Page 38 of The Widow of Falbrooke Court (Ladies of Devon 3)

His eyes widened. “I’m not sure—”

“Or cunning? I’m convinced you’ll need to be cunning if you are to track down these fiends.”

Charles looked astonished, his blue eyes round and flicking between Hattie and Amelia.

Hattie continued. “Do you possess the ability to slip in and out of places unseen?”

“I think we ought to be returning to the house now,” Amelia said, clutching Hattie’s arm and pulling her away from the gentlemen before she could make a fool of herself. Judging by Charles’s furrowed brow, he was one inquiry away from pegging Hattie as utterly mad.

Not that Amelia would blame him. She was in the same line of thinking herself.

“Good day, ladies,” Mr. Pepper called, lifting his hat.

Amelia cast the men a smile, hastening her stride.

Hattie scurried to keep up, her confusion almost endearing. “You were in quite a hurry to leave them. And here I thought you were softening toward Mr. Fremont.”

Amelia halted in her tracks, pulling Hattie to a stop beside her. “Why do you say that?”

Lifting one shoulder in a shrug, Hattie glanced toward the men on the other side of the flower garden, crossing toward the side of the house where Mr. Green was shooting. “There is no definitive moment in which this stood out to me, but I have sensed something changing recently. Was I very wrong?”

She wasn’t wrong, but Amelia had no inclination to admit this now. To say that she was softening toward Charles indicated that her feelings were changing, which was simply untrue. Amelia was growing to understand the man differently, perhaps, and she could certainly see the value in his friendship, but her romantic feelings toward him were unaltered—nonexistent.

“Not entirely. I no longer worry that carrying on a conversation with Charles will give the man reason to believe me interested in him.”

Hattie nodded, and they continued walking. They reached the back door of the Greens’ house, and Hattie rested her hand on the door handle but didn’t proceed to open it. Turning, she settled her contemplative gaze on her friend. “You’ve believed yourself to be protecting his feelings by rejecting him so consistently, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

Hattie’s smile was simple, her eyes wise. “It will benefit the both of you, I think, for you to let go of the notion that every man you speak amiably to will believe you wish to marry him.”

“Look at the record of my past, Hattie. The only men I’ve carried amiable relationships with did become my husbands.”

“Mr. Pepper? Mr. Fremont?”

“Mr. Fremont has been around so long that he cannot count, and Mr. Pepper and I could not exactly claim an amiable relationship until after he married Giulia.”

“Maybe,” Hattie conceded. “But recall that what I said stands true. And anyway, Mr. Fremont soon might be married to someone else.”

Amelia could not contain her shock entirely, but she was somewhat discomfited by Hattie’s remark, and that she could not decipher whether her friend was in earnest or playing a joke.

“Besides,” Hattie continued, letting herself into the house and grinning over her shoulder. “I must marry a fox, and poor Mr. Fremont might be as close as I can get.”

* * *

“That Hattie Green is a character,” Nick said, chuckling with good-natured amusement as they crossed the lawn toward the shooting range. “I do wonder how such opposite people as she and Mrs. Fawn are can be such dear friends.”

A smile crept onto Charles’s mouth. He glanced over his shoulder and snuck a look at the women as they stood by the back door of the large house discussing something earnestly. “They’ve been friends as long as they’ve been alive. I do think relationships created in childhood have a lasting effect.”

Nick nodded. “Undoubtedly.”

Charles pushed them from his mind, doing his best not to consider that Amelia was probably watching him walk away right now. He was a man with a mission, and he would pour every ounce of energy he possessed into searching for these horses until he found them. Because thinking of horses was far easier to endure than pining for Amelia.

At least the horses would show him some bit of affection once he retrieved them. And he would get them back. He was committed.

Rounding the corner of the house, Charles drew in a steadying breath. He needed to put her dainty nose and vibrant eyes from his mind and focus on the matter at hand.

“Good day, Mr. Green,” Nick called, startling him.

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