Page 92 of The Lover's Eye
The path was encroached by wild grasses, but the sea hummed here, and the soil was marked with footprints.She began following them, but was promptly pummeled in the legs by something shockingly wet and fast.
Isobel grunted, the air expelled from her lungs as she fell backwards onto her bottom.
“Pepper!”came a man’s voice.It sounded nearby, but she couldn’t be sure with all the wind and—panting?
She sat up to find a dripping wet spaniel in her face.The dog’s mouth was open in a carefree smile, its pink tongue lolling out to one side.She evaluated the splatter of sand and salt on her wet skirts and grumbled under her breath.
“Oh, Lady Trevelyan, it’s you!”
A freckled hand was reaching down to her.Isobel looked up, seeing a male figure cast in shadow by the sun behind him.She squinted, raising a hand to her forehead, and could not mistake the peachy translucent hair swirling in the wind.“Reverend Gouldsmith?”
“Yes, yes,” he said, sounding addled.“Take my hand.”
Isobel did so reluctantly, and he gave her a firm tug to her feet.She set about brushing the sand from her skirt, but it would not budge against the wet fabric.
“I am terribly sorry for this,” he said.He looked enlivened from his walk, his cheeks bright with color and his voice loud against the whip of wind and crash of waves.Isobel thought he looked a good deal happier than he ever had during their past encounters.
“It’s all right.You couldn’t have helped it.”
They both looked at the spaniel, who had now taken to nosing around in the grass and wagged his chocolate tail lazily.“Pepper gets out of hand at the beach, I’m afraid,” the vicar said with a laugh.
“For a moment, I thought Smooch had followed me all this way,” Isobel said.Then, realizing the reverend probably hadn’t the faintest idea who she spoke of, she added, “Giles’s dog, that is.He has a spaniel quite like your Pepper.”
“Ah!”Reverend Gouldsmith smiled.“How is Smooch?”
“She is well,” Isobel said slowly.“Though she’s probably getting more trimmings from Cook than she ought to.”
The vicar nodded appreciatively, removing his spectacles to dry the lenses on his dark coat.“Perhaps I can bring Pepper ’round one day.I’m sure Smooch would love to play with him; whelps of the same litter never forget one another, you know.”
Isobel’s brows met.“The same litter?”
“Oh, yes.Didn’t you know?”The vicar put a hand into his pocket, as if he had to adopt the appropriate stance before embarking on some particularly great tale.“My daughter found these pups on the roadside.They were almost small enough to fit in my palm.She brought them home, of course, and I insisted we find proper homes for them once they grew big enough.A vicarage is no place for wild dogs such as these.”
His smile softened, and he looked out in the direction of the sea.“Wouldn’t you know it, that every person who tried to take the dogs home would wake to find them gone?The pups found their way back to Aurelia every time.No one else would suit.”
A sick hollowness clutched the base of Isobel’s throat.She tried to believe it was owed to hunger, an appetite worked up from her walk, perhaps, andnotthe vicar’s analogy.
“How lovely,” she said quietly.“I’m afraid I must be off, Reverend.I’ve a long journey back to Cambo House.”She took a few steps back, willing to postpone her rest so that she might enjoy it in solitude.The second she moved, however, she felt the undoing of the bandage around her left thigh and stepped awkwardly to keep it in place.
“Oh dear.You’re limping!Did the fall injure you, Lady Trevelyan?”
“No, I assure you I am well.I only had a little … mishap the other day that’s affected my limb.”If her face hadn’t already been scorching from exertion, she might have had the decency to flush.The vicar had almost certainly heard of the aforementioned ‘mishap’, and her luncheon’s uncanny resemblance to the one his daughter hosted a year prior.
“You must come to the vicarage and rest for a spell.Then I can return you to Cambo House in my gig, or send for Trevelyan, of course.”
There it was again.That easy usage of her husband’s name that made her nerve fibers stand on end.“Really, Reverend, I assure you I am well enough.”
“I insist.”
The pair endured a few moments of polite stand off, small smiles belying two wills at odds.
“Abigail, my maid, can make you up some tea and a delicious sandwich,” he offered.
Isobel’s stomach spoke for her, growling beneath the tight confines of her stays.She cast a glance over her shoulder, trying to calculate just how many miles she’d come.
“All right.”
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