A Curious Courting by Laura Matthews

coldly, his eyes raking her as she put the nun-like cap on her curls.
    “I know. Do not let me detain you longer, Frank. I know you are a busy man.” She offered her hand and a patently insincere smile.
    He accepted neither, but stood scowling at her. “How much did he offer you? I will pay double the figure to save myself the bother of tearing his house down when he finally agrees to sell to me.”
    “Ah, but, Frank, a condition of the sale is that I have first refusal should he ever decide to sell.”
    “This is your idea of revenge, I suppose,” he grated, the hazel eyes blazing. “Hell hath no fury...”
    “Like a woman scorned.”
    “I did not scorn you. It was you who refused me.”
    “Do you still tell yourself that?” she asked softly. “It must be quite a salve to your conscience. Good day, Frank.” Without a backward glance, she crossed the road and climbed the flight of rails into her property, where she stood with her rigid back to him until at last she heard the sound of his horse moving forward. Not until she was sure, from the quiet that descended on the scene, that he was gone did she turn to gaze in the direction taken. Dry-eyed but shaken, she wondered how she could still be so easily discomposed by him. It was years since they had parted. And was it true what he said: that she would sell the land to Rushton as a means to hurt her former fiancé. Thirty stupid acres of no great value were turning into a wretched strain on her emotions. Why had her peaceful life suddenly been turned into upheaval, first by Henry, and then Rushton and now Frank? The lesson to be learned from it, she thought bitterly, was that men were the very devil of a nuisance.
    Her gaze wandered over the vale and she could hear the sound of the stream and the dripping from the trees as the snow melted. It was a lovely sight, and it entirely failed to soothe her. Remembering that poor Henry was walking the horses on the other side of the obscuring fence, she determinedly made her way back over the rails and across the road. The scramble through the briars did nothing to improve her temper; she got a nasty scratch across her chin, and she knew the moment she saw his face that Henry had heard every word of her conversation with Lord Benedict.
     

Chapter Seven
     
    Henry extracted a large linen handkerchief from the depths of his greatcoat and patted at the cut on her chin, though his eyes never left hers. “Could you tell me what that was all about, Selina?”
    “Lord Benedict has wanted to buy the vale for years, and I will not sell it to him. I fear he was very annoyed to learn that I am going to sell it to Mr. Rushton.” Hard as she tried, she could not meet his gaze.
    “There is apparently a great deal more to it than that,” Henry suggested as he handed her into the sledge. “You know I am not one to pry, Selina, but you were very. . . harsh with him. Not that he was not the same! Still, it is so unlike you to carry a grudge. I don’t remember much about your being engaged to him.”
    “It was a very long time ago, Henry, and best forgotten. There may be some truth in what he says. Certainly I would never have sold him the vale, though I honestly did not consider selling to Mr. Rushton with the thought of irritating Lord Benedict. Or, at least, I don’t think so. I cannot recall that I thought much one way or the other about his lordship’s reaction, though I should have. But when he pinched at me that way, I could not resist inserting the barb. How very intemperate of me! But I am always that way with him. A decided flaw in my character,” she sighed with an attempt at lightness.
    “He did something to hurt you,” Henry suggested astutely.
    Selina bit her lip as she gathered the reins. “Yes, he did something to hurt me. I should have forgiven him by now, I suppose, though there has never seemed any reason to do so. He continues to bait me as though the whole episode were of my making, and that invariably