Goddess of the Hunt Read Online Free PDF Page B

the painting into the stream. “What a shame. No matter. I can paint another just as lovely in a trice.”
    She had no desire to attempt another painting, now or ever. She folded her easel with harsh snaps, until the edge of her frustration dulled.
    Sophia had returned to her work, dabbing at her painting with light, feathery brushstrokes. Kitty, having declared the sun too strong, sat cloistered in the shade of a beech tree upstream. Little Beth’s latest bout of colic had kept Marianne in the nursery. Marianne was always in the nursery.
    Blast refinement . Lucy yearned to lie back against the bank and gaze up at the sky. To flatten her spine against the ground until the grass towered above her, the cool earth warmed under her back, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears like a drum. She had to and her heartbeat pounded in her ears like a drum. She had to settle for leaning back on an outstretched hand. Her gaze, however, slipped straight to its natural resting place.
    Toby.
    He was wearing his hair a touch longer this year. The thick, golden-brown waves just kissed the collar of his coat. Each autumn, the features of his face appeared more chiseled, more permanent in their perfection. He still moved with the sure, lithe grace that Lucy had always envied. Bronzed by the sun and aglow from within, Toby radiated masculine beauty.
    She watched with envy as the gentlemen cast their lines, waded in the icy stream, joked and laughed with one another. Would it always be this way, from this year forward? The men enjoying the same easy camaraderie, with Lucy exiled to the margins of their attention?
    She plucked a stone from the grass and flung it into the stream.
    They’d passed so many pleasant autumns here, just the five of them. Why did the men have to ruin it all by getting married? First Henry, then Felix. And now Toby.
    Her heart seized. She couldn’t lose Toby. Eight years she’d loved him, ever since that first afternoon. Jeremy had it all wrong. Toby shooting at her had nothing to do with it. It was everything that followed, once the cloud of gunpowder cleared. Henry had yelled at her; Jeremy had glowered at her; Felix had probably made a joke.
    But Toby had bowed to her. Her ears still ringing from the shot, she’d barely registered the words of his gallant apology. But for the first time in months, someone had spoken to her, rather than at her or about her.
    Toby had coaxed Henry into letting Lucy stay instead of sending her home. He’d fashioned a wreath of ivy and crowned her his Diana.

    Her, Lucy Waltham, a reed-thin girl with tangled hair and an ill-fitting mourning dress. A goddess.
    And that afternoon, for the first time since long before her mother died, Lucy had felt happy. Not just happy. Weightless with bliss.
    Since that day, she’d never imagined loving anyone else. It wasn’t an emotion she could slip into and out of, like a silk gown. Adoration wove through the fabric of her being like a golden-brown thread.
    Without it, she would surely unravel.
    The thread pulled tight around her heart. Toby strode up the bank toward her, his expression intent. He reached her side, went down on one knee, and addressed her earnestly. “I have a question for you, Lucy.”
    She swallowed hard and nodded.
    Toby reached into his pocket and withdrew something small and shining. He held it in his outstretched palm for her examination.
    “Will this fly do for October, do you think?” He pulled a tackle box from behind his back and opened it. “Or would you suggest another?”
    She buried her face in her hands. Flies . She was ready to promise him her heart, her life, her soul’s devotion—and he wanted her opinion on fishing lures.
    “Lucy?”
    “Oh, Toby,” she sighed, uncovering her face. “That’s a may-fly. It won’t do at all.” She took the tackle box from him and began sifting through the assortment of artificial flies.
    Sophia climbed the bank to join them. “How perfectly lovely!” she exclaimed,