pair of villages—East Wittering and West Wittering—and Lindy found the names hilarious! She only had to say them out loud and she fell into fits of giggles—and set me laughing too.’
There was fondness in her voice, and her expression had softened even more, but Anatole could see that faraway look in her eyes again—a shadow of the sadness that haunted her, at knowing her sister had barely made it into adulthood.
Let alone lived long enough to raise the child they were now caring for...
‘We can go and visit there some time,’ he said. ‘If you would like?’
Lyn lifted her face to his. ‘Can we? Oh, that would be lovely! I would love Georgy to know the place where his mother was happy as a child!’
He felt a spear of emotion go through him. As she gazed at him, her face alight, something moved inside him. He, too, longed for Georgy to know the beach by his grandfather’s house, where he and Marcos had played as boys.
‘We shall definitely do it,’ he said decisively. ‘Too far, alas, to include it in today’s excursion, but we’ll find an opportunity another day.’
He started walking again, and Lyn fell into stride beside him.
She must not let herself be endlessly sad for Lindy, she knew that—knew that her beloved sister would not want it. Would want, instead, for Lyn to do everything within her power to ensure the son she hadn’t been able to look after herself had the very best future possible!
Her eyes went to the man walking beside her. A stranger he might be, but with each day he was becoming less so—and, like her, he wanted only one thing: that Georgy should be kept safe, safe with them, not given to others to raise. And if that meant carrying out this extraordinary and unlikely plan of making a marriage between them, then she would see it through!
Marrying Anatole is the way I can keep Georgy safe with me—that’s all I have to focus on!
Yet even as she repeated her mantra to herself she stole a glance sideways and felt her breath give a little catch that was nothing to do with the exertion of walking along these high, windswept downs and everything to do with the way she wanted to gaze and gaze at the compelling profile of the man beside her. At the way the wind was ruffling his sable hair, the way the sweep of his long lashes framed those sloe-dark eyes of his...and the way his long, strong legs strode effortlessly across the close-cropped turf, his hands curled around the chubby legs of Georgy, borne aloft on his wide shoulders.
He is just so incredible-looking!
The words burned in her consciousness and so too did the realisation that today—just as yesterday—she was finally looking like the kind of female a man like him would be seen with. Her style of looks might be quite different from Lindy’s blonde prettiness, but she would have been lying if she had not accepted that with her new hairstyle, her new make-up and her beautiful new clothes she drew his approbation.
The transformation he had wrought in her appearance was just one more of the good things he was doing for her!
A sense of wellbeing infused in her and she heard scraps of poetry floating through her head as they walked the iconic landscape. The chalk Downs that ran along the southern coast of England plunged into the sea further east at Dover, and the peerless White Cliffs that defined the country. It was a landscape that had been celebrated a hundred years ago by one of England’s most patriotic poets, Rudyard Kipling.
‘“The Weald is good, the Downs are best—I’ll give you the run of ’em, East to West,”’ she exclaimed.
Anatole threw her an enquiring look and then his glance went down to her upturned face. Colour was flagged in her cheeks as the breeze crept up the steep scarp slope from the glittering Channel beyond. It lifted her hair from her face, and her eyes were shining as clear as the air they breathed. She seemed more alive than he had ever seen her. Vivid and vital.
And so very
There was fondness in her voice, and her expression had softened even more, but Anatole could see that faraway look in her eyes again—a shadow of the sadness that haunted her, at knowing her sister had barely made it into adulthood.
Let alone lived long enough to raise the child they were now caring for...
‘We can go and visit there some time,’ he said. ‘If you would like?’
Lyn lifted her face to his. ‘Can we? Oh, that would be lovely! I would love Georgy to know the place where his mother was happy as a child!’
He felt a spear of emotion go through him. As she gazed at him, her face alight, something moved inside him. He, too, longed for Georgy to know the beach by his grandfather’s house, where he and Marcos had played as boys.
‘We shall definitely do it,’ he said decisively. ‘Too far, alas, to include it in today’s excursion, but we’ll find an opportunity another day.’
He started walking again, and Lyn fell into stride beside him.
She must not let herself be endlessly sad for Lindy, she knew that—knew that her beloved sister would not want it. Would want, instead, for Lyn to do everything within her power to ensure the son she hadn’t been able to look after herself had the very best future possible!
Her eyes went to the man walking beside her. A stranger he might be, but with each day he was becoming less so—and, like her, he wanted only one thing: that Georgy should be kept safe, safe with them, not given to others to raise. And if that meant carrying out this extraordinary and unlikely plan of making a marriage between them, then she would see it through!
Marrying Anatole is the way I can keep Georgy safe with me—that’s all I have to focus on!
Yet even as she repeated her mantra to herself she stole a glance sideways and felt her breath give a little catch that was nothing to do with the exertion of walking along these high, windswept downs and everything to do with the way she wanted to gaze and gaze at the compelling profile of the man beside her. At the way the wind was ruffling his sable hair, the way the sweep of his long lashes framed those sloe-dark eyes of his...and the way his long, strong legs strode effortlessly across the close-cropped turf, his hands curled around the chubby legs of Georgy, borne aloft on his wide shoulders.
He is just so incredible-looking!
The words burned in her consciousness and so too did the realisation that today—just as yesterday—she was finally looking like the kind of female a man like him would be seen with. Her style of looks might be quite different from Lindy’s blonde prettiness, but she would have been lying if she had not accepted that with her new hairstyle, her new make-up and her beautiful new clothes she drew his approbation.
The transformation he had wrought in her appearance was just one more of the good things he was doing for her!
A sense of wellbeing infused in her and she heard scraps of poetry floating through her head as they walked the iconic landscape. The chalk Downs that ran along the southern coast of England plunged into the sea further east at Dover, and the peerless White Cliffs that defined the country. It was a landscape that had been celebrated a hundred years ago by one of England’s most patriotic poets, Rudyard Kipling.
‘“The Weald is good, the Downs are best—I’ll give you the run of ’em, East to West,”’ she exclaimed.
Anatole threw her an enquiring look and then his glance went down to her upturned face. Colour was flagged in her cheeks as the breeze crept up the steep scarp slope from the glittering Channel beyond. It lifted her hair from her face, and her eyes were shining as clear as the air they breathed. She seemed more alive than he had ever seen her. Vivid and vital.
And so very
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