The chatter was endless, and Isabel wondered how the women could talk so much and cut grapes at the same time. She found she had to concentrate on the task. But her ears perked up when they started to tease one of the younger women.
“You aren’t going to get anywhere with Ewan, Matty. Perhaps you should look elsewhere.”
“But I fancy Ewan,” Matty complained.
“Of course you do. He’s comely, I’ll say that. But he steers clear of innocent maids.”
“If he’s afraid of marriage, maybe I should make it clear where my interest lies.”
“It’s not that, Matty. The man’s afraid of a woman’s first time. You know, hurting a woman. It’s an endearing trait, but in your case not a useful one.”
A few women laughingly suggested alternative men for Matty’s first time, but one voice quietly defended Ewan. “I think it’s because his member is so big. I’d give it another try if I was you, Matty. It might be worth the trouble.”
Isabel worked hard to contain her giggle at what she had heard from the other side of the vine. Upon considering Matty’s plight, it occurred to her that Chetwynd might be afraid of hurting her. Last night he had said he wished to wait until Justin approved the match before making her his wife. But she knew the reason he had hesitated earlier was because she was a virgin. She shook her head to drive out the thoughts that seemed to occupy far too much of her time.
Feeling the need for a rest, Isabel moved to sit on the grass beside a nursing mother. The peaceful sight reminded her of Emma, and she smiled at the young woman. When the mother prepared to return to cutting grapes, Isabel, whose hands were still aching, offered to watch the babe for a while. Her offer was quickly accepted, and the child was soon asleep in her arms.
When Chetwynd came by to see how Isabel was faring, he spotted her cradling the baby. Dressed in a brown gown with a large apron covering most of it, she looked like one of the peasant women. Her head covering had slipped, and her dark curls sprung free at the sides of her face. She sat with her legs crossed in front of her, staring at the bundle in her lap.
The baby had grabbed onto a lock of her hair, which Isabel had not bothered to pull free. Chetwynd remembered what it felt like to run his hands through her luxurious hair, and he envied the baby’s hold on her. He was about to turn away without disturbing the charming tableau when Isabel noticed his presence. When she smiled up at him, he moved closer to kneel beside her.
“I was just checking to see how you were doing.” He whispered so as not to wake the babe.
“My hands are tired, so I decided to take a rest. I haven’t the skill of the other women.”
They were at the end of a row of vines, on a grassy knoll. Most of the women had moved on, so it was quiet and peaceful. Chetwynd leaned back on his elbows to rest beside Isabel, but didn’t say anything further. He enjoyed being in her company without the need for words.
Last night, after forcing himself to leave Isabel’s bedchamber, Chetwynd had not slept well for thinking about her. Now it was hard for him to keep his eyes open. When he gave in to the need to lie back and rest for a minute, he soon fell asleep. Isabel sat watching over the two sleeping forms until the mother returned for her baby.
After the mother took the child away, there was no one nearby and it was time for Isabel to head back to the kitchen to help Gertrude. Chetwynd lay on his side with one arm supporting his head. The relaxed look on his face was one she had not seen often enough for it to be familiar. Isabel wondered if she should wake him. Because he looked so peaceful, she decided against it. Fighting the temptation to lean over and kiss his perfectly shaped ear, she got up quietly so as not to disturb him.
In the kitchen, a vast amount of food was being prepared for the evening feast. Isabel worked with Gertrude and Irma late into the day. When they heard whooping shouts from the valley, Gertrude explained that the workers were already pressing the grapes.
“The shouts are meant to encourage those doing the stomping. The very loud bursts signal that someone has slipped into the grapes. You’ll see what I mean when you try it.”
The idea of stomping the juicy cones did not appeal to Isabel. “I’m not going to stomp on those grapes that were so perfect, Gertrude.”
Instead of answering, Gertrude and Irma exchanged knowing looks. Isabel narrowed her own eyes, but before she could question them, Chetwynd appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“You should have awakened me, Isabel,” he complained. “It was very embarrassing to wake up surrounded by a group of giggling women. You left me in a vulnerable position. It seems that during the harvest they have little respect for the lord of the manor.”
Just imagining the bawdy remarks the women might have made when they found him stretched out at their feet, Isabel started to giggle. Irma and Gertrude, who no doubt had vivid imaginations of their own, joined her.
Chetwynd threw up his hands, pretending disgust, and turned to leave. Then, as though
