Anna Jacobs by Persons of Rank Page B

how she reacted, jerking away, almost afraid to touch him. And yet, how capable his hands were! He didn’t seem to mind that he was getting very dirty and she liked that in him. She stole a glance or two sideways as they worked and when she caught him looking at her, for some reason she couldn’t understand she felt herself blushing again, a reaction she had never experienced with any other young gentleman.
    With the stranger’s help, the puppy was soon released, but when Snowy tried to walk, he yelped and sat down again, nuzzling a back leg.
    “Let me see!” Eleanor’s companion picked up the wriggling little creature and examined it, seeming to know exactly what he was doing. “I don’t believe the leg is broken, but he must have twisted the joint so it’ll be sore for a day or two.”
    “Oh, thank you, sir!” Still on her knees, she kissed the puppy’s face, but desisted when its effort to lick her nose in return made it yelp again. “Be still now, Snowy!” she commanded.
    The stranger got to his feet, still holding the puppy, and held out his hand to help her up. When she took it, he pulled her to her feet and for a moment they stood close to one another, not speaking, just studying one another quietly. It seemed important not to disturb that silence with conversation, important too that she learn every detail of his appearance.
    He was only slightly taller than she was, for the Graceovers were a tall family, even the women, but she decided that in spite of that defect - for all the heroes in her novels were over six foot tall - he was rather handsome. Not as handsome as the Duke of Hanmouth in Cressida’s Revenge, of course, but he was quite the best-looking gentleman she had ever met in real life.
    Not that she had met many eligible gentlemen, she thought ruefully, for they lived so quietly at Satherby. She hadn’t even been allowed to become well acquainted with the few she did encounter from time to time at the hunt or at the houses of neighbours. They were, the Dowager invariably said when they called, not of sufficient consequence to be seriously considered as future conjugal partners for a Graceover. So they were not encouraged to call again.
    It never seemed to occur to Grandmamma that one might just enjoy their company without wanting to marry them, but it did to Eleanor.
    “I don’t think I’ve met you before,” she said now in her forthright way. “Are you new to the district?”
    “Yes. I’m visiting some family friends at Treevers Hall. My name’s - er - Lanby - Christopher Lanby.”
    She didn’t notice his slight hesitation over the name, but held out her hand with her usual sunny smile, “I’m Eleanor Graceover. I live at Satherby Abbey.”
    When he took the hand in his, she couldn’t help realising that he was holding it for a moment or two longer than was necessary, but she didn’t mind that. Unlike Beatrice, she was quite prepared to flirt a little. Her only impediment so far had been the lack of gentlemen upon whom to practice that art.
    “Yes, I’ve heard of you,” he said after a minute, his eyes still devouring her. “You’re the Dowager Lady Graceover’s granddaughter, are you not?”
    “Yes.” She removed her hand from his and wondered what to do next. Of course, it wasn’t quite the thing to talk to strange gentlemen in the woods, but he had arrived just in the nick of time to save poor little Snowy, and in fact was still carrying the puppy. “Oh, do give Snowy back to me! He’s dirtying your waistcoat.”
    “It’ll come clean. And if it doesn’t, I’ll buy another one.”
    She rather liked his indifference to his appearance. She was an unceremonious creature herself, for all the Dowager’s love of formality, and never minded when she muddied her skirts or tore them on brambles. She leaned forward to pat Snowy’s head, well aware that this brought her own head nearer to Mr Lanby’s. “He’s been a very naughty boy, but he’s sorry now. Are you not,