Marianne could not help but be impressed all over again by his strength, but why was he back in Broadley so soon when the ton must be on their way back to London to be brilliant and sophisticated and far more entertaining than they had time to be during the serious business of the spring Season and marrying off their daughters? Was he about to spirit Juno off to some elegant house party with his elegant friends and leave her here to wonder what to do next and mourn all the might-have-beens she could have had with him? She would miss the girl sorely and her new life as Juno’s companion now she had come to know her so much better and value her as she deserved, but most of all she would miss him.
‘Good day, my lord,’ she said quietly as she stepped down from the post-chaise in her turn and tried not to feel breathless and elated at seeing him again. Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears she was surprised he could not hear it from where he was standing.
‘Mrs Turner,’ he said warily. She wished she could run into his arms, as sure of her welcome there as Juno had been, but there was no chance of that and she was seven and twenty and she did have her dignity to think about even if there had been. ‘I trust you had a good journey,’ he added as if he was very uncertain of his welcome as far as she was concerned and that hint of nervousness made her heart threaten to turn over with love for the annoying man right here on the cobbles of this busy inn yard.
‘Very good, I thank you. The weather was most helpful for once,’ she said stiffly instead of embarrassing him with a warmer greeting.
‘Aye, the rain let up at exactly the right moment for the roads to dry up and be easily passable. Have you got everything you need out of the coach, Jojo? It seems best to keep moving so you two do not catch cold in this sharp wind, although the sun is being kind to us today. The luggage will be brought around to Miss Donne’s house as soon as the horses are safely stabled.’
‘Indeed, and you can trust the grooms to take even more care than usual with His Lordship’s wrath to look forward to if they drop anything,’ Marianne said.
‘I can carry this bag myself,’ Juno insisted.
Marianne was glad to see the stubborn set of her chin even if Lord Stratford eyed the small portmanteau as if he thought it looked too heavy for a lady to carry.
‘If it means so much to have it with you, I will take it,’ he insisted.
Marianne tried not to stare at the idea of a lord spoiling the effect of his expensively elegant clothes, beautifully cut greatcoat and fine beaver hat by carrying a rather feminine-looking bag in the hand that was not holding a gold-tipped cane she hoped he was now only carrying for show. She frowned as she looked back at him walking behind her and Juno as a gentleman should. She tried to see if he was still limping. If he was, then he must have overstretched his ankle too soon. She clicked her tongue in exasperation at his headlong determination to push his body to the limits, but he did seem to be moving freely, if you discounted the bag Juno could have had sent round later if she was not so eager to bring presents back from her travels for Miss Donne and even brusque and capable Bet.
‘I cannot tell you how much I have missed your glower of censure, Mrs Turner,’ Alaric told her with soft-voiced mockery, but did he think Juno had gone deaf in the last couple of weeks to tease her in front of his precious niece?
‘Well, I have not missed yours,’ she parried sharply, but what a thumping great lie that was.
She was surprised when he looked almost hurt for a brief moment before he covered it with a cynical smile. Surely she imagined that instant of vulnerability in his blue eyes before he raised his eyebrows and nodded at something in front of her to remind her she needed to look where she was going instead of gazing back at him.
She had managed to forget how clear and compelling a blue his gaze was while they were apart, she realised as she marched ahead of him with her nose in the air and she did not need to look at him to know what he was like. His eyes were the same colour as the lapis lazuli used to paint the Virgin’s gown in an Italian master’s painting she saw years ago in a local magnate’s house and had never forgotten. There was a depth of colour and such skill and love in that painting and she could have stared at it all day if only the housekeeper who showed Reverend Yelverton and his family around her master’s splendid house and wondrous possessions allowed more than a snatched five minutes in each room.
Now she wanted to gaze into Alaric’s deeply blue eyes even more than she had longed to stand and stare at that reverend, breathtaking painting all those years ago. He was so alive and subtly masculine and beautiful in his own unique way. Even with that bag in his hand a part of her wanted to stand and gape at him admiringly. Shock, she decided, as she tried hard to bring the rest of the world back into focus and think about that instead. Soon they would have covered the short distance between the posting inn and Miss Donne’s little town house and she would have to have her wits about her when she met that lady’s shrewd gaze again.
‘Oh, my dears, how lovely to see
