Hugh longed to know more. Fascination overcame good sense whenever he saw the woman. If only she would tell the truth.

Chapter Eleven

Winter held the countryside in thrall. It took Philomena half an hour to bundle John in layers of clothes. At last, the child was as round and plump as one of the exotic tangerine oranges imported at great expense from Africa that waited, piled high on platters in the kitchen, to grace the Christmas table. John and Philomena ran, laughing, down the path from the kitchens. Philomena’s heart lurched as she caught sight of Hugh in the pleasure gardens.

“Look at me, Papa.” John beamed. Hugh lifted the boy high into the air, tossed him even higher, and laughed into his son’s face. Lord Thatcham was younger than Philomena had thought. She had taken him for an older man of nine and thirty or so. Now the Master of the Hall seemed hardly older than she. He tossed John ever higher, until Philomena gasped and darted forward, arms outstretched to catch the boy.

Lord Thatcham laughed. “We scared Miss Philomena, then.” John’s face glowed crimson with glee.

“You would not wish to drop the heir to the Hall,” Philomena pointed out.

“With all these clothes, he’ll bounce,” Lord Thatcham said. “Though to tell the truth, young man, you weigh as much as one of Farmer Jones’s cows. I will soon need a pitchfork to lift you off the ground.”

He turned back to Philomena. She blushed.

“The Hall seems to suit you, Miss Philomena, despite the strains of the accident,” Hugh said. “Take care you do not catch cold.”

Was that concern in his face?

“It is not long since you were lying in the mud, a large bruise on your head. Are you well enough to walk through the fields?”

Philomena swallowed. She glanced away, unable to look Lord Thatcham full in the face, moved by such sudden kindness. His grey eyes gleamed. A lock of hair blew across the man’s forehead and Philomena felt an urge to brush it back. Her neck grew hot.

She pointed to John’s layers of clothes. “We are enjoying the walk and do not care how cold the air, is that not so, John?”

John was too busy making footprints on the frosty grass to listen.

“May I walk with you a little while John amuses himself?” Lord Thatcham asked.

“Of course.” Philomena kept her eyes on the ground to hide a jolt of surprise. The master of the Hall had changed. Yesterday’s sarcasm had turned to kindness and concern. Would it last, or would anger return?

He shortened his stride to keep pace as they strolled in silent harmony through the pleasure grounds, Philomena conscious every second of Lord Thatcham’s presence. She kept both hands hidden in the woollen shawl, anxious to avoid any accidental touch. She searched for an appropriate topic of conversation, hoping to prevent him from asking further questions. She did not want to tell more lies.