The Secret of Hollyfield House, Jude Bayton [books for 20 year olds txt] 📗

near a body of water. I stood transfixed in the moment and tried to unclutter my mind.

“’Tis a lovely place, is it not?” A smooth baritone voice pierced my meditation, and I started at the interruption and spun around. It was the young man from the post office. I swallowed the nervous breath caught in my throat.

“Forgive me,” he said with a pleasant smile. “I did not mean to startle you.”

I looked at him and instantly surveyed every detail of his face. His eyes were an extraordinary shade of amber bordering upon gold. Dark flecks around the iris rendered them striking. There was a suggestion of stubble on his face, a shade darker than his thick, wavy brown hair.

“Miss?” he said with an expression of concern.

I snapped out of my trance, irritated for being so absorbed in my impertinent study. “Oh, excuse me,” I croaked. “I was lost in thought.”

He stepped beside me to look upriver, while my gaze lingered on his handsome profile. What classical features he possessed—one might see the likeness on any Greek statue. I checked myself and pulled my eyes away to fasten upon the view from the bridge. Though at that moment I knew which scenery I preferred.

“This is the best view in the village,” he said, turning to face me. “By the by, I am Dominic Wolfe. I believe I literally bumped into you at the post office not ten minutes hence?”

I nodded, forcing my composure to return. Why was I so affected? “Yes, you did, sir. I am Jillian Farraday.”

“Professor Alexander’s niece?” And with my confirmation, he extended a hand to shake mine. I complied. His grip was firm, his hand warm and dry.

“Jasper is a fine fellow. A true academic if ever there was one, not to mention the foremost expert on local flora in the Lake District. You are new to the area, I understand?”

This man had obviously heard of me. “Yes,” I concurred. “I am come to my uncle’s house recently. Are you from these parts?”

He leaned an arm on the stone ledge of the bridge. “Born and bred in Ambleside. I live on Wolfe Farm, my family’s property for the past two-hundred years.” His feral eyes glinted with merriment. “I think that classifies me as a local, Miss Farraday.”

It was my turn to smile. “Indeed, and a fine place to live, Mr Wolfe. Though I have seen little of it, Ambleside is a pleasant place to call home.”

A breeze rustled in the warm air and teased the front of his hair. “Your uncle said you had joined him from Devon.” He paused, “…and told me of your family’s recent loss. Please accept my heartfelt condolences.” His tone was sympathetic, and I appreciated his concern. I was still devastated from the death of my mother.

“It has been a difficult time,” I said solemnly. “But being here with Uncle Jasper has made it far more bearable.” My voice wobbled, and I quickly sought composure.

His brow furrowed. “Forgive me. I have distressed you.”

“Do not apologize, sir. I am glad to speak to someone new, regardless of the subject. I have befriended few people since my move here.”

His eyes twinkled with pleasure. “Then I consider myself absolved. Now, allow me to escort you home—if that is your destination? ’Tis seldom I meet new friends myself.”

I accepted his kind offer, and we began walking back through the village, amiably chatting as though we had met several times before and not mere minutes earlier. As we walked, each person passing would greet Mr Wolfe, tipping their cap, or if perchance a woman, they giggled as young girls might do at the sight of a handsome beau. Their stares at me were of a different nature—that of curiosity. I cared not, for my spirits climbed, blossoming as a rosebud under a sunny sky from his delightful attentiveness. Mr Wolfe was refreshingly good company.

We spoke of my uncle and his upcoming lecture. I told him of Mrs Stackpoole’s friendship to me, omitting that I suspected her romantic interest in Uncle Jasper. Mr Wolfe then regaled me with a brief history of Ambleside and its progress in the past decade. As we passed the Queen’s Hotel, he slowed his step and nodded a greeting at a young couple who passed, arm in arm.

“Tell me, Miss Farraday,” he enquired. “Have you ever ventured to London?”

I glanced at a liveried carriage pulled up outside the grand hotel door. “I have not, Mr Wolfe. My trip here to the Lake District marked my first venture away from Devon. I am sadly no traveller. But I imagine London to be a vast and wonderful city. Why do you ask? Are you familiar with our capital?”

He threw an easy grin in my direction, and again I was taken by his handsome features. I drew a breath and willed myself to stop this foolishness.

“I lived there not three years since, though in truth it seems a lifetime ago. London is a marvellous, vital place.”

“Yet you returned to Ambleside?”

“I did indeed, but I still carry a fondness from my time there and enjoy speaking of it when I meet others who are familiar with the place.”

At once, I felt uninteresting and overly aware of my lack of experience. I had been nowhere, done nothing, and at the matronly age of four and twenty, must be considered rather dull.

Mr Wolfe seemed to have read my thoughts. “Please do not misinterpret my meaning, Miss Farraday. I do not judge a person based upon their travels. I was simply curious.” He finished speaking and I realised with some surprise we had already arrived at my gate. Before I could mutter a word of farewell, the front door opened, and Uncle Jasper stood on the step, his cravat askew.

“There you are, Jilly,” he exclaimed in astonishment, as though discovering an errant coin in his pocket. His eyes lit upon my companion. “And Dominic, is that you, boy? Come in, come in.”

Mr Wolfe gave a friendly hello and opened the