip broth that might last for months.
Avery. It had been a struggle to smile and to make herself relax and allow the familiarity he asked for, but it was necessary if she was to spend time with Alice. Letting go had been like falling from the certainty of one position—dislike and distrust—to the uneasy foothold of distrust and...what exactly? Physical attraction, he had said. And he was right, she could not delude herself. He was a very attractive man to look at, he had intelligence, power, an unabashed masculinity. And he reminded her of Piers in some ways, but a Piers matured, and this man had never been the impetuous romantic his cousin had been.
One of the two female visitors asked her something and Laura made herself focus and smile. Yes, indeed, it was a delightful village and just what she wanted to recover her health. Yes, it was most kind of Lord Wykeham to escort her, although she was sure such a pleasant place was quite safe for a lady to walk alone.
His lordship was flattering Mrs Philpott on the subject of her nieces, who were playing in the garden under the eye of their governess. Perhaps she could advise him on the best way to find a governess for his daughter?
Mrs Philpott, Laura decided, was somewhat more sophisticated and worldly-wise than the vicar’s wife. She did not bat an eyelash at mention of Miss Falconer and it was she who made the suggestion that Alice might like to come and play with the girls.
That was satisfactory, Laura decided. Alice would have the opportunity to make friends and she could leave now, the civilities achieved. After all, she would not be here more than another week, although she had no intention of saying so just yet, so she had no need to cultivate acquaintances now she had established her respectability.
Avery accepted another cup of tea and seemed to be handling the languishing looks of Miss Philpott, a fresh-faced brunette, with skill. Now would be a good time to make her escape, for he could hardly abandon both tea and young lady without giving offence.
* * *
Laura made her way home along the lane, repeating mentally, Caroline Jordan, Caroline. Caroline. She had almost been caught out by Avery when he addressed her by her assumed name. If she were to survive a week of close encounters, she must learn to respond to that quite naturally.
What was he hoping for with his remarks about physical attraction and his desire for first-name intimacy? Was this some unusual attempt at seduction? Laura shivered. It had not been easy to deal with that startling statement and the self-recognition that went with it. A man like him would treat a widow very differently than he would an unmarried lady. Perhaps he thought her sophisticated enough for a fleeting liaison.
And she had not lied when she had admitted that it had been a long time. There had been no need to spell it out, he knew they were talking about the last time she lay with a man. The awful thing was, the remembered image of Pier’s face as he kissed her, as he lay over her, within her...that face was changing, shifting, becoming the face of Avery Falconer, Earl of Wykeham. Her adversary.
‘Astride! In breeches?’ Avery sounded as scandalised as any prudish matron.
‘Certainly astride,’ Laura countered. ‘Then she can learn balance and control and gain confidence before she has to deal with a side-saddle.’
Alice, clad in clothes borrowed from Cook’s grandson, stood watching them, her head moving back and forth like a spectator at a shuttlecock game. The argument had been going on for ten minutes now and the groom holding the little grey pony’s head was staring blankly across the paddock, obviously wishing himself elsewhere.
‘Is that how you learned to ride?’ Avery demanded.
‘Certainly.’ And she still did when she could get away with it. ‘I am only concerned with Alice’s safety.’
‘Very well.’ As she had guessed, that clinched the argument. Avery lifted the child and swung her into the saddle. ‘Now you—’
Alice promptly slid her feet into the stirrups, heel down, toes out, and gathered up the reins. ‘Aunt Caroline showed me on the rocking horse in the nursery yesterday while you were out.’
‘Aunt?’
Laura shrugged, her nonchalance hiding the warm glow of pride at Alice’s quick learning, her trust. ‘I appear to have been adopted.’
‘So long as you do not mind the familiarity.’ Avery took the leading rein from the groom. ‘I will take her this first time, Ferris.’
‘I am coming, too.’ As if she would not watch her daughter’s first riding lesson!
Avery cast a dubious look from the paddock’s rough grass and muddy patches to her neat leather half-boots, but did not argue. Sensible man, she thought. I wonder where he has learned to humour women. But he would not be so casual about anything that actually mattered to him.
‘Gather up the reins so you can feel the contact with his mouth, press in with your knees and just give him a touch with your heels to tell him to walk on,’ Avery ordered.
Alice gave a little squeak of excitement as the pony moved, then sat silent, her face a frown of concentration.
‘Let your hands and wrists relax.’ Laura reached across to lay her hand over the child’s clenched fingers just as Avery did the same thing. Their gloved fingers met, tangled, held. Alice giggled. ‘Poor Snowdrop, now we’re all riding him.’
‘Relax,’ Avery murmured and Laura shot him a stern glance. It had not been the child he was speaking to. ‘Shoulders back,’ he added as he released her hand to correct Alice’s posture.
‘And seat in.’ Laura patted the target area. ‘That’s perfect. When you ride side-saddle your back and posterior will be in exactly the same position as now.’
They walked around the paddock twice, speaking only to the child, hands bumping and touching as they reached to adjust her position or steady her. Laura was in heaven. Despite the looming masculine presence on the other side of the pony, and despite the crackle of awareness at every touch, she was with her daughter, able to help her, see her delight. She praised, she reassured, she smiled back as Alice beamed at her, and fought down the emotion that lurked so close to the surface. Five days left.
‘I want to trot now.’
‘No,’ Avery said flatly.
‘Why not?’ Laura countered. ‘It is hard work, Alice. You must push down with your heels, tighten your knees and rise up and down with the stride or you’ll be jolted until your teeth rattle.’
‘She’ll not be able to post when she’s riding side-saddle,’ Avery pointed out.
‘Which is why you see ladies trotting so infrequently, but it will strengthen her legs. Pay attention to your balance and don’t jab his mouth, Alice. Use your heels, that’s it.’
Off they went, the tall man jogging beside the pony, the excited child bouncing in the saddle, bump, bump and then, ‘Aunt Caroline, look! I’m going up and down!’
She stood by the gate and watched them until the circuit was completed and Avery came to a halt beside her, not in the least out of breath. For a diplomat he was remarkably fit. She had supposed he would spend all his day at a desk or a conference table, but it seemed she was mistaken.
‘Enough, Alice. You’ll be stiff in the morning as it