“I…” Shadows warred in her eyes, as if his innocent question had stirred up memories she would much rather keep forgotten.
“Forgive me.” He wished he had not asked. “I did not mean to pry.”
“Of course you are not prying.” Her blush deepened. “I do appreciate beauty. Nature’s glory, fanciful architecture, all these endless rows of perfectly pruned flowers. Isn’t that why we’re all here?”
“I wish it were,” he said with a wry chuckle. “You and I may be two of the few who paid our shilling in order to see the gardens, rather than to gawk at other people.”
Her eyes widened. “Truly?”
“Unfortunately.” He raised his brows. “I imagine the prints you’ve seen of Vauxhall feature its clientele more prominently than its gardenias.”
Her eyes twinkled. “I daresay you are right. I am glad I did not rely on prints alone to inform my opinion about the gardens. I would have missed out.”
As would Heath. Something wistful curled in his chest. He often wished someone would come along and paint London’s most picturesque locations without including a flock of onlookers. Then again, who but dreamers like him would purchase such a thing? An artist would starve if he failed to include vignettes of London’s elite.
“I am pleased to hear Vauxhall exceeded your expectations,” he said with a smile.
Miss Winfield gazed up at him shyly. “Everything in Town has so far. I’m certain pleasure gardens are only one of the many things I’ll miss dreadfully when I return home.”
Heath frowned. “And when is that unhappy day? Do you live so far away as to make a visit to London impossible?”
He realized the impropriety of his questions too late to recall them. If inquiring about her interest in art had been prying, demanding to know her travel schedule and the location of her home was unforgivable.
“The West Midlands,” Miss Winfield said without hesitation. “As soon as Lady Roundtree can walk about without my aid, I’ll return to my farm.” She sighed pensively. “I miss it very much.”
Heath stared back at her, nonplussed.
She lived on a farm.
Andmissedit.
He could not have asked for a better reminder of why their lives had never been destined to intersect.
And yet he could not help a small pang of irrational disappointment upon learning that her post was temporary. That she would soon quit London permanently, with no plan to return.
A small yip escaped the wicker basket in Miss Winfield’s arms, and her eyes widened.
“Please pardon my haste, Mr. Grenville. I must get back to Lady Roundtree while I’ve still a post to return to. But it was lovely talking with you.” She hesitated. “You seem more…”
Although he leaned forward with interest, he did not learn in what way he wasmorethan the others.
Miss Winfield dipped a rushed curtsey and dashed back to her patroness before Heath could so much as bid her goodbye.
When she disappeared from view, he forced himself to stroll in the opposite direction. Toward giggling flocks of proper, eligible debutantes. The young ladies he was meant to be courting.
He rubbed his face in disbelief of his predicament. He was supposed to be hunting for a suitable wife, and thus far the only woman to catch his interest for more than a moment was someone else’s paid servant.
Heath squared his shoulders. He would simply have to put Miss Winfield out of his mind for good. It shouldn’t be too hard. After all, soon she would be returning to a farm in the West Midlands. By then, he was bound to have found a proper baroness.
Even if she were someone…
Less.
Chapter 6
The musicale.
Heath had almost forgotten.
