plates of game pie, boiled chicken, salads, bread, cheese and fruits.
“Open this, Nat, I’m parched.” Frances passed him a stone bottle and handed out cups.
He opened and sniffed the bottle. “This is cider, Fran. Cook must have mixed up the bottles. I asked for tea.”
“Never mind, we’ll cope.” Frances winked in a devil-may-care way.
“Cider, Miss Douglas?” He gazed at Nicola, his gaze intent. The bruising of his face and even the slight cut in his lip did nothing to distract from his attractive features.
“Thank you, Mr West.” She held out her cup for him to pour, praying her hand wouldn’t shake. Why did he have the ability to make her feel so…insignificant?
They ate in silence for a while, content to listen to the bird calls and then they spoke of small things, the bush around them, the passing of a small boat on the river. Every now and then they heard the rustle of some small animal in the undergrowth, but mainly the day’s warmth and the constant chorus of insects settled peacefully over them.
“Lord, I’m so sleepy.” Frances laughed, pushing her empty plate away and draining her cup of cider.
“That was a wonderful repast, Mr West. Thank you.” Nicola began tidying up the blanket, eager not to make eye contact with the disturbing man opposite. Throughout the meal she had listened to his voice, watched the way his hands moved and felt flushed from the experience. What on earth was wrong with her?
“Leave that, Nicola. We can do it later. Lie down and sleep, I’m going to.” Frances, totally at ease, stretched out and, using her arms as a pillow, closed her eyes.
“I don’t think I can…” She continued to stack the plates in the hamper.
“Oh Nat, take Nicola for a walk, will you. I’ll not rest while ever she’s clearing up like some kitchen maid.”
Nicola froze and stared at Mr West, who smiled and tilted his head, again the challenge clear in his eyes.
“Well, Miss Douglas, shall we take a walk. Perhaps I can show you a little of the bush? Though I confess my knowledge of it is extremely lacking, to my shame.” He stood without waiting for her answer and held out his hand to assist her to her feet.
“Thank you, Mr West, I should like that,” she lied, trying to smile and failing miserably.
“Yes, go you two and leave me in peace. It’s my birthday after all.” Frances murmured.
Nicola stepped away from the blanket, putting enough space between her and Mr West so he wouldn’t offer his arm. Her boots crunched the dry undergrowth releasing a new scent of the dusty earth.
“Frances may have told you that I’ve been looking at properties in the country?”
“Yes, she did mention it once I believe.”
He nodded and ducked beneath a low branch. “I’ve been interested in some land near Camden. I thought to build a house there. On the few times I’ve visited I’ve asked the locals to teach me about the area. What grows there and so on. It is beautiful country out there. Macarthur picked well.”
Nicola stepped around a boulder and glanced at him, paying attention to what he had to say. It was the first time they actually shared a proper conversation. Although she had no idea who Macarthur was, she wanted to learn.
Mr West plucked a leaf from a low branch. “I have much to learn, but I do find it fascinating. It is a harsher country than England and it weeds out weak men easily.”
“What do you think you’ll farm there?”
“I haven’t quite made up my mind yet. Sheep is a popular choice, but I don’t think the acreage is enough to be truly successful in that venture. I thought perhaps to breed racehorses.”
“Racehorses. How interesting.”
“Yes, it is a burgeoning past time here, and a sport I think will grow handsomely.”
They crossed a shallow ditch and Nicola gathered up her skirts to avoid a prickly bush. “Will you spend your time between the city and country, Mr West?”
“Yes. Though I feel the country will steal my affections rather too effortlessly. I have no love for the city. Away from the harbour, the city soon resembles streets of any other city in the world. That is far from captivating.”
“Yet, it is in the bowels of the city that your sister works so hard.” Nicola slowed down to smell a pale lemon wildflower poking between two rocks, but found it had no scent.
“Frances is a unique woman and can survive without me being close by.”
“Do