Miss Bradshaw's Bought Betrothal. Virginia Heath

Evie shook her head.

      ‘No, thank you.’ Already she was positively swimming in the stuff. Another cup might well cause it to seep out of her ears. ‘Do you know where I can find Lord Finnegan?’ Sitting around and waiting for one of the Matlock brothers to come to her was becoming very tiresome. Even Aunt Winnie had given up and taken herself off for an afternoon nap.

      ‘I have no idea, miss. Lord Finnegan went out hours ago. He tends to come and go as he pleases so I could not hazard a guess as to when he will return.’ The maid bobbed a curtsy and scurried away, leaving alone Evie to wait some more.

      This was ridiculous.

      She had come to Yorkshire to escape having her life controlled by others, to climb out of her suffocating chrysalis and breathe, not to allow two obnoxious men to step into Hyacinth’s shoes and force her to dance to their tune. If Fergus was too cowardly to face her here, then she would go and track him down herself. She was the new Evie Bradshaw after all, no longer a convenient doormat, and she was intending to be more fearless and independent. Feeling suddenly decisive, she stood and went off in search of the stables. She would avail herself of Lord Finnegan’s carriage and take herself to the inn.

      But there was no carriage in the stables. Lord Finnegan, she was reliably informed, had no use for one. They would, however, saddle a horse for her should she require one or she could walk the two miles to the village seeing as it was a lovely day. As there was no way Evie was going to climb on to the back of a horse, she set off across the pretty meadow in the direction that had been pointed, ignoring the early summer heat and the inappropriateness of her footwear. Half a mile on and her thin slippers began to rub and Evie found herself becoming quite hot in the long-sleeved dress she had stupidly chosen to wear. Far off in the distance she could just about make out the spire of a church nestled amongst the gently rolling hills, which meant that she probably still had a good thirty minutes of walking ahead of her. Thirty more minutes of perspiration and foot pain.

      With a sigh she flopped down into the grass. Perhaps going off to visit Fergus alone was not such a good idea. She would probably lose her nerve the moment she laid eyes on him, anyway, and any reprimand would come out sounding squeaky and pathetic. She should probably just return to the house.

      For several minutes Evie just sat there, until a pretty butterfly floated passed. Only then did she remember why she had come here in the first place. Freedom. She had intended to enjoy and embrace life on her own, not sit around waiting for life to come to her. Here she was, sat in a beautiful meadow. The sun was shining and she was all on her own. Instead of feeling miserable she should be revelling in this. Why was she in a hurry to seek out Fergus when he was clearly in no hurry either? Aside from five thousand pounds, she owed Fergus nothing.

      And as there was nobody to see her here, why was she suffering? Feeling emboldened, Evie yanked off her silly slippers, then rolled off her stockings. She could put them back on nearer to her destination, but for now she would enjoy the pleasant sensation of the air around her bare legs. It was delightful. So delightful that when she had her own house she would never wear stockings in summer. Or corsets.

      Feeling a little naughty and rebellious at such scandalous thoughts, she wiggled her toes and then unbuttoned the high neck of her dress all the way down to her collarbone before rolling up her sleeves as well. It was too hot for buttons and sleeves. For good measure, she took off her big straw bonnet and stuffed her discarded clothing into it, then tied the ribbons to make a carrying handle before she set off again at a much more leisurely pace. Already that all felt so much better and unrestricting. She would embrace the inevitable freckles joyfully. She had long ago accepted spinsterhood, so why should she care if her skin was not fashionable? If she had not been on her way to visit Fergus, she would have also unpinned her hair. Perhaps, when she bought her own house here, she would ensure that it also had a secluded meadow so that she could go completely wild and strip off to just her shift while she cavorted amongst the flowers like that butterfly?

      From then on her little walk was like an adventure. Evie stopped to watch the different birds as they went about their business, stared at the shapes made by the clouds and picked some of the prettier meadow flowers, even tucking a vibrant, fat dandelion carelessly behind her ear. When she found her path blocked by a wide stream it did not faze her as it normally would. At most, the crystal-clear water was barely five inches deep and, because she was now at one with nature, Evie decided to wade through it rather than find a way around it. Except, the moment her toes came into contact with the refreshing water, she could not find the motivation to move from that perfect spot.

      As a child she remembered paddling in the sea on a trip to Brighton and that memory took her back to happier times when there had just been Evie and her parents. Mama was in fine health, laughing and holding her hand, and Papa was threatening to splash them both. How long ago had that been? Too long, she realised with a jolt. Almost fifteen years since she had enjoyed the joyous pleasure that came from simply splashing in the water.

      On a whim, Evie tossed her bonnet basket back on to the bank and then bent down to knot her skirt above her knees. This afternoon, she would splash again. Simply because she could.

      * * *

      Finn was seething as he crested the hill, an emotion that he did not experience often but one that his brother almost always managed to rouse. Why did Fergus always do exactly as he wanted without any thought to the consequences? And how wonderful must it feel to selfishly skip through life without the burden of even a modicum of guilt for the chaos that you left in your wake? Once again Fergus had made a mess and left Finn to clear it up. What he expected him to do with his new fiancée, Finn had no clue. The small, loyal part of him wanted to make excuses for his brother, but his conscience would never allow that. It would be the kindest thing all around if he told her the truth. Yes, it would break her heart in the short term, but in the long term she would be spared the awful reality of being shackled to Fergus for all eternity. Nobody deserved that. The sooner he appraised Miss Bradshaw of the truth, the better. With her gone, life would return to normal and he would have peace and quiet again.

      Horatio, his favourite horse, meandered towards the stream. They usually stopped there on their way back from the village so that the old boy could take a drink and a rest, and despite his bad mood, Finn could not quite bring himself to deprive the animal of that tiny pleasure. It was hardly Horatio’s fault that Finn’s brother was a scoundrel of the first order. Besides, the longer it took him to get back to Matlock House, the longer he could delay having to tell his brother’s future bride that the reliably unreliable Fergus had disappeared.

      But as they got to the stream, fate decided that the bad news could not be put off any longer. Miss Bradshaw was there. Not that she had seen him yet, which was no surprise since she had her back to him again. Finn would have called to her, but she was having far too much fun kicking water into the air like a child. Despite his foul mood, there was something sweet and arresting in the sight of her so easily content which made him pause and simply watch her. Her ugly dress was hoisted above her knees to keep it out of the water. She had managed to get it soaked regardless, so it clung heavily to her shapely legs as she dragged her feet aimlessly through the water.

      Finn quietly slid off of his horse and began to walk towards her. As he got closer it became apparent that Miss Bradshaw was also singing—although her voice and choice of song were surprising. For a woman who squeaked and blushed at everything, that voice was surprisingly strong and earthy as she sung some song about a highwayman who was wooing two women simultaneously. If she had of been a tavern wench as he had first thought, that voice, like her figure, would earn her a small fortune.

      She must have heard him because she suddenly stopped and whipped her head around. A cheerful yellow dandelion hung listlessly from her hair and her mouth formed an ‘o’ of surprise at being caught. Thanks to the open buttons, Finn got to witness the ferocious blush as it spread up her neck and bloomed over her face, and found himself inexplicably charmed by the sight.

      ‘Lord Finnegan!’ Her hand came up to her throat and denied him the view of the hint of cleavage he had spotted under the blush, and then as an afterthought, she snatched the lolling flower from her hair and held it limply in her hand. ‘I was heading to the inn to see Fergus.’

      ‘Then