Hoyden or not, she seemed kind, and she was friendly. Both were recommendations he could not make of most women in society.
“I believe you lost your hat,” he said. “Perhaps it is with your coat?”
“Oh.” Her hand clapped onto her mussed hair.
“I can help you locate them,” he said, suddenly anxious to keep their conversation going, no matter how stilted it might be.
“I didn’t…or rather, I wasn’t wearing them,” she stammered. “I ran out of the house so quickly, as the cat was slipping from the tree, there wasn’t a spare moment to put them on. However, I did manage to catch him with my skirt.” She startled suddenly and looked down at her skirt where a small smear of reddish-brown showed. “The poor dear is wounded.”
“You are as well, Miss Bexley.”
She paid him no mind as she pried one little paw to inspect before moving on to the next. With a soft tsk, she leaned over the cat. She was so near to Lucien that the sweet, citrusy scent of her perfume teased at his awareness.
Miss Bexley gazed up at him and batted her wide blue eyes. “May I?” She could have asked him for his entire library at that moment and he might have given it up.
Or perhaps not.
He was quite fond of his collection of philosophical works.
Rather than try to flounder for something witty to remark upon or perhaps ask what it was she wanted, he simply nodded.
No sooner had his head moved than his handkerchief was whisked from his coat pocket and wrapped around the creature’s wounded paw.
“And what of your injury?” he inquired, unable to let her bleeding knee go, especially when the stain on her dress seemed to bloom larger by the second.
“Oh, it’s fine.” She shrugged a shoulder at his concern. “Truly. It isn’t the first injury I’ve sustained, nor will it likely be my last. I’m sure you’ve heard I’m something of a hoyden.”
Her blatant remark surprised him as it was uncommon for a woman to be so forthright. It was quite refreshing.
“Does it bother you?” The abruptness of his question was confirmed by the way her head snapped toward him.
An impending sneeze prickled at the back of his nose. He exhaled slowly to quell the urge.
Her slim brows lifted, the same fiery red as her hair. “Does being a hoyden bother me?”
Before he could stammer out an excuse to cover his awkward inquiry, Miss Bexley answered her question. “It’s who I am.”
She flashed a smile at him and cradled the kitten to her. “Though I do suppose my mother will be rather put out with me for ruining another gown.”
A polite glance at her day dress confirmed it was indeed ruined. It was the only part of the encounter that appeared to leave Miss Bexley distressed. That and the fence, of course.
The desperate urge to sneeze attacked him again, welling in his eyes and tingling at the back of his nose. “You can tell your mother it was my fault,” he suggested.
To his surprise, Miss Bexley laughed, a light, silvery sound that rose unabashed in a world where ladies quietly giggled behind hands and fans. The surprise of it thankfully shocked away his need to sneeze.
“I can imagine saying as much to my mother would put me in far greater trouble. And you too.” She tilted her head, considering him for a moment. “But I truly do appreciate the offer, Lord Brightstone.”
The cat squirmed in her hands. “I’ll have my father’s man see to your fence. Thank you again for not being cross with me over its destruction.”
“You needn’t worry,” he rushed, not wanting her to upset her parents further. “I’ll have the fence repaired before you can even notify your father.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, clearly warring with herself before turning her sunny smile upon him once more. “Thank you. Truly. And for also saving Leaf.”
“Leaf?”
She stroked a hand over the animal’s small furry head. “Since he fell from a tree, the name only seemed fitting.”
It was a whimsical name for a cat, but one that somehow fit with this fascinating woman’s stream of consciousness. “Indeed, it does.”
“It was good to see you again after all this time.” Miss Bexley gave a little curtsey.
Lucien smiled at her. “The pleasure was all mine.” And truly, it was.
“Oh, your coat.” She gracefully swirled it from her shoulders with one hand and extended it to him. “Thank you for your chivalry.”
He accepted the garment. “Of course.”
With one last smile, she spun from him, cat in hand, and strode away without limping. Lucien waited as she strolled away, his eyes watering until she was out of sight, when he could finally yield to his tremendous urge with a great and unfettered sneeze.
Only when Hannah was entirely certain Lord Brightstone was out of sight did she allow herself to limp. After the excitement of her accident and the energy charging in her system as she’d chased little Leaf ebbed away, the sting of her injury made itself known. As did the biting cold.
She hadn’t realized how much of a chill the wind held until she swept the heat of his coat from her shoulders to return it to him. There had been a pleasant smell to the coat—shaving soap, the familiar aroma of books and an underlying spice.
“I’m grateful you are safe,” she said to Leaf.
It nuzzled closer to her, purring furiously where she cradled the warm puff against her bosom, completely heedless of her limp.
“It was kind of Lord Brightstone to save you,” she continued. “And to be so gracious about his broken fence.”
Mortification washed over her at her folly, at the way her skirts had flipped up with her graceless tumble.
“And my indecency,” she added miserably to the uninterested cat.
What was more, he had not regarded her with the bewildered horror he should have, which most certainly would have.
No, Lord Brightstone had been understanding and gracious, almost appearing somewhat flustered himself.
She recalled him well from of the few times they’d been in one another’s company in her youth. He’d never wanted to climb trees or catch frogs in the streams, preferring instead to sequester himself in the vast silence of the library. Hannah loved books as well, an appreciation she’d garnered at Elizabeth’s enthusiastic behest, but Hannah never could bring herself to be as quiet as the room warranted.
The years had been good to Lord Brightstone. He was now a handsome man with blue eyes that possessed an undeniable keenness. Granted, his wavy blond hair was several weeks overdue for a trim, and a slight shadow of whiskers over his strong jaw suggested he hadn’t bothered to shave that morning. Even his clothes appeared somewhat disorderly and rumpled. She rather liked the lack of airs he took on in the country, being so much like herself.
When away from London, she could set aside the discomforts of society fashion. She far preferred comfortable attire as she reveled in her freedom in the open fields and endless forests amid the wildly beautiful allure of nature.
As she limped toward the house, she already anticipated the theatrics of her mother’s reaction. Suddenly, Hannah was immensely grateful to Lord Brightstone for his offer to have his man fix the fence. The less her parents knew of her humiliation, the better.