‘Lonely?’ The amusement vanished from his eyes, although the smile stayed on his lips. ‘Certainly not. Remember all those willing ladies you mentioned yesterday? And what about you? Aren’t you lonely?’
‘With all those fascinating antiquarian meetings to go to?’ Elinor responded lightly. It was no business of hers how Theo lived his life or whether or not he was truly happy. She could not imagine what had come over her to loosen her tongue so.
She was puzzling about it when the reins, which had been sitting so comfortably in her hand, were suddenly jerked forwards violently. Instinctively she tightened her grip and held on, only to find herself falling towards the horse’s rump. Then a solid bar slammed into her stomach and she was sitting back in the seat with Theo’s left arm still out-flung across her midriff. With his right he dragged on the reins to remove the horse’s head from the particularly lush patch of grass it was munching.
‘Relaxed is right, total inattention is perhaps taking it a little too far,’ he remarked while she jammed her straw hat inelegantly back on the top of her head.
‘Indeed. I can see that. Thank you. Walk on.’ They proceeded for a few steps. ‘You may remove your arm now.’
‘What? Sorry.’ It had felt warm and hard. He must be both exceptionally fit and very fast to have caught her like that, Elinor reflected. She had no idea how much she weighed, but she knew that, propelled forwards so abruptly, her body would have hit his arm with considerable force. Was the rest of his body as hard?
She caught the thought and felt the blush rise. What was she doing, having such improper thoughts about a man she hardly knew? She flapped her free hand in front of her face. ‘My, it is warm, is it not?’
‘Unseasonably so, and odd after the shocking summer we have been experiencing.’ Theo did not appear to notice anything amiss in her demeanour. ‘Turn left down that lane.’
‘How?’
Patiently he leaned across and covered her hands with his, looping the reins between her right-hand fingers as well, then using the pressure of his grip to guide the horse. Elinor made herself concentrate on what he was showing her, not how it felt, nor how the sharp scent of citrus cologne cut across the smells of a warm summer day in the countryside.
‘Turn again here.’ There were houses on either side now, but he left her to manage on her own.
‘I did it!’ Then, honesty got the better of her. ‘But he would have turned anyway, wouldn’t he?’
‘Probably. You have nice light hands, though. We must try another day on a less familiar road so he will have to be guided by you.’
‘Another day?’ The church with its towering spire and vast porch was looming before them.
‘I expect to be in the area for some days. A week or two, perhaps. Pull up on the far side at that gateway. You can see the ruins of the old church.’
Distracted by the news that there was an older church, one that might perhaps be of interest to her mother, Elinor handed the reins back and jumped down without waiting for Theo.
‘Oh, there is hardly anything left.’ She leaned on the gate, peering into the jumbled mass of stones, leaning tombstones and brambles.
‘You don’t want to go in there, do you? It’ll wreak havoc with your gown.’
‘This thing?’ Elinor gave a dismissive twitch to the skirts of her drab brown walking dress. ‘But, no, there doesn’t seem to be anything to see of any significance. Let’s look inside the other one.’
To her amusement, Theo offered her his arm as they walked the few yards to the great porch, big enough to put some of the village hovels into entire. He was an odd mixture of the gallant and the matter of fact, and she found it both pleasant and a trifle disconcerting. Gentlemen did not flirt with Elinor. They treated her with politeness, of course, but she was used to being regarded almost as if she were not there, an adjunct to her formidable mother.
Cousin Bel had made a spirited attempt at pairing her off with Patrick Layne. But he had been attracted to Bel, not knowing she was having an outrageous and secret affaire with Ashe Reynard, Viscount Felsham. The two men fought a duel over Bel in the end and naturally Mr Layne had no thought of turning his attentions to Bel’s bluestocking cousin after that.
It was as though being able to read Greek and Latin somehow labelled you as unfit for marriage. Not that she wanted to get married, but it might be nice, just sometimes, to be treated as a lady, not as a shadow, not as a mere companion.
And Theo, while definitely not flirting, was treating her like a lady, which was an interesting novelty. He was also acting as though he realised she had a brain in her head and did not blame her for using it—and that was delightful. She turned her head and smiled up at him and he smiled back, a smile that turned into a fleeting frown. Then he was opening the church door for her and she forgot to wonder what had caused that change of expression.
‘This is lovely.’ The church was full of light, clean, in good repair. Slender columns lifted towards the high roof and the air was full of the scent of incense.
‘It is, isn’t it? Do you want to sketch? I’ll get our things.’
Theo was gone before she could respond, leaving her to wander about the wide side aisles. Light streaming in illuminated an ancient stone statue of a saint in a niche. It might have been old and battered, but it was obviously much loved. A bunch of wild flowers had been placed in a jar on its plinth and many candles had burned out in the stand at the foot of the column.
Elinor found a stool and dragged it across to a position where she had a good view. Footsteps behind her announced Theo’s return. ‘A good subject. May I use it too?’
‘Of course.’ She let him set up her easel while she emptied her satchel and found her watercolours. Mainly pencil, she decided. Soft greys with a little white chalk and colour just for the flowers, a splash of poppy red and the deep, singing blue of a wild delphinium.
Beside her Theo was humming under his breath while he flipped open a camp stool and spread a large sketchbook on his knee. There were pencils stuck behind his ear, a long thin brush in his teeth and he looked at the statue through narrowed eyes while his hands unscrewed the top of his water pot. He was definitely an artist, Elinor realised, recognising the concentration and seeing the well-worn tools. She just hoped he would not find her efforts laughable.
It was strange sitting sketching next to someone else. Theo had not done so since his tutor had given him his first drawing lessons and he was surprised to find it so companionable. He rinsed his brush and sat back, biting the end of it while he studied the results of an hour’s work. Not bad. A little overworked, if anything. The habit of producing precise drawings to show to possible clients was too engrained now to easily throw off.
His eyes slid sideways to where Elinor was also sitting back, her head on one side as she frowned at the sketchbook propped on her easel. It was turned so he could not see her work; instead he looked at her profile, puzzling over his rediscovered cousin.
She was tall for a woman, slender, as far as one could tell from that badly cut gown. There had been softness, but also firmness against his outstretched arm when he had checked her fall. Her hair, which ought to be her crowning glory, was bundled ruthlessly into a thick net at her nape, presumably to disguise it as much as possible. Doubtless she had grown up being made to feel it was a handicap. His own sisters, Jane and Augusta, had escaped the family hair, and left him in no doubt about what a tragedy it would have been if they had not.
Her hands, unprotected by gloves, were long fingered, strong and ink-stained, her walk a stride that easily kept up with his. He suspected she was unused to gentlemen paying her much attention and found that rather endearing. But why on earth did she dress as though determined to appear a frump? The hair he could understand,