smile. She was quite astonishing herself, accomplishing this sham composure. It disintegrated with equally astounding ease as he commenced strolling towards them. She spontaneously stepped protectively in front of Lucy, and her dress, gripped in white-knuckled hands, was raised a little.
He hesitated and seemed momentarily undecided before changing direction, gathering the reins of his grazing horse, and mounting the beast in a swift athletic movement. He sat thoughtfully considering her before suggesting soothingly, ‘Perhaps you’d care to tell me who you are then, as you appear to have lost interest in my identity…Miss…?’
‘Certainly, sir,’ Rebecca agreed, compelling herself to sound polite and confident. ‘My name is Nash…Rebecca Nash. And this is Miss Mayhew…a pupil from my school at the Summer House Lodge. We are returning there directly. It is barely a few minutes’ walk away,’ she lied for good measure, ‘on Lord Ramsden’s estate.’
His eyes narrowed instantly at this information and she caught the younger man darting a swift, searching look at him.
‘I should warn you,’ Rebecca informed helpfully, when he made no move to depart, ‘that Lord Ramsden prosecutes all trespassers. He has a reputation for dealing harshly with all such. You really should leave now before his gamekeeper happens upon you.’ She seized upon the idea at once, a relieved breath breaking from between her bloodless, trembling lips. ‘The gamekeeper…keepers, for there are several,’ she lied again, ‘scour these woods ceaselessly for poachers…’
His spontaneous smile at this local news made her blush hotly. She was sure he was about to call her bluff.
‘You think I’m a poacher?’ he enquired softly. ‘Do I look like a poacher?’
‘It matters not how you look,’ she countered sharply. ‘Williams is apt to shoot first and examine you later.’
‘Williams?’ he mildly queried.
‘Lord Ramsden’s gamekeeper,’ she explained. ‘Please, sir. If you and your companion would be so kind…’ She snatched a searching glance at Lucy who was shivering and now looking as though one of her dejected moods was taking a grip. ‘My pupil needs to dry herself and you should make haste to depart. Believe me when I say if you are discovered you will be prosecuted.’
‘And what do you suppose…’ he paused ‘…Lord Ramsden’s reaction is to you trespassing in his pond?’ he persisted silkily, as he controlled his restless mount with a cursory flick of the hand.
Rebecca gave a short, dismissive laugh. ‘Lord Ramsden and I are well acquainted,’ she informed him with a deal of satisfaction. ‘I have no fears on that score.’
This confident declaration drew an amused snort from the younger man. He appeared about to speak but a swift, silencing gesture from his darker companion made him simply shake his head disbelievingly and examine the leaves that sighed above him.
‘Lord Ramsden doesn’t frighten you?’ the dark man suggested with a half-smile as he nudged the horse slowly forward.
‘Not at all,’ Rebecca confirmed, shifting slowly to keep him in sight and Lucy positioned behind her, as he approached. She sensed a new, disturbing undercurrent to their exchange.
‘Good,’ was his brief, dulcet response as he reined in close and looked down at her in the same thoughtfully amused way.
He extended a dark hand towards her in the gesture of one wishing to shake hands before departing. Clutching her shielding garment in front of her in one, she politely offered her other pale, slender hand to him.
‘Luke Trelawney and my brother Ross…at your service,’ he introduced them both as his warm fingers retained her cool ones in his firm grip. A dark thumb traced the delicate skin of her palm in a careful, camouflaged caress as he reluctantly relinquished it.
‘Mr. Trelawney…’ Rebecca courteously acknowledged, with a small dip of her head, as his horse passed her. She nodded civilly to Ross also as he followed Luke.
Rebecca’s eyes stayed unwaveringly with them until they had disappeared from view, when they closed in utter thankfulness.
As the two cart horses started an ambling trot down the grassy bank towards the track that lead to Westbrook, Ross grunted a low, lascivious laugh. ‘I’m most definitely at her service. Servicing that wench would be no hardship—’
Luke pulled his horse up sharp and swung about in the saddle. His perfect features were savage as he ground out, ‘Touch her and I’ll—’ The fierce caution ceased mid-flow. He was as aware as Ross of what he had astonishingly been about to threaten.
‘—be most put out,’ he remedied, relaxing a little. But a wry grimace was the closest he got to apology…or to analysing his aggression, before he urged his lumbering nag into something approaching a canter.
Rebecca gently disengaged herself from the grey-haired woman’s firm embrace. ‘It’s good to be home, Martha,’ she greeted her with a sweet smile as the woman dabbed at her eyes with her grubby starched apron. ‘Hush,’ Rebecca soothed. ‘I’ve only been gone just four weeks. I’ll wager you’ve hardly missed me at all,’ she teased. She contentedly surveyed the familiar pristine interior of her kitchen at the Summer House. Everything looked as meticulously ordered as it always did when Martha Turner was in attendance.
Martha and her husband Gregory lived in a tiny spartan dwelling, on the perimeter of the woodland Rebecca and Lucy had just traversed. Their cottage was situated barely a stone’s throw from the Summer House, easily within walking distance for the elderly couple who made the journey each day.
While Martha prepared meals and cleaned, generally helping Rebecca run the household, her husband coaxed the sizeable vegetable patch situated along the western flank wall into providing Rebecca and her boarding pupils with fresh produce. Gregory Turner also tended the few chickens and geese they kept with the same natural diligence, ensuring his wife always had fresh eggs and poultry available to prepare nourishing fare.
The Turners’ property, which had been settled on them by Robin Ramsden on their retirement from his service, had very little tillable land surrounding it. Woodland predominated on three sides, rendering it picturesque but poorly self-sufficient. In a way this unfortunate situation had benefited Rebecca and she often felt ashamed acknowledging it. She was well aware that she would never have been able to pay this dear couple for their aid. But she could offer an arrangement whereby, in return for housekeeping and gardening services, the Turners helped themselves to whatever surplus eggs, poultry and fresh fruit and vegetables the Summer House gardens produced.
Approaching the large floury patch on the scrubbed pine table, Rebecca idly dusted her arms free of pastry traces from Martha’s welcoming hands. She peered at the mouthwatering sweet and savoury ingredients assembled for supper. As her stomach gurgled a little, she realised just how hungry she was. She had eaten nothing since departing from the King’s Head hostelry early that morning at Guildford, when setting out on the last leg of her journey home.
Martha’s silver-bright eyes were crinkle-cornered as she regarded Lucy, standing subdued and quiet by the open kitchen door. Her smile faltered a little and Rebecca knew Martha was focussing on the bruising about Lucy’s eye. As she noted Martha’s troubled reaction to the injury, she finally relented and gave Lucy a small smile.
It was the first token of friendship she had felt capable of bestowing on the girl following the fiasco at the woodland pool. She was still in equal parts furious
