The Mutinous Contemplations of Gemma Groot (An Unlikely Romance) by Jayne Fresina

Author:Jayne Fresina
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, mystery, paranormal, historical, victorian, historical romance, historical victorian romance, an unlikely romance
Publisher: Twisted E-Publishing

Chapter Eleven

That afternoon he watched her raking leaves in the garden. The sky was jaundiced, ruffled with the smoky eyebrows of a cantankerous old man, and below it the garden was a mass of rich autumnal color with Miss Groot, a thin slash of black, moving steadily back and forth with her rake. A brisk wind toyed with the fringe of her grey woolen shawl, but she did not seem bothered by the cold air.

Since she'd found a reason to be outdoors all day, Jack suspected she was avoiding his presence in the same way as she avoided the ladies of the town. On the other hand, he couldn't blame her for taking every opportunity to get out of that house and away from the stifling heaviness.

* * * *

"What are you doing?" she demanded, as soon as he came into her view on his crutches. Holding her rake in both hands, crisp copper leaves blowing about her skirt, she regarded him stormily. "You ought to be indoors by the fire, Raffendon. You're supposed to be taking a nap to rejuvenate your manly powers. We can't afford anything else happening before your family comes to collect you. "

"My blood runs on the warm side, Miss Groot, and I was desirous of fresh air. Besides, who said anything about my manly powers being in want?"

She eyed his brocade coat. "I did not know the circus was in town."

"Your mother provided it for me while my clothes are washed. And look... somebody left me these splendid makeshift crutches."

Lips pressed together she got on with her leaf raking.

"Very kind of them to think of my mobility," he added. "But apparently they wish to remain anonymous. Like the author of that book, Contemplations on the Male Myth."

A sudden rusty squeak alerted them both to her mother opening a window. "Don't stay out there all afternoon, Gemma, or you'll catch a chill. Mr. Raffendon ought to be resting his ankle."

Jack waved merrily to the lady with one of his crutches. "Your mother is a good-natured and generous woman."

"She's a fusspot who worries about the wrong things in life." The rake scraped savagely across the grass by his feet, and he hobbled hastily aside in the nick of time. "She would be happier if she stopped fretting, planning, and hoping for the impossible."

After a moment he said, "I met some of the other ladies of Withering Gibbet this morning."

"Really? How awful for you."

He chuckled. "Yes, it was rather. They all remarked upon your absence. As if they thought you knew they were coming."

Gemma shook her rake over the tall pile of damp leaves and then paused a moment to remove her over-sized leather gardening gauntlets, tossing them impatiently to the grass. A lock of black hair had strayed across her cheek and had to be corralled back into the knot at her nape. The act required both bare hands, her long fingers agile and graceful, her eyes closed, lashes dark against her pale cheek as she bent her head forward.

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