In the following days I found myself meandering in the field more than my gathering had cause to bring me there, and I felt shame, but it was no match for the way my spirits rose at the possibility of encountering him again. Each day I left disappointed, but reminded myself that we’d set no time and there were many hours in the day. A chance encounter was not likely.
Days later I took extra care with my appearance, smoothing down the tumble of loose curls at my head, and wearing a more attractive frock as I took a basket of food into the meadow. If I were to sit awhile, I could more likely see him.
I settled onto the sweet smelling grass and unpacked bread, pemmican and warm hoecakes while feeling foolish at my desperation. I reasoned with myself that enjoying a picnic to myself was a simple pleasure and banished the negative feelings.
Not long later I heard the clomping of a horse and sat up expectantly, peeking over the grass, afraid it would be Mr. Worthe and gratified when flaxen hair appeared, softly swaying on his handsome steed.
His eyes lit when he observed me there, waving gently. He quickly dismounted and grabbed packages from his satchel before striding over confidently. He appeared pleased when he beheld my modest spread of food.
“Would you care to join me?” I offered, motioning to the worn blanket.
“It would be my greatest pleasure,” he smiled. “It is quite fortuitous, as I have also brought refreshment and it will complement yours nicely.” He pulled out an elegant bottle and large bundle in paper which he handed to me carefully. “My cook makes the most excellent apple cake.”
“Thank you,” I say, looking down at the bottle, reading that it is Claret, and despite my living in near-exile for over a decade, I know that it is an extravagant and imported drink. “I have never had this or any wine before.”
“I am pleased to be able to provide your first experience then.” He lifted his tails and sat down, surprising me with the elegance of those long legs. “This is a fine vintage.”
I looked in dismay at the shabby glasses I’d brought but he graciously smiled and poured a little in, indicating his pleasure that I had not only brought a vessel for beverages but that I’d brought two. The unspoken proof that I had done this in hopes of seeing him hung between us, though I didn’t find myself embarrassed, but rather happy with the obvious pleasure he had derived from it.
I hesitantly sipped the ruby beverage, wrinkling my nose at the heavy mouth feel as it slid down my throat. It had such a tart but beautiful taste as I drank it, and quickly I found myself enjoying it immensely. It was even more alluring as my body began to relax, and my cheeks warmed more with every sip.
“You should have some food too, or it will quickly overcome you,” he laughed, breaking off a piece of the humble loaf of bread I’d baked and handing it to me insistently.
I gingerly bit some as he helped himself to a hoecake. “Delicious,” he remarked. “Next time I shall bring some preserves and butter to accompany it.”
My mouth watered at the suggestion as I hadn’t had such a thing in so many years. Mr. Worthe rarely came home with sugar, and when he did I was very careful to use it only sparingly. Butter was also a delicacy only from my past and I found myself smiling at the possibility that I would see him again and that I would merit such fine goods.
“Goodness, you are extremely beautiful.” He shook his head as he observed me as though he couldn’t believe that I could exist, and I felt pride swell up in my bosom. “I am sorry. We are to be but friends, but I am overcome with your charms.”
I was flustered by his words and unable to muster an appropriate response, so I finally introduced myself. Spitting out my name, while casting my eyes downward to my twisting hands in my lap.
“Yes, Mary, I did inquire to find out,” he nodded. “I just had to ask what name the most beautiful woman in the county went by.”
I found myself blushing again. “I did not think anyone had truly noticed me.”
“You are something of a legend in town,” he laughed. “You are quite mysterious.”
“I do not intend to be,” I answered. “I just keep to myself and do not like to travel to town. Too many eyes on me.”
“I am unable to wrest my eyes from you, Mary. I apologize,” he said, leaning over and clasping my hand. “You are mesmerizing.”
“I do not mind when it is your eyes,” I told him honestly, my heart fluttering and my head dizzying.
He slowly rubbed his thumb across my palm, as his eyes drank me in. My breath caught as I leaned forward, wanting nothing more but to touch my lips to his. I was willing myself not to lean forward when he abruptly patted my hand and sat back again.
As though the moment hadn’t occurred, he launched into conversation. Delighting me with stories of society in Boston and gossip from Bishop. When he asked me questions about myself I became withdrawn, and noticing it he swept away the awkwardness with more gaiety.
The day turned to dusk and I heard Iris calling my name through the trees. I hurriedly jumped to my feet, knocking over the empty bottle of claret.
“Is that your daughter?” he asked, as he started gathering all the food and accoutrements back into my basket. I nodded and he packed the cake in as well. “She will enjoy it.”
“Thank you,” I managed. “I have had a lovely time.”
“May I see you again?” he asked as he rose, handing me the basket, his hand staying
