you gamble on 'Change?"
"Among other things. I have a wide variety of financial interests." He brought the horses to a halt and tied
the reins to two nearby trees. Then he took Emily's arm and guided her over to a large boulder beside the
pond.
He watched her sit down and gracefully adjust the heavy skirts of her habit. For a moment he was
distracted by the movement of her hands as she dealt with the thick folds. Then he brought himself up
short. Time to get back to the purpose at hand, Simon thought.
"You cannot imagine what this means to me," he announced as he sat down beside her and studied the
pond. "I have often pictured this place in my mind. And when I did, I always pictured you beside me.
After I read your poem I knew you appreciated this spot as much as I do."
She looked around, frowning intently at the grassy banks and shallow, pebble-lined pond. "Do you think
I got it right, my lord? Are you sure you recognized this exact spot from the description in my verses?"
Simon followed her gaze, remembering all the times he had come here in his lonely youth, seeking refuge
from his cold tyrant of a father and peace from the endless demands of his weak-spirited, constantly
ailing mother. "Yes, Miss Faringdon. I would have known this place anywhere."
"It is so beautiful. I come here quite often to be alone and to think about my epic, The Mysterious Lady.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Now that I know you were once accustomed to sit and meditate here, the place will have even more
meaning for me."
"You flatter me."
"I merely speak the truth. It is odd, is it not?" She turned to him, her brows knitting together in an earnest
expression. "But I have felt very close to you from the moment I read your first letter. Do you not find it
the most amazing stroke of fate that we discovered each other through the post?"
"A most amazing stroke." Simon thought about how many weeks he had spent researching the best
approach to take with Miss Emily Faringdon. A letter written to her on the pretext of having heard
mention of her interest in poetry had finally seemed the quickest, easiest way to get a foot back in the
door of St. Clair Hall.
"I knew from your first letter that you were someone very special, my lord."
"It was I who was struck by the impression that I was corresponding with a very special female."
Gallantly, Simon picked up her hand and kissed it.
She smiled mistily. "I had dreamed so long of a relationship such as ours," she confessed.
He slanted her an assessing glance. Easier and easier. The woman was already half in love with him.
Once again Simon slammed the door on that niggling sense of guilt that played in some distant corner of
his mind. "Tell me, Miss Faringdon, just how do you view our relationship?"
She blushed, but her eyes were gleaming with enthusiasm. "A very pure sort of relationship, my lord. A
relationship formed on a higher plane, if you know what I mean."
"A higher plane?"
"Yes. The way I see it, ours is quite clearly an intellectual connection. It is a noble thing of the mind, a
relationship that takes place in the metaphysical realm. It is a friendship based on shared sensibilities and
mutual understanding. One might say we have a spiritual communion, my lord. A union untainted by baser
thoughts and considerations. Our passions are of the highest order."
"Hell and damnation," Simon said.
"My lord?"
She looked up at him with such inquiring innocence, he wanted to shake her. She could not be that naive,
in spite of her poetry. She was, after all, twenty-four years old and here was that matter of the
Unfortunate Incident Gillingham had mentioned.
"I fear you have sadly overestimated my noble virtues, Miss Faringdon," he said bluntly. "I did not come
down here to Hampshire to foster a shadowy metaphysical connection with you."
The glow went out of her eyes in an instant. "I beg your pardon, my lord?"
Simon gritted
"Among other things. I have a wide variety of financial interests." He brought the horses to a halt and tied
the reins to two nearby trees. Then he took Emily's arm and guided her over to a large boulder beside the
pond.
He watched her sit down and gracefully adjust the heavy skirts of her habit. For a moment he was
distracted by the movement of her hands as she dealt with the thick folds. Then he brought himself up
short. Time to get back to the purpose at hand, Simon thought.
"You cannot imagine what this means to me," he announced as he sat down beside her and studied the
pond. "I have often pictured this place in my mind. And when I did, I always pictured you beside me.
After I read your poem I knew you appreciated this spot as much as I do."
She looked around, frowning intently at the grassy banks and shallow, pebble-lined pond. "Do you think
I got it right, my lord? Are you sure you recognized this exact spot from the description in my verses?"
Simon followed her gaze, remembering all the times he had come here in his lonely youth, seeking refuge
from his cold tyrant of a father and peace from the endless demands of his weak-spirited, constantly
ailing mother. "Yes, Miss Faringdon. I would have known this place anywhere."
"It is so beautiful. I come here quite often to be alone and to think about my epic, The Mysterious Lady.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Now that I know you were once accustomed to sit and meditate here, the place will have even more
meaning for me."
"You flatter me."
"I merely speak the truth. It is odd, is it not?" She turned to him, her brows knitting together in an earnest
expression. "But I have felt very close to you from the moment I read your first letter. Do you not find it
the most amazing stroke of fate that we discovered each other through the post?"
"A most amazing stroke." Simon thought about how many weeks he had spent researching the best
approach to take with Miss Emily Faringdon. A letter written to her on the pretext of having heard
mention of her interest in poetry had finally seemed the quickest, easiest way to get a foot back in the
door of St. Clair Hall.
"I knew from your first letter that you were someone very special, my lord."
"It was I who was struck by the impression that I was corresponding with a very special female."
Gallantly, Simon picked up her hand and kissed it.
She smiled mistily. "I had dreamed so long of a relationship such as ours," she confessed.
He slanted her an assessing glance. Easier and easier. The woman was already half in love with him.
Once again Simon slammed the door on that niggling sense of guilt that played in some distant corner of
his mind. "Tell me, Miss Faringdon, just how do you view our relationship?"
She blushed, but her eyes were gleaming with enthusiasm. "A very pure sort of relationship, my lord. A
relationship formed on a higher plane, if you know what I mean."
"A higher plane?"
"Yes. The way I see it, ours is quite clearly an intellectual connection. It is a noble thing of the mind, a
relationship that takes place in the metaphysical realm. It is a friendship based on shared sensibilities and
mutual understanding. One might say we have a spiritual communion, my lord. A union untainted by baser
thoughts and considerations. Our passions are of the highest order."
"Hell and damnation," Simon said.
"My lord?"
She looked up at him with such inquiring innocence, he wanted to shake her. She could not be that naive,
in spite of her poetry. She was, after all, twenty-four years old and here was that matter of the
Unfortunate Incident Gillingham had mentioned.
"I fear you have sadly overestimated my noble virtues, Miss Faringdon," he said bluntly. "I did not come
down here to Hampshire to foster a shadowy metaphysical connection with you."
The glow went out of her eyes in an instant. "I beg your pardon, my lord?"
Simon gritted
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