He’d like nothing more than return to the house as well, but he’d see the outing through. They’d barely been walking for a quarter hour.
They entered the cool shade of the woods and he drew in a deep breath of quiet air.
Was Abigail out riding? He’d guess that she was. It had taken nearly an hour to collect Charlotte and begin their stroll. He wished he’d slept more the night before, it would have done wonders for his patience.
But as he’d predicted, he’d been up half the night, thinking about Abigail. About the way she felt in his arms. Or how he always felt renewed in her presence. Sometimes challenged, but always alive.
She’d looked stunning in her dark green riding habit she’d worn when they’d bumped into one another.
Just the memory of her soft curves pressed against him made his muscles tighten all over again.
If she’d planned a full-scale attack on his senses, she was doing an excellent job. And honestly, he wouldn’t put it past her. Tactics were her strength.
But there was no more malice when he considered this point. In fact, he admired the trait greatly.
In fact, the more he thought on her, the more he wondered why he’d dismissed her upon their first meeting.
She was a woman of substance.
And honestly, she made this party and, he suspected, much of life, enjoyable.
The question remained, could she become a lady of real merit? Kind as she was strong? It was a great deal to ask, he knew. But deep in his gut, excitement bubbled. It was possible.
And as for himself...he looked over at Charlotte.
“Walking is dreadfully tiring,” she whined. “We should find a spot to sit. Is there one in the shade where we won’t be plagued by the mosquitoes?”
He grimaced down at her.
In many ways, Charlotte was what he’d been searching for. There would be no unknowns there. If he married a woman like her, his life would be predictable, sedate, and dull.
He shook his head. He’d wished for quiet after the war but then again, this was his chance at...well, life.
His promise had been made when his heart had hurt, but as he healed, he realized he wished for more than just safe. He wanted a woman of quality, of course. One who would be a real partner in life. One who would enjoy the quiet times along with the exciting ones.
“Sit?” he asked with a frown. They were on a path in the woods. Did she expect it to be lined with benches like a park?
“Yes,” her voice took on a high-pitched whining sound as her mother tsked behind them. “I’m growing tired. I need a repose.”
Tired? They’d hardly begun. “Perhaps we should return to the garden and find a bench?”
“Charlotte,” her mother chastised, though her breath was also coming out in short gasps. “Surely we can continue on a bit longer if the major wishes to walk along this path.’
“It’s all right, my lady,” he returned, spinning Charlotte around the narrow path. Her skirts were rather large and he imagined they were heavy to carry.
But as they spun, a branch tangled in the back of her skirts and both of them heard the loud rip that permeated the quiet forest air.
“No,” Charlotte gasped, letting go of his arm and twisting to look at the back of her skirts. “Look what you’ve done!”
His chin pulled back. What he’d done? “I’m sure it can be repaired.”
“First,” she huffed, “It’s a lace overlay so I doubt it very much and second, I could not possibly return to the house like this. I’ll be ruined.”
“Charlotte,” her mother rushed over, inspecting the tear. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that. We’ll go through the back of the house if we must.”
Charlotte stomped her foot on the hard dirt. “I should have known this walk was a terrible idea, Mother. What were you thinking?”
Charlotte’s face had grown bright red. Alex was sure if a squirrel dared cross her path, she’d rail at that poor creature as well. Miss Charlotte was having a full-blown tantrum.
“What if Emily or Clarissa sees me in this state?” She tugged at the fabric. “Someone must fetch me a cloak. I can’t be seen like this.”
Alex nearly sighed with relief. Though entirely unnecessary, fetching Charlotte a cloak might be the best idea he’d ever heard. “Of course, Miss Charlotte. I’ll see it done at once.”
That made the girl relax and her shoulders slumped in relief, a smile returning to her face. “Thank you, Major. You are a man of quality.”
He tried to be. “Should we at least return to the rose garden so you may repose on a shady bench while you wait?”
“Please,” Charlotte straightened, her frown returning. “That would be most kind. I can at least hide the hideous tear while I’m seated.”
Alex’s brows drew together. Did she realize how she sounded? He’d heard men fuss less who’d been hit by musket fire.
“Of course,” he answered, offering his arm once again.
It took another fifteen minutes before they’d found a suitable bench but finally, he headed out of the garden and onto the sweeping lawn that surrounded the estate.
But he hadn’t made it more than a few steps before he spotted a horse and rider on the edge of the forest.
Squinting, he caught the glint of golden hair highlighted against dark green.
He held in his breath. Surely that wasn’t Abigail?
But she kicked the horse forward and he knew that it was her.
He watched the fluid motion of horse and rider as she galloped toward him, her skirts billowing to one side, her back straight and fine as the steed at the ground between them.
“Major Mayfield,” she called, as she drew up the beast in front of him. “Is everything all right?”
He stared up at her, forcing himself to breath. “Fine. Why?”
Her eyes crinkled at the
