Wade Lambert surveyed the generous spread once more before checking his watch.
“We made good time, Garin. I think my mother ought to be pleased with this, don’t you?”
Aleksandr Garin rearranged the basket and dusted a fallen leaf from the blanket. He scanned everything with a doctor’s experienced eye.
“I suppose I must agree, though I hope you make an effort at conversation today.”
Wade waved an impatient hand before dropping languidly onto the lawn with boyish air.
“I know, I know, you gave me quite an earful of it the other day about how I ignored Miss Flynn. But you know how I can’t stand a girl without adventure in her bones. Never mind, I know that look of yours, and I shan’t say anything more about it. I know you’re displeased, but I shall make it up, old boy—wait and see. A pity you cannot stay with us, though. It would make for a far better picnic, I think.”
The doctor made no reply to this, but secretly wished the same. Spying a slender figure in its fresh white dress whose hem caught the breeze in the distance, he nodded to his friend, wished him luck, and disappeared like a ghost. It was one of the many things young Lambert admired about his friend, whose agility had surprised him on several occasions where haste proved a necessity. Garin, Wade had to admit as he eyed a fallen leaf with a chagrined expression, disproved the notion that giants cannot be quick on their feet when the time suited them.
Miss Brightley’s petal-like footfalls got the ever disinterested Wade’s attention as he leaned against the grandfather oak (the doctor bade him not to sprawl with languid abandon on the lawn). She glided smoothly in his direction, her fingers seeming to catch the wind on their tips; there was something ethereal about this young woman and her fresh white dress. Did he admire the quiet, yet radiant charm that melted off of her in cool, rippling waves? He wasn’t sure, but he knew that this woman possessed an energy that would never fail to attract an audience.
“Miss Brightley.”
Did she hear him? He wasn’t sure if the words had left his mouth, but those eyes! They seemed as if they’d seen the shifting and making of the galaxies and knew the secrets of man’s mind. But why, for the love of kidskins, did they appear so… sad?
“Mr. Lambert.”
Her soft, clear voice and a delicate clasping of slender hands greeted him solemnly with an elegant curtsy. She overlooked the spread with a levelled demeanour.
“You’ve gone through quite a lot and it all looks lovely… quite lovely…”
Was there a crack in her voice? But the emotionless, almost vacant expression returned, making him doubt his ears.
“I look forward to our picnic, Mr. Lambert.”
Wade adjusted his cravat. The sincere tone raised an unusual twist of guilt. He’d not put a finger towards the spread. It was all Garin’s work. Garin’s care. And Garin’s patience. For once in his life, he realised how fortunate he was to have Doctor Garin for a friend. He decided he’d thank him most thoroughly before the evening passed.
Lunch progressed with pleasant conversation, and Wade had to admit Idrielle Brightley was mentally stimulating for company. They traversed topics from the most recent plays to botany (a pleasant surprise for Wade who enjoyed various branches of science!) and the rise in stock prices (it impressed him that she knew much of accounting and business in general, though Lisabeth could have told him she'd managed her father’s accounts quite handsomely during their summers as children). It pleased him to learn that she also did not consider the races a pointless way of spending one’s time. No, in fact, she thought it highly enjoyable.
YOU ARE READING
Bride of Choice
Historical Fiction[Cover Design by Angel S.] Wade Lambert was known throughout the enchanting countryside of Harwickshire by friends and relatives alike to be the perfect epitome of trouble. And his handsome features and air of sophistication did not help matters as...
