[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
this one, of course, but enough to satisfy a boy for the day.
George listened with her pickle, speared on a fork, held in midair. That sounds lovely.
It was. He looked away.
She frowned at her pickle, and then popped it into her mouth. Did you go alone, or were there other
boys in the area to accompany you? She squinted over his shoulder. Was that a horseman coming up
the road?
I usually had a mate.
Definitely a horseman. I wonder who that is.
He twisted to look behind him. His back stiffened. Damn.
Do you know who it is?
The rider was nearing, and by the narrowness of his shoulders, it wasn t Lord Granville.
Maybe. Mr. Pye still stared.
The rider was now below the hill. He glanced up at them.
Goddamn, Mr. Pye said.
George knew she should be shocked, but he didn t seem to realize that he d sworn twice in front of
her. Slowly she put down the pickle jar.
Hullo, the man called. Do you mind if I join you?
She had a feeling Mr. Pye was about to reply in the negative to this friendly greeting, so she answered,
Not at all.
The man dismounted, tethered his horse, and began to climb the slope. George couldn t help but notice
that, unlike when Mr. Pye had climbed the hill, the man was puffing by the time he reached them.
Whew! A bit of a climb, what? He brought out a handkerchief and wiped his sweating face.
George stared at him curiously. He dressed and spoke like a gentleman. Tall and long-boned, he had an
ingratiating smile on thin lips, and his brown eyes were familiar.
I m sorry to bother you, but I noticed the carriage and thought I d introduce myself. He bowed.
Thomas Granville at your service. And you are . . .?
Georgina Maitland. This is
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
But Mr. Granville interrupted, Ah, I thought so . . . or rather, I hoped so. May I? He gestured at the
throw.
Please.
Thank you. He lowered himself carefully. Actually, I wanted to apologize for my father s behavior
yesterday. He told me that he d visited you and that you d disagreed. And knowing my father
That s nice of you.
Neighbors and all. Mr. Granville waved his hand vaguely. I thought there must be a way we can settle
this peacefully.
How? Mr. Pye s one word dropped onto the conversation, flattening it.
George glanced sharply at him.
Mr. Granville turned to speak, looked Mr. Pye in the face, and coughed.
Mr. Pye handed him a glass of wine.
Harry, Mr. Granville gasped when he could draw breath. I didn t realize that was you until I saw
How, Harry Pye inquired, do you plan to settle the problem without bloodshed?
It ll have to stop, of course the sheep poisoning, I mean. And the other mischief.
Plainly. But how?
You ll have to leave, I m afraid, Harry. Mr. Granville shrugged one shoulder jerkily. Even if you
repaid the cost of the livestock and the damage to Father s stable, he s not going to let it go. You know
what he s like.
Mr. Granville s gaze dropped to Harry Pye s mutilated right hand resting on his knee. George followed
his eyes and felt a cold wave wash over her body when she saw Harry flex the remaining fingers.
And if I don t leave? Mr. Pye replied in a deadly calm voice, as if he were inquiring the time.
You don t have a choice. Mr. Granville looked to George, apparently for support.
She raised her eyebrows.
He turned back to Mr. Pye. It s for the best, Harry. I can t answer for what will happen if you don t.
Harry Pye didn t reply. His green eyes had grown stony.
Nobody spoke for an uncomfortable period of time.
Mr. Granville suddenly slapped his hand on the throw. Disgusting things. He lifted his hand, and George
saw that he d squashed the cabbage butterfly.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
She must ve made a sound.
Both men looked at her, but it was Mr. Granville who spoke. The butterfly. They come from worms that
devour leafy crops. Nasty things. All farmers hate them.
She and Mr. Pye were silent.
Mr. Granville s face reddened. Well. I must be going.
Thank you for the repast. He stood and clambered back down the hill to his horse.
Harry Pye watched him go, eyes narrowed.
George looked down at the pickle jar beside her hand. She hadn t the appetite for them anymore. She
sighed mournfully. A perfect picnic ruined.
YOU DON T LIKE HIM. Lady Georgina frowned, looking down at the picnic blanket. She was
trying to fold it, but it was turning into a tangled mess.
Who? Harry took it from her and shook out the fabric, then handed her the corners on one end.
Thomas Granville, of course. She held her end of the blanket limply as if she didn t know what to do.
Hadn t she ever folded a sheet before? You swore when you saw him, you weren t going to invite him
to join us, and when he did, you were barely civil to him.
No, I don t like Thomas Granville. He backed up to draw the fabric taut, then brought his corners
together so that a rectangle hung between them. She caught on. They folded the blanket once more, and
then he walked toward her to take her corners from her. He met her eyes.
They were narrowed. Why? What s wrong with Mr. Granville?
He s his father s son. I don t trust him.
He knew you. Her head was cocked to the side, as if she were a curious thrush. You knew each
other.
Aye.
She opened her mouth, and he expected more questions, but she simply pressed her lips together again.
Silently they packed away the rest of the picnic. He took the basket from her, and they climbed down to
the waiting gig. He stowed the basket under the seat, and then turned to her, steeling his features. It was
harder to keep his emotions in check around her these days.
She watched him with thoughtful blue eyes. Who do you think is poisoning the sheep?
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]