Lady Cecily And The Mysterious Mr Gray. Janice Preston

you would not have to earn your living?’

      ‘No.’ They strolled down the gentle slope of grass towards the lake. He heard her sigh. ‘No, I would not. Leo would give me an allowance. A generous one. And I am fully aware that makes me sound ungrateful for my life of privilege.’

      He sensed her eyes upon him, but kept his attention straight ahead, on the stretch of water ahead, gleaming in the light of the moon.

      ‘I am aware of how fortunate I am.’

      ‘Yes. You at least do have choices, unlike some.’

      Unlike Mama.

      His mother’s face materialised in his mind’s eye and a wave of grief rolled through him. He did not fight it, nor did he succumb to it. Grief was a part of life and living and he had learned to accept its appearance, knowing it would recede soon enough.

      They paused at the water’s edge.

      ‘It may help you to decide what to do if you speak your choices out loud.’

      There was a lilt of humour in her voice as she said, ‘You mean you are not going to advise me what my choices are?’

      ‘Should I?’

      ‘You are a man. In my world, most men would fall over themselves to prove they know the best way for me to proceed.’

      ‘I am not most men.’

      There was a pause. ‘No. That appears to be true.’

      ‘So tell me then—in your world, what choices are there for an unmarried lady of your birth?’

      ‘For a respectable lady with a need to earn a living, she might choose the role of a companion or a governess.’

      ‘And for a respectable lady with no need to earn her living?’

      She sighed. ‘Nothing. There is nothing to look forward to but that slow descent into the role of dependent relative, as I said.’

      ‘But if you have an allowance, does that not give you a choice?’

      ‘Such as?’

      ‘If you could choose your ideal life, what would it be?’

      She laughed, but it turned into a sob, quickly choked off. He couldn’t help himself. He put his arm around her shoulders, and smoothed his hand down the bare flesh of her arm. Her head tipped towards him and rested for a moment against his shoulder before she pulled away.

      ‘And that proves how pathetic I am. You ask me about my ideal life and all I can think is that I want my life to continue as it has always been. I want to care for my family and I want to run a large, happy household. It is what I have always done and what I always expected to do. I want nothing else.’ She bowed her head, pressing her fingers against her eyes. ‘But that is the one thing I cannot have, is it not? My brothers are now married and our family has already changed, and I can only selfishly dwell upon how those changes will affect me and my life.’

      He touched her nape and stroked, relishing the silky warmth of her skin and the delicate bumps of her spine.

      ‘Change is like that, is it not?’ His mind drifted back to his own past and he brought it swiftly back to heel. ‘It is the nature of the beast; it can affect our lives in ways we cannot begin to imagine.’

      She turned her head to look up at him. She was so close he could hear the quiet sough of her breathing, and her scent—reminding him of sweet apple blossom—mingled with the night air until he felt full of her. He forced his hand from her and crouched down, feeling around in the damp soil at the edge of the lake. His fingertips found the smooth surface of a large pebble and he picked it up, smoothing his thumb over it as he regained his feet.

      ‘It is like the change a pebble makes when it is thrown into a pond.’ He tossed the stone high and long, aiming for the middle of the lake. ‘It sinks below the surface to lie unseen on the bottom, but the ripples it causes touch every inch of the shoreline.’

      ‘Yes. Yes, it is just like that. And I am on the shore, and the ripples are...oh, I don’t know...unsettling...disturbing...and they force me to acknowledge that even good changes...wonderful changes...can have negative consequences.’

      ‘And one of those negative consequences is how your brother’s marriage will affect you?’

      ‘Yes. No.’ A sound of frustration, like a low growl, emerged from her and Zach hid his smile at the idea of Lady Perfect growling. ‘I ought not to be talking to you like this.’

      ‘But you wish to—need to—or you would not be doing it. Life is more content if we all follow what we choose to do rather than what we ought, should or must do.’

      ‘If everyone did that, chaos would ensue. There has to be some discipline. Some law. Some obligation.’

      ‘Of course there must, in wider society. I meant on a personal level. You are so bound by the etiquette and rules of your world that you cannot look beyond those boundaries.’

      ‘That is easy for you to say.’ Bitterness laced her words. ‘But that is my—oh!’

      Lady Perfect fell silent as a familiar ghostly shape swooped towards them. She did not scream as he feared she might. Rather, she watched, entranced, as the barn owl flew low across the pond, her flight silent, and landed on Zach’s outstretched arm.

      ‘What...?’ Cecily’s voice was a whisper, full of wonderment.

      ‘Lady Cecily Beauchamp, meet Athena.’

       Chapter Three

      Cecily had never been this close to an owl before. Athena stunned her, with her heart-shaped face and huge dark eyes and the contrast between the buff-coloured feathers on her wings and back with the snowy white of her face and breast. Mr Gray took Cecily’s ungloved hand and raised it to the bird’s breast. Her fingers sank into the soft feathers, more deeply than she anticipated.

      ‘She is beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘Why is she so tame?’

      Mr Gray touched the owl’s head with his forehead, then lifted his arm high. The bird launched into flight and glided away as silently as it had arrived.

      ‘I reared her from a fledgling.’ His hands cupped in an unconscious gesture, as though he remembered the finding of her and as though he still protected her.

      ‘How old is she?’

      ‘She is nine now.’

      ‘Do you keep other animals, Mr Gray?’

      He rubbed his hand across his jaw. ‘I do not keep them. They are free to leave if they so wish.’

      ‘Will you tell me about them?’

      ‘Another time. Maybe.’

      He began to walk back across the grass towards the garden and regret swirled through her. She followed him, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.

      ‘I am sorry. I did not mean to pry. I should not have questioned you.’

      ‘There you go again, with your “I should not have...”’ he growled.

      He slammed to a halt and pivoted to face her with such suddenness that she almost cannoned into him. Her feet, still clad in her satin dancing slippers, skidded from under her and she reached out, clutching his lapels to steady herself. His arms came around her, hauling her close, and she found her cheek pressed to his chest, the steady beat of his heart thumping in her ear...far steadier than her own erratic heartbeat which flittered, soared and swooped.

      ‘Steady.’

      His voice rumbled through her. His arms still held her captive, but they loosened a little, allowing her to tip her head back to look at him. His eyes flashed