Carola Dunn by My Dearest Valentine

Author:My Dearest Valentine
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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WOOING MARIANA

Chapter 1

Hearing hoof-beats in the lane, Mariana straightened, leaning on her spade. She resisted the impulse to press one muddily gloved hand to the small of her back.

Above the beech hedge, still thick with wrinkled brown leaves, appeared the head of a black horse, followed by the upper half of its rider. They moved slowly, at a steady walk. The gentleman wore military uniform, blue with silver lace and gleaming buttons, neat as a new pin.

Mariana was not familiar with the regiment, but she recognized the insignia of a lieutenant-colonel. She did not recognize the gentleman, hardly surprising considering she had resided in the village for no more than two months.

He sat bolt upright and poker stiff in the saddle, his gaze fixed straight ahead between the horse’s ears. His rigid posture reinforced the impression of tiredness, perhaps of pain, which she observed in his thin face, as if he held himself on his mount’s back by a vast effort of will. The very sight of him reminded Mariana of the ache in her back.

Time to stop digging, though she hated to waste the cloudy but mild and dry day, rare enough in mid November. She would just finish pulling up the weeds from the last patch she had turned.

As she stooped to move the oilcloth-covered pad she had been kneeling on, a lock of greying hair escaped its pins and fell into her eyes. Forgetting the mud on her gloves, she poked it back into place.

At that moment, Lyuba howled. Poor pup! She hated being shut in the house while Mariana was outside, but the sight and smell of the rich, damp earth being dug was always too much temptation for her. If she was allowed out, in no time she would be mud-coloured all over, instead of her usual pretty pale yellow.

Her howl attracted the soldier’s attention. He glanced over the hedge at Mariana. His indifferent gaze moved from her hatless head and dishevelled dark hair, touched with frost, past her shabby though well-cut midnight blue dress, mired at the hem, to her muddy boots.

As his eyes returned to her face, his mouth twisted in distaste and disapproval.

She must have mud in her hair, Mariana realized, as well as on her skirts. Too bad! One could not work in the garden and stay as spotless as the critical lieutenant-colonel appeared to be.

It was none of his affair. Obviously what she had taken for weariness and discomfort was nothing but the odious inflexibility of a certain type of military officer. Her sympathy and interest vanished, and without sparing him another glance she sank to her knees on the pad, reaching for her trowel.

All the same, interest was not quite banished.

Mariana possessed a lively curiosity about her fellow-beings. Since her sphere had contracted to this small Hertfordshire village, none of its limited number of inhabitants could be dismissed without a second thought.

She had exchanged many a “Good day” across the hedge since settling at Merriman’s Cottage. She had exchanged remarks about the weather with Mrs Bradley, who kept the tiny village shop.

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