“Estelle,” she replied hesitantly, unsure if she should curtsey again. But then he told you to stop curtseying – so she didn’t. “Er, Matthews. Estelle Matthews.”
Myles nodded. “Miss?” he asked brazenly and made no apology for it. He tried to look at her ring finger, but with her fists clenched like they were it was impossible to tell if it was unadorned.
Estelle shook her head. “No. I-I, mean, yes. Miss. I am not married.” Mentally wincing at just how stupid she sounded, Estelle lapsed into silence again. “I must go,” she whispered. “My grandma is waiting for me. She will be worried, you see?”
But she knew he wouldn’t see. She knew instinctively that this man went wherever he wanted to go, did whatever he wanted to do, and undoubtedly had the staff to do whatever he told them to do. He was safe and secure in his world. She, on the other hand, wasn’t and, at the moment, didn’t like the way he was studying her far too intently, as though he was reading her thoughts. She wanted to poke at her hair but then realised it wasn’t just a loose tendril of hair that was tickling her face it was most of the wild mane she always struggled to confine in any way. It tumbled about her shoulders as carefree as she had been just a few moments ago. Embarrassment coloured her cheeks.
That is why he is staring at you. You look like a wild banshee.
Tipping her chin up, she bobbed a curtsey for one last time and turned to leave. This time, he made no move to stop her. She scurried down the path, her gaze locked on the stony surface of the narrow gulley cut between the flora and fauna of the clifftop, awfully aware of his gaze burning the spot between her shoulder blades. She wished she knew what he was staring at, but couldn’t bring herself to ask him.
“It is probably because you look as wild and unkempt as these wildflowers,” she mumbled. “You look a fright. He has probably never met a creature like you before in his life.”
“Excuse me.”
Estelle sat akimbo over the stile at the end of the path which would take her down into the village, and closed her eyes as her cheeks flushed with crimson colour. It was bad enough that he was seeing her in such an unladylike posture, but to her undoubtedly overheard her mumbling to herself was a further humiliation she could do little to excuse. With a sigh, she looked at him.
Myles carefully kept his gaze averted from the delicious curve of feminine ankle displayed so finely beneath her rucked-up skirts. While her modesty was covered, her posture could be considered in no way ladylike. Rather than offend him, it intrigued him. She intrigued him. Her complete lack of restriction in etiquette, behaviour, or attitude was like a breath of fresh air to him, and he wanted to witness more of it. So much so that he almost wished he didn’t have to return to London in the morning. But he knew his friends were waiting for him. They had a very special occasion to attend; that of his onetime good friend, soon to be shackled by the matrimonial chains designed to suck any man into a lifetime of provision and dubious reward.
It was the thought of those impending nuptials that made him look upon the woman before him with suspicion. Suddenly, like the steady flow of iced water relentlessly turning into a deluge, his attraction toward her began to diminish. He suspected that if he did succumb to that siren’s call of hers, he would lose something of himself he wasn’t apt to get back anytime soon. She was a villager; someone who lived on his family’s land. She almost certainly wasn’t titled or wealthy and, while her clothing was fashionable and well-cut, it was made for endurance rather than affect. It would be folly for all concerned to enter into a dalliance with her. As wild as he suspected she might be he also believed she wasn’t the kind of woman to indulge in a brief affair. In fact, he suspected that if he touched her, he would be the one to succumb to the parson’s trap, far too soon after his friend than he could ever anticipate.
Now that is something you must avoid, my friend. So to London, it is.
Estelle waited as patiently as she could, aware that she couldn’t move and risk revealing yet more flesh to his curious gaze.
Instead, she was left straddling the stile, waiting for him to decide what it was he wanted to say.
“Yes?” She asked; her voice sharp with impatience.
Myles bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet with you,” he replied, his voice as officious as it would be had they been in a ballroom. He opened his mouth to say something more but caution, and an awareness of her that made him distinctly uncomfortable, made him snap his mouth shut again. Without uttering a word he turned on his heel and stormed back up the cliff path toward his horse.
Estelle watched him, nonplussed for a moment.
“Estelle?” Wynne appeared at her elbow. “Who is that?”
“It’s the local gentry,” Estelle replied with a frown. “He is a curious fellow, isn’t he?”
“Barnabas?” Wynne peered myopically up the path but suspected that Barnabas, in his seventies as he was, wouldn’t be able to climb the cliff path that quickly.
Estelle scrunched her nose up and shook her head as she slowly swung her leg over the top of the stile and jumped down to stand beside her grandma.
“No, Myles something or other.”
Wynne looked suspiciously at her, for once struck by just how beautiful her granddaughter truly was. She looked up the path at Myles’ back and clucked her teeth in dismay.
“What did he want?”
“Just to say hello. He didn’t recognise me and believed me to be new to the area. He is an odd character, isn’t he?” Estelle murmured.
“How odd?”
Estelle considered whether she was being fair to him or not and thought their meeting over carefully before she answered.
“Well, I got a distinct impression that he wanted to say something but didn’t. He was polite but rather curious.”
Wynne looked at her granddaughter. She wondered if she should caution her against stepping out of the door with her hair down like that, but given what she had been through of late, didn’t consider it all that important.
At least she has more colour in her cheeks now, Wynne mused as she studied the faint blush to her granddaughter’s cheeks which hadn’t been there when she had left the house they shared. She could only hope it had been the winds that had put that colour there and not meeting with the local aristocracy. Still, she couldn’t blame Myles for his curiosity. Now that Estelle had lost some of her pallor, accessorised by a rather shocking haunted look, her innate beauty had started to shine through. So much so that Estelle was clearly going to attract a lot of attention amongst the local men in the village.