the tenants that young Mr. Dobson was infatuated with her, and to be frank, Blythe was flattered. Dobson was in his late twenties, was ruggedly handsome, and had a body that looked as though it had been sculpted by an Italian master. And as far as height was concerned, he would be her perfect match, if only they belonged in the same world and if only she could bring herself to return his feelings.
“Now that you have that new roof, there’s no reason for you to put off looking for a wife any longer, John.”
His grin widened, his teeth startling white against the tan of his face. Blythe would have to be dead not to respond to it. Dobson was one of the few tenants who did bathe on a regular basis. “Is that a proposal, my lady?”
Blythe laughed at that. Dobson knew the reality of their relationship as well as she did, but that didn’t stop him from being a shameless flirt. And there were times, late at night when she couldn’t sleep, when her body itched with urges she alone couldn’t satisfy, that she thought of taking him up on what he offered, but she had been taught that ladies didn’t do such things, and she had yet to meet a man that could make her forget that rule entirely.
Not even Carny.
“There’s a better woman out there for you than me, John Dobson,” she informed him lightly, spurring her mare,Marigold, into languid motion, “and I look forward to the day you introduce me to her.”
Dobson’s grin remained, but something in his eyes changed. There was regret in his gaze, along with a frank appreciation that men of the upper classes usually reserved for women they wanted to seduce. “There may be a better man for you as well, but you know where to find me in case you get tired of waiting.” He winked.
Blushing as she took his meaning, Blythe shook her head. His tone had been light, but she knew without a doubt that if she did show up at his cottage late some night, he would not turn her away. “Good day, John.”
As she rode away, Blythe tried to put Dobson’s words out of her head. They flattered and pleased her, but they also rubbed salt into a very old and raw wound. Why couldn’t men of her own class find her as appealing as John Dobson did? Why were her height and strength a detriment in her own world? She knew for a fact that she wasn’t ugly, although her features were as strong as the rest of her, and according to some of the tenant wives, men liked figures that were full like hers. A physically strong woman was a good bed partner and could bear children easily. To these people she was perfect. To her own she was defective. At least where the men were concerned.
Even Carny, that golden blond Judas, had married a little woman, after telling her there was nothing wrong with how she looked.
She absolutely refused to think of him. He didn’t deserve her attention. Instead, as she guided her mare through the sundappled field and down into the sheltered path that wound through the cool, shady trees to the house, she thought only of how glad she was to have Miles, Varya, and little Edward in residence again. As much as her brother plagued her, she loved him, and it felt good to sit and talk to Varya again. Playing with her young nephew brought a deep, sweet joy to her heart.
As much as she loved living in Devonshire, with the smell of the salt sea on the air and the wonderful ocean breeze that blew through her bedroom window at night, sometimes she missed her family. Miles spent all his time in London, and their mother was in Paris for an extended stay. She said it made her feel closer to Blythe’s father, who had spent more time in Paris than he had in London before he died—and before Napoleon got out of hand, of course. That didn’t stop Blythe from missing her, and often longing for her sage advice. Letters just weren’t the same as having her close.
But even more often than she missed her family or, God forbid, London, Blythe appreciated the quiet of Devon and Brixleigh.
George R.R. Martin, Gardner Dozois