Page 34 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
Or, he was indulging quite another passion, in the arms of a certain French Fancy.
Neither prospect was comforting, but dwelling on what she couldn’t be sure of was doing her no good.
Outside looked rather blustery and the sky was a mixture of greys that hardly boded well for the afternoon, but if she didn’t get some fresh air she’d run mad.
Having donned her cloak and availed herself of several hat pins, she set out with Pom Pom, heading across the lawns towards the lake. She hoped to have time to stroll its circumference before the weather broke. If not, there was the pretty little temple near the bottom which would offer shelter if need be; being obliged to hide there for a while wasn’t an unappealing notion.
However, as she reached the gravel drive, Pom Pom dived into a bed of chrysanthemums and began a frenzy of digging. Rosamund rooted in her pocket for a dry biscuit. There would be no luring him out unless she offered a more attractive alternative.
“Here, try this,” a voice called, and a tennis ball flew through the air, bouncing across the grass.
Pom Pom’s head popped up, his white muzzle thick with dirt, and he set off after the missile, spraying soil behind him.
“Good idea to stretch the legs before those clouds get any darker. Don’t mind if I come?”
He really was a strange one, thought Rosamund: convivial one minute and standoffish the next—as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether to bother with her.
Much like his uncle!
“If you like, but I’m walking briskly, so do keep up!” Rosamund lengthened her stride. If he wanted to tag along, he could go at whatever pace she set!
“Your mother, how is she?” he asked, appearing at her side slightly breathless.
“Fine.” Rosamund really didn’t want to talk about it. “She’s resting, is all.”
Rosamund regretted the turn of phrase immediately. It was what people said when they were being discreet. Women "rested" when their nerves were frayed; when the world around them was just too much to face. To be indisposed in such a way implied an inability to function.
It was all true, Rosamund supposed, although she kept telling herself the confusion her mother was displaying was merely due to an over-exerted mind.
“Glad she’s alright,” said Mr. Studborne brightly. “We should all take a leaf from her book. Good to know when to take things easy.”
Pom Pom sprinted back with the ball in his mouth and dropped it by the young man’s feet.
“Clever boy! Off you go!” Mr. Studborne launched the ball, sending the Westie dashing off again.
Rosamund paused, watching her puppy in his new game. “I hadn’t realized he’d be able to do that.”
Grudgingly, she smiled. “Kind of you to think of it.”
“Well, I saw you go out with him and…” Mr. Studborne faltered. “Not that I was watching for you. I was just looking…hoping really…” His voice trailed off.
“It’s fine. Nice to have the company.” She set off again, this time at a more sedate speed. “Although, shouldn’t you be reading up on ditches, or the most efficient methods of spreading muck on fields.”
He laughed. “I probably should, but I’m giving myself the day off from wearing my estate managing hat.”
He pondered a moment. “I’ve been preparing a paper for submission to the Royal Society, actually. Hence my trips to Osmington. I’m looking at how the preservation of fossilised organisms differs through the various strata.”
He was off again! She appreciated those lumps of rock must be of interest to somebody; sadly, they weren’t to her, but Mr. Studborne deserved her politeness.
“You clearly have a passion for the subject. Aren’t you tempted to be at Oxford, teaching or something?”
He hesitated before answering. “Yes, perhaps, but it’s better to be based where the fossils are. This part of the coast is richer in finds than anywhere else in the country. Besides which, my uncle needs me.”
“Of course.”
They walked in silence for a little, Pom Pom running back and forth with the ball, leaping with excitement as he waited for it to be thrown once more.
“Still, nice to have the choice, isn’t it?” Rosamund mused. “The only thing I’m supposed to achieve is a suitable marriage, and I doubt a curious intellect is high on the list of suitors’ requisites.”
