No Other Love

Granny was wise in many other ways, too, and Nicola often stayed to chat with her over a cup of fragrant tea. She had told her about her father and his death, about her mother, even about the persistent pursuit of the Earl of Exmoor. Granny frowned at this and shook her head.

“A bad ‘un, that ‘un. Ye best be stayin’ away from him,” she said grimly.

“Bad?” Nicola looked at her, faintly surprised. Though she had not liked the Earl, she had not attributed it to any sense of evil in the man. “But no one has said that he has done anything wrong.”

“Mayhap they don’t know it,” Granny pointed out, with a sage nod of her head. “Mayhap he’s good at hiding it from his own sort. But them that works fer him, they see, and they know. There’s no kindness in the man.”

“Well, I shan’t be marrying him,” Nicola assured her. “No matter what Mother thinks.”

After that conversation, she was a little embarrassed to tell Granny that she had gone against her own judgment and had been to Tidings as frequently as she had been able to the past two weeks. Besides, she found herself reluctant to reveal her desire to see the groom again. Granny would no doubt find it as odd as any of the people in her own class would; ladies did not mingle with grooms, even ladies as pleasant and down-to-earth as Nicola. Moreover, Nicola found herself reluctant to share anything about the feeling that had swept over her; it was something she had hugged to herself for two weeks.

As they drank their tea, Nicola noticed that Granny Rose kept glancing out the window with some frequency, and finally she realized that her mentor seemed to be waiting for someone. So Nicola drank a last sip of her tea and rose, taking her leave. Granny smiled and patted her arm, and Nicola thought with a faint sense of hurt that Granny was happy for her to go. She told herself that Granny’s visitor was probably someone who did not wish to be seen visiting the local medicine woman, which also meant that it was probably some member of the local gentry whom Nicola would recognize. The thought made her feel a little bit better.

She slipped out the front door and started down the path, then stopped abruptly when she realized that there was a man standing beside her horse, running his hand down the animal’s neck and talking to it in a low voice. He turned at the sound of the door closing, and his brows sailed upward in surprise.

Nicola simply stood, stunned into a breathless silence. The man looking back at her was the groom from Tidings. He was dressed in his Sunday best today, though he had taken off the dark jacket and had it slung over his shoulder. His shirt was white against his browned skin and open at the throat, the sleeves rolled up against the heat of the day.

He smiled now, the same cocky grin that he had worn the other day, as he sauntered toward her. “Well, now, if it isn’t the lady. And what would such a high-born creature be doing coming out of Granny Rose’s cottage?”

He stopped only a foot away from her and looked down at her, one eyebrow arching in amusement. His eyes were as dark as she remembered them, the dimple in his cheek just as deep. Nicola suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

She lifted her chin a little. She was not about to let him know that he had a drastic effect on her. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“They usually send their maids…unless, of course, they’re seeking a remedy for something they can’t let anyone know about.”

Nicola’s eyes widened as she realized his implication, and she drew a sharp breath at his audacity. She was about to let fly with a withering retort when he laughed and made a sweeping bow.

“But of course that could not be the case with a young lady as innocent and beautiful as yourself,” he continued in a light voice, blurred by the local accent. “Ye’d have no need of beauty creams or love potions, obviously. Half the men in Dartmoor must already be at your feet.”

“And you obviously have no need of any charm yourself,” Nicola replied, unable to keep from smiling. “You are already too smooth by half.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, his black eyes dancing. “Whew. I’m glad to hear ye say so. Me gran’d have me ears if I offended one of her customers.”

“Your gran?” Nicola asked, intrigued. “Do you mean to say she really is your grandmother?”

He nodded. “Me mother’s grandmother.”

“I’m surprised I’ve never seen you before,” Nicola commented.

“I live at the stables, you see, at Tidings. ‘Tis part of me job. I visit Gran every Sunday, on me day off.”

“I see.”

There was a moment’s pause, during which Nicola realized that she had nothing to stand here talking to this young man about. Desperately she searched for something to say to prolong the moment.

“Ma and I lived in Twyndel,” he said suddenly. “But last year, when she died, I moved back to be near Gran. She’s gettin’ on, ye see.”

“I am not from the area, either,” Nicola volunteered. “We are staying with my aunt, Lady Buckminster.”

“Ah.” The grin returned. “We had a right interestin’ talk, Lady Buckminster and me, about her mare.”

“I am sure it was,” Nicola said with a chuckle. “My aunt is not prone to talk of anything else. Had you not taken good enough care of her?”

“You wound me, miss.” He put on a pained air. “She’d injured her fetlock, so Lady Buckminster came to the stables to leave the mare, as we were nearer than Buckminster. I put one of Gran’s salves on it, and the mare was right as rain the next day when she came to see about it. ‘Twas the salve she was wanting to talk about.”

“Oh. Well…” Nicola glanced around. She could think of no reason to linger, yet she wanted very much to stay right here, talking to him. “I suppose I should be leaving.”

Was that a flash of disappointment in his eyes? “Oh. Yes. Of course.”

Nicola began to walk toward her horse, her steps lagging. He strolled along with her.

“Do you…come here often?” he asked casually.

Nicola glanced at him. There was nothing casual about the intense interest in his eyes. “Yes. I am interested in herbs and remedies. Your grandmother has very kindly taught me a great deal. I come here to learn and to purchase supplies from her. She has let me have a corner of her garden for my own.”

He looked at her in surprise. “You are growing them yourself?”

“Why, yes. I dry and grind and mix them, as well,” Nicola responded tartly. “I realize that you think I am a useless, shallow slip of a girl, but I do have interests outside of my dress and my hair.”

He had the grace to redden a little beneath his tan. “Indeed, miss, I did not think you useless and shallow. It is just a little unusual.”

“If you knew me, you would find that I am a little unusual.”

He smiled. “I could already tell that. Not many ladies would stand about chatting with grooms.”

“Mmm. My mother tells me I am deplorably egalitarian,” Nicola agreed lightly.

They had reached her horse, and Nicola turned to him. “Well. Goodbye, then. I—it was nice to see you again.”

“Thank you.” He paused, then said quickly, “I come to visit Gran every Sunday.”

“Do you?” Nicola’s heart began to pound a little harder in her chest. He was telling her that he wanted to see her again, wasn’t he? “I—uh—” She had to pause and clear her throat, which seemed suddenly swollen. “Then perhaps I will see you here again.”

She ended her statement on an upward note, sneaking a glance up at him. To her explosive relief, he grinned.

“Perhaps you will,” he agreed. “Let me help you up.” He nodded toward the horse.

Then, to Nicola’s surprise, instead of cupping his hands to give her a leg up, he placed his hands on either side of her waist and lifted her to her saddle. He stepped back, looking up at her. Nicola took up her reins in trembling fingers. She could feel the imprint of his fingers against her flesh, as if they had burned into her.

“I—I don’t know your name,” she said softly.

“It’s Gil, miss. Gil Martin.”

“Don’t call me ‘miss,’” Nicola said quickly, something in her rebelling against the subservience in this common form of address from servants.

“All right,” he said slowly, watching her. “What should I call you, then?”

“My name is Nicola Falcourt.”