Jasper’s gaze strayed again, unbidden, across the crowded hall. Matilda stood among Evelyn, Cordelia, and Hazel, her head bent slightly as she listened to them talk. She did not seek notice, and she did not play the game. And yet Jasper’s chest tightened in a way no practiced flirtation ever had.
His father’s son would have answered Isabelle with readiness, with that same careless appetite for attention. But Jasper was not his father’s son at all.
The next afternoon brought fine weather, the kind that invited the household into the gardens. Chairs had been carried out beneath the trees, tables had been set with tea and small cakes and the ladies gathered in cheerful groups to talk and admire the flowers. The gentlemen, as was expected, kept a little apart, with their cigars glowing faintly. As usual, their conversation drifted toward politics, horses, and land.
Robert gestured with his cigar, as he soke. “If the Commons carry it through, the landlords will be expected to shoulder the costs. And I, for one, say it’s a dangerous precedent.”
Grayson inclined his head gravely. “It is not precedent alone, but principle. Once Parliament seizes upon one interference, they will not stop there.”
A third gentleman gave a wry laugh. “God save us all from principle at the expense of profits.”
The group chuckled. Jasper added the appropriate smile, though his mind was elsewhere. His gaze drifted across the lawn.
There she was… Matilda. She was sitting with Evelyn, Cordelia, and Hazel. She was not speaking just then, only listening, and her profile was turned in thoughtful stillness. The sunlight caught in her brown hair, the loose strands bright against her pale cheek. And then she smiled at something Evelyn said and Jasper’s chest tightened like a fist.
“Harrow,” Grayson’s voice cut in, and Jasper snapped back to the circle of men. “What do you say? Should the tenancies be managed more strictly in such cases?”
Jasper cleared his throat, forcing his attention into line. “Strict management has its place,” he said evenly, “though one risks breeding discontent if one squeezes too tightly.”
Robert laughed. “A diplomat’s answer. You should sit in the Lords and smooth their tempers.”
“I prefer the outdoors,” Jasper returned, managing a grin.
But the moment their eyes turned from him, he found his gaze sliding back across the garden.
Robert clapped him suddenly on the shoulder. “You’ve been damned quiet, Harrow. Are the rest of us so dull?”
The men laughed. Jasper forced a smile, flicking ash from his cigar. “On the contrary, I’m entranced. Who would not be, when principle, profit, and politics are all aired at once?”
They laughed again, content with his answer. But Jasper’s eyes had already strayed back toher, searching for the next curve of her smile. He had just let his gaze linger long enough that Matilda, turning her head suddenly, caught him. Their eyes locked across the garden. A faint crease formed between her brows, and he felt the sharp twist in his chest, equal parts ache and defiance.
“Your Grace?”
The honeyed voice cut through the moment like a blade.
Lady Isabelle Tinton stood before their circle in practiced sweetness. She sank into a graceful curtsey, her dark eyes fixed on Jasper with unmistakable possession.
“Forgive me, gentlemen,” she told them charmingly. “Might I steal His Grace of Harrow for just a moment? I find myself in rather a dilemma.”
Robert smiled indulgently, lifting his cigar. “By all means, Lady Isabelle. We should not stand in the way of damsels in distress.”
Jasper arched a brow, already wary. “What sort of dilemma?”
She clasped her gloved hands together with a little sigh. “I was admiring the roses near the south wall, but I am told the blooms have begun to climb too high for cutting. I wondered,” she tilted her head with practiced innocence, “if you might help me reach one? A rose always looks best in a gentleman’s hand, after all.”
The men chuckled at her boldness. Robert waved him off. “Go on, Harrow. Rescue the roses.”
Jasper forced a polite smile, though inside his jaw tightened. “If Lady Isabelle insists,” he said smoothly, bowing slightly.
Her answering smile was triumphant. “I do.”
Lady Isabelle led him down the gravel path with the air of one who already owned his attention. She kept her voice bright and easy, but Jasper did not miss the quick glances she cast over her shoulder, toward the lawn where the rest of the party lingered. She knew they were watched, and she meant them all to see her walking with him, the rose garden their stage.
They stopped at the south wall, where the roses climbed high and tangled, heavy with late blooms. Isabelle pointed upward with a little sigh.
“There, do you see? The loveliest is always just out of reach. I thought only you would be tall enough to fetch it.”
Her tone was sweet, not sultry; her smile was coy, not brazen. Every word, every look was chosen with care, enough to flatter him while never crossing into scandal. A widow might be bold, yes, but not reckless when so many eyes were upon them.
