Page 20 of Seven Swans a Swimming

Arabella hesitated. Was she? She was surprised, certainly; it was not every day one had a light conversation with a gentleman about swans which led to a dissection.

But then, she ate beast or fowl every day of her life. She had read…not the entire thing, but a few chapters in books about biology, about the natural world. There was one in the library at Chalcroft. She had seen sketches of rabbit skulls and fox skulls—she had even been to a card party once in a parlor which had a stuffed raven in one corner.

Was what Nathaniel had done any different to those, really?

“No,” she said slowly, not looking away from him. “Not offended. Surprised.”

Nathaniel let out a bark of a laugh. “Well put, Miss Fitzroy.”

“I wish you would call me Arabella.”

The words had slipped out before she could stop them—before she had any thought of censoring herself.

But she did. It had been pleasant the other day to have her name on his lips. It gave her a sense of closeness, which she perhaps should have had by now, but had not managed.

There was a wry smile on Nathaniel’s lips. “I said before you can call me Nathaniel.”

Arabella nodded, suddenly shy. She had never been on a first name terms with a gentleman before. Well, perhaps Orlando, but they did not really count. Friends of the family were not the same as a gentleman one spoke to when one was alone with them.

“So,” she said aloud, trying to make sure she did not break the connection, “you are a naturalist, then? A scientific explorer of…of swans?”

“Of all birds, really,” said Nathaniel, his features really coming alive as he started to point out different birds on the lake. “And most animals. You see there? Those geese which swam by us a little earlier—they have flown hundreds of miles to be here, to winter here.”

Arabella screwed up her nose. “Here? Will they not be cold?”

He laughed at that and shook his head. “They have ventured from far colder climes than we experience—and our swallows, you know, have flown south themselves for warmer climes. Many birds do so.”

“But many stay here,” Arabella said, hoping to goodness she did not sound a dullard. “The robin, for example. The swans.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Yes, and they are perhaps some of our truest birds in England. Robins,Erithacus rubecula, and swans will return to the place of their birth to breed the next generation, as do the swallows. The cycle of nature pulling them back, pulling them toward each other.”

Arabella swallowed. Only then did she notice how closely they were standing. Why, if she just moved her hand ever so slightly, her fingers would brush against his own.

And she wanted to. In that moment, all she wanted was to fall into his arms, have his fingers entwined in her hair, and feel his lips on hers. Know what it was to be kissed, not just by a man, but by this man. Nathaniel.

For there were hidden depths to him that she was only just beginning to understand. His knowledge was deep, his passion extensive, even if it had taken her a few days to ascertain in which direction it bent. And he was shy. Nervous of her. That was it.

“There are only six swans now.”

“What?” Nathaniel asked quickly.

Arabella hesitated. She had spoken only because she had noticed the swans were only six. “Six swans. I thought—you said…seven swans, aren’t there?”

He looked at her closely for a moment, then looked back out at the lake. “Yes. There are usually seven swans.”

Arabella waited, but he said nothing more. There must be some sort of swan knowledge that made that totally natural. And if Nathaniel could have such interest and passion in birds, could they not meet there? Could she not learn, too, become knowledgeable, perhaps even watch a dissection?

Because, and she knew this to be true as she looked up at him, gazing at the lines creasing at the corners of his eyes as he looked out at the birds on the lake, she could learn to love this man.

Love not purely the handsome expression, the strength in the arms, his ability to make her want him desperately with just a few words. But his intelligence, his wit. The sardonic humor she was sure she would grow to love.

A shiver moved down her neck as Nathaniel turned and smiled, for the first time, without any ruefulness or malice in his eyes. A genuine smile, one directed at her.

“You know, I think this is the longest we have managed to converse without arguing,” he said softly.

Arabella smiled weakly. “Are you sure?”

“You’re right, perhaps not,” he said, his smile becoming mischievous, his light eyes glittering. “There, now you’ve done it. We’re arguing again.”

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