The Last Eligible Bachelor - Ashtyn Newbold Page 0,46

him.

He shrugged. “It is a matter of opinion, and I’m sure you shall have your own when you see them. But I must confess I am slightly partial to the gardens at Hill Manor.” He smiled as he spoke, and I found myself watching the dimple on his cheek.

I directed my gaze forward, where the path grew more narrow. He guided the horses with ease, and when we followed the curve of the path past a row of trees, a manor came into view, just beyond the next grassy hill.

“There it is!” Mrs. Ollerton craned her neck, nearly rotating completely around in her seat. “Oh, it is such a lovely residence, Mr. Hill. Any lady would be quite fortunate to find herself mistress of such a home.”

Her words were as pointed as a sword, stabbing into my back. Mr. Hill’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

“Do not judge it from this distance, Miss Sedgwick,” Mrs. Ollerton said. “It is even more attractive in close proximity.”

“I believe you,” I said, my voice breathless. It was no wonder why the other ladies were so eager to win Mr. Hill’s affection. His handsome face and charm aside, he was to inherit a very handsome property as well. Emotion clawed at my throat as a swing came into view, tucked amid the rose bushes at the side of the house. With the thick ropes upholding the wooden seat, memories of my father flooded through my head, making me weak. Papa had spent hours pushing me on the swing of my childhood home, telling stories and reciting poems, breathing life into my imagination and appreciation for nature. Swinging on that swing, the sky had seemed barely out of reach, the clouds, the moon, even the stars. I would have never guessed that one day Papa would be out of reach too. I wished I had never been taught to consider the sky within my grasp. It had given unrealistic expectations and dreams of what could have been.

“What are you thinking?” Mr. Hill’s voice slipped past my memories, soft and gentle.

I couldn’t look at his eyes. He would see too much in my own. I tore my gaze away from the swing, focusing instead on the slanted roof and the stone facade covered in flowering vines and ivy. My lungs expelled the breath I had been holding, resulting in something of a contented sigh. “I am thinking of my childhood,” I said, trying to pull the joy out of the memories, rather than feeling the pain of what I had lost. “The swing,” I said in a whisper. “I had one just like it.” As much as I tried, the anguish would not leave my voice—the longing.

“Did you use it often?”

I nodded at my lap rather than looking up at Mr. Hill. “Forgive me for being so wistful.” I laughed under my breath.

“I will never judge anyone for being wistful. Do you recall my favorite poem? ‘My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the sky. So was it when my life began…’” His voice trailed off. “The moment we stop marveling at things like a rainbow, or a swing…we leave our childhood behind. We leave our innocence and our goodness that was born within us. I will never see a new blossom or a butterfly’s wing without pausing to admire it.”

I would never have assumed Mr. Hill had such a tender heart and deep mind, but hearing him reflect on that poem, the one that was also so special to Papa, revealed much about his character. And much about my own feelings. The longing in my heart took an alarming turn, and I redirected it as quickly as I could. I was not allowed to feel anything for Mr. Hill but respect and perhaps camaraderie and friendship. He was the only person at Winslow House, aside from perhaps Mrs. Ollerton, who did not want me banished from the property. Even chased away with torches as I was fairly certain Miss Downsfield would encourage, if she could.

Any reply I had hoped to give evaded me, lost in the beauty of Mr. Hill’s words and in the beauty of his property. Even above the sound of the gig’s wheels, birdsong carried through the sky, the notes cheerful and bright rather than melancholy as they so often were.

“My family is away this week,” Mr. Hill said.

“Your family?”

“My parents and brother.” He brought the gig to a halt on the drive. There was little endearment in his