Jules nearly stood in his stirrups with sudden excitement, “Edward! Do but look…she is there…right there…a goddess in blue.” He waved to her and called, “Miss Berkley—ho there!”
Edward regarded his friend with astonishment. He was acting like a lad not yet weaned, for mercy’s sake. As their horses brought them closer, he surveyed the ‘goddess’ in question and his eyebrows arched with surprise.
She certainly did not fit the picture his friend had painted for him in his mind. He had imagined a dainty flower and here was a rough and tumble girl sitting on a fence. He frowned and considered her because what struck him almost at once was that he had never before seen any other woman quite like Star Berkley.
* * *
“Oh no—oh no. Why is Jules’ friend staring at me like that? Does he suspect? No, how could he? He never saw my face,” Star mumbled in dismay to her stallion who immediately snorted a retort.
She looked herself over and chewed her bottom lip unhappily for she was clothed in an old weathered blue gown that had seen much better days and fit her a tad too tightly. In addition to that, she was quite certain she smelled like the stables for she had been helping Jeffries muck out a few stalls. Dash it, dash it, dash it!
She liked Jules Stamford and she was feminine enough to care about her appearance, even though she wasn’t sure just how much she did like him.
His open admiration and light flirtation had her confused. She found she enjoyed dallying with him and yet, though it was flattering, she wasn’t sure how she felt and did not wish to lead him on.
His wit and light conversation always set her at ease and she enjoyed his visits, but she wished she was wearing something a bit nicer. In addition to that, she was embarrassed and worried all in one thought. She had to bluster it all off. and please, she prayed, don’t let his friend look too closely at me! Don’t let him realize I am the lad he accosted last evening. With any good luck he probably was too bosky to remember.
She ran her hand through her flaxen locks, pulled out hay and brushed out dust, sure that some grime must be liberally plastered on her countenance. This was most unfortunate. She took the hem of her gown, and swiped it over her face in hopes of presenting a cleaner appearance. They were getting closer. Nothing for it, but to brave it out, for the moment had come.
Jules Stamford was waving vigorously and she could not pretend she hadn’t seen them. Sit on your fence and smile, Star, she told herself.
“Hallo,” Jules waved and called again as he approached and then as he was nearly by her side at the fence, “Good God! Look at Choice. Isn’t he looking fit?”
“Indeed,” she agreed glancing at her stallion and then back at Jules. Her eyes strayed to his companion who she could see was looking at her from the top of her head to her booted toes. She felt her cheeks get hot and told herself it was not because he recognized her but probably because he was a libertine that subjected all the ladies to such scrutiny. Her temper flared and she took a moment to beat it down as she said, “He is fit because Vern has been very diligent about riding him.” She released a short laugh as she remembered the last ride she had on him. “Vern must ride him, you see, for I won’t. He is too much horse for me.”
“Who do you think you are trying to bamboozle?” Jules returned on a snort. “You forget the first time I saw you, you were taking Choice over that line fence.” He pointed at the pasture rail in the distance.
She laughed. “No, Mr. Stamford. Choice took me over the line fence, for I had no say in the matter. I lived through that ride and when I dismounted and touched ground, I thanked the heavens I was in one piece.”
She allowed her gaze to casually take in the well-dressed man astride one of Jules’ hunters. He sat his horse quietly to one side and for some inexplicable reason she trembled when she thought of his touch last evening. Faith! He was staring at her. How rude. She gave him an arched brow and instead of being deterred, he grinned like a wayward boy.
She turned away from him a bit too quickly and very nearly lost her balance on the rail. She became flushed as she attempted to right herself, all the while Jules kept up a steady stream of banter.
He was explaining to his friend that she had a wonderful sense of humor and recounting yet another anecdote that had taken place in town when he remembered his manners and said, “Ah, but though I am sorry for it, good manners insist that I introduce this fellow to you. My very good friend, Sir Edward, allow me to introduce you to Miss Star Berkley.” He laughed and added, “Pay him no mind though, Miss Berkley.” He smiled broadly in his easy style. Star liked Jules Stamford but found she wasn’t sure she liked his friend, Sir Edward.
Sir Edward merely did the perfunctory. She could see he was not impressed with her. Well, why should he be? Her hair was a mess. Her clothes were worse. She must look like a hoyden. Why did she care if he was impressed with her? She didn’t, but he needn’t be so obvious about it.
Her quick first observation of Sir Edward decided her that he was what her brother would call a Corinthian, pink of the ton, a top sawyer. Well, well, what did she care for that? No doubt he thought a great deal of himself.
He tipped the beaver top hat borrowed from Jules, and expressed in a tone of ennui, “Enchanted, Miss Berkley.”
Sensitive to his obvious dismissal, she took immediate affront, however, her sense of humor kicked in and she answered, “Oh…I can see that.”
She saw his eyes as they snapped with interest and smiled to herself as she returned her attention to Jules, “Do you come to visit poor Vern? I am afraid I left him sleeping soundly. He has had such a bad night that I really do not want to disturb him.” She bit her lower lip. Should she have said that? Yes, indeed, why not?
“A bad night?” Jules offered with a frown. “I am sorry to hear that.”
Sir Edward stuck in at this point, “Miss Berkley…do you also have a younger brother?”
“No. Why?” She felt her body tremble.
Edward’s eyes narrowed as he answered, “Ah, I bumped into someone who had your look.”
“Ah, perhaps a cousin,” she suggested. Anyone who knew her well knew she and Vern had no cousins in the vicinity.
“I am sorry to hear that Vern is still unwell,” Jules stuck in. “I was hoping by now he would have recovered.”
Relieved to get off the subject of cousins she said almost too brightly, “He gave himself a setback by going out before he was well enough. Stubborn man, for I warned him how it would be.”