Phoenix and Ashes

Even if he's not there, she thought, as she walked bare-headed in the beautiful May sunshine, I'm staying out for a while, as long as I can. Who knows when I'll get outside the garden again once Alison returns?

No one paid any more attention to her today than they did any other day, but as she made mental comparisons between her new clothing and that of the other girls she passed, she was pleased to see that it held up in the comparison. Of course, this was nothing like the nice frocks she used to have—and as for the wardrobes of Alison and the girls—you might as well compare a head of cabbage to a hothouse rose.

Reggie would not be impressed, she suspected. Not unless he was seeing her in anything like the kind of clothing the girls of his set wore, and that was about as likely as being able to fly. But at least she wouldn't be looking like a beggar or a gypsy.

More like a poor governess, she thought, as she reached the outskirts of the village, and sighed. But then, it isn't as if I have any hope of— She resolutely turned her thoughts away from hopes of any kind. She was spending time in the company of someone who was intelligent and friendly and knew who she was. That was enough. It had to be enough. It was all she was going to get.

And I might not get that today, she reminded herself, as she reached the border of the manor lands, and made her way through the trees, and through grass that seemed longer today than yesterday. After all, what am I to him? Nothing more than someone his mother isn't trying to get him to marry!

And, maybe, a friend.

Iwant to be his friend, she realized, with an ache of longing. Surely that much isn't too much to ask for. . . .

And how much of a friend could someone be, who probably hadn't said more than a few hundred words to him over the course of a decade? Oh, she could be his friend, readily enough, but why should he be hers?

No, he probably wasn't there. He had no reason to be. She was someone pleasant and intelligent to talk to, but he could find that in any of his old friends from the University.

If any of them are still alive. . . .

But to her undisguised delight, he was waiting for her at the usual spot, reading something, as she came up through the last of the trees.

He looked up with a start as a twig broke under her foot, his head jerking wildly as he scanned the trees for the source of the sound. He recovered quickly, and waved at her, but that first reaction made her furrow her brow as she approached him. What on earth had caused that?

Was he seeing some of those wretched goblins?

But—no, if there were any here to see, she would be seeing them.

But his expression was affable enough as she approached, and as she got near to him, wading through the calf-high grass, he flung himself down on his knees, and looked up at her in imploring mockery.

She bit her tongue. Oh dear. Now what is he about? She was afraid he was making fun of her. But on the other hand, it made her smile to see him doing something silly. How long had it been since he'd felt easy enough to be silly?

"Oh, gentle maid, forgive, forgive!" he cried out melodramatically, holding out a bouquet of cowslips and primroses that he must have picked while waiting for her..

"Forgive what?" she demanded with a giggle, taking the bouquet. "Don't be so ridiculous, you'll get grass-stains on the knees of your trousers!"

He clambered to his feet. "Forgive that I wasn't here yesterday," he said in a more normal tone of voice. "I completely forgot that I had obligations to deal with yesterday. I should have remembered, and I should have told you."

She felt a thrill of delight, at his words—he had thought about her!—but shrugged. "Oh, that! I wasn't here either. I heard you were giving the prizes at the school treat and I know how these things go— it isn't just prizes, it's speeches and the Maypole and all of that, so I knew you'd be busy all day, and I didn't bother to come."

"Sensible girl!" he said, relieved. "And so I was. I've brought things to make it up. Real bottles of lemonade, the fizzy kind, and some only slightly squashed tea-cakes, and jam. And—" he paused significantly. "Chicken sandwiches. That's the great benefit of being the lord of the manor, you see; no pesky officials coming around to count how many chickens you've got, and whether one's gone missing." He shook his head. "And if you think I am going to feel guilty about depriving some poor FBI of a tin of chicken paste with my scandalous and unpatriotic behavior—"