He chuckled. "My compliments, Lady Arabella. I don't think I've ever even seen a copy of The Passionate Pilgrim. "
Belle grinned, graciously accepting the compliment as her previous antagonism toward the man melted away. "Won't you join me for a few minutes?" she asked him, waving toward the empty expanse of blanket spread out beneath her. "I still have most of my picnic lunch, and I would be happy to share it with you."
For a moment it looked as if he would accept. He opened his mouth to say something, then let out a tiny sigh and closed it. When he finally spoke, his voice was very stiff and formal and all he said was "No, thank you." He took a couple of steps away from her and turned his head so that he could stare out across the fields.
Belle cocked her head and was about to say something further when she noticed with surprise that he limped. She wondered if he'd been injured in the peninsular war. An intriguing man, this John. She wouldn't have half minded spending an hour or so in his company. And, she had to admit, he was really quite handsome, with strong, even features, and a body which was lean and powerful in spite of his injured leg. His velvety brown eyes displayed obvious intelligence, but they also seemed hooded with pain and skepticism. Belle was starting to find him very mysterious, indeed.
"Are you certain?" she asked.
"Certain of what?" He didn't turn around.
She bristled at his rudeness. "Certain that you don't want to join me for lunch."
"Quite."
That got her attention. No one had ever before told her that he was quite certain he could do without her company.
Belle sat uncomfortably on her blanket, her copy of The Winter's Tale lying limply in her lap. There didn't seem to be anything she could say with his back half to her. And it would have been impolite to start reading again.
John suddenly turned around and cleared his throat.
"It was really too bad of you to tell me I need spectacles," she said abruptly, mostly just to get something in before he could.
"I apologize. I've never been very good at polite conversation."
"Perhaps you should converse more," she retorted.
"Were you using a different tone of voice, my lady, one might suspect that you were flirting with me."
She slammed The Winter's Tale shut and stood. "I can see that you were not lying. You are not dreadful at merely polite conversation. You are lacking at all forms of it."
He shrugged. "One of my many qualities."
Her mouth fell open.
"I can see that you do not subscribe to my particular brand of humor."
"1 cannot imagine that many people do."
There was a pause, and then a strange, sad light appeared in his eyes. It disappeared just as quickly, and the tone of his voice sharpened as he said, "Don't come out here alone again."
Belle shoved her belongings into her satchel.
"Don't worry. I shan't trespass again."
"I didn't say you couldn't come on my property. Just don't do it alone."
She had no idea how to reply to that so she merely said, "I'm going home."
He glanced up at the sky. "Yes. You probably should. It's going to rain soon. I've two or so miles to walk home myself. I shall certainly be drenched."
She glanced around. "Didn't you bring a horse?"
"Sometimes, my lady, it is better to use one's feet." He inclined his head. "It has been a pleasure."
"For you, perhaps," Belle muttered under her breath. She watched his back as he walked away from her. His limp was quite pronounced, but he moved much more quickly than she would have thought possible. She kept her gaze fixed on him until he disappeared over the horizon. As she mounted her mare, however, a compelling thought entered her head.
He limped. What kind of man was he that he preferred to walk?
***
John Blackwood listened to the hoofbeats of Lady Arabella's mare as she cantered off. He sighed. He'd acted like an ass.
He sighed again, this time loud with sorrow and self-loathing and pure, simple irritation. Damn. He never knew what to say to women anymore.
***
Belle set off back to Westonbirt, the home of her relations. Her American-born cousin Emma had married the Duke of Ashbourne a few months earlier. The newlyweds preferred the privacy of country life to London and had resided at Westonbirt almost continuously since their wedding. Of course the season was over, so no one was in London anyway. Still, Belle had a feeling that Emma and her husband would probably avoid much of London's social scene even when the next season was underway.
Belle sighed. She'd no doubt be back in London for the next season. Back at the marriage mart, looking for a husband. She was getting heartily sick of the entire process. She'd been through two seasons already and accumulated over a dozen proposals, but she'd rejected every one. Some of the men had been completely unsuitable, but most were decent sorts, well-connected and quite likeable. She just couldn't seem to make herself accept a man she didn't care deeply about. And now that she'd had a glimpse of how happy her cousin was, she knew that it would be very difficult to settle for anything less than her wildest dreams.
Belle spurred her horse into a canter as the rain began to thicken. It was almost three o'clock, and she knew that Emma would have tea ready for her when she returned. She'd been staying with Emma and her husband Alex for three weeks. A few months after Emma's wedding, Belle's parents had decided to take a holiday in Italy. Ned, their son, was back up at Oxford for his final year so he didn't need any watching over, and Emma was safely married. That left only Belle, and since Emma was now a married lady she was a suitable chaperone, so Belle went off to stay with her cousin.