Nonsense, of course. At least, the suitor bit. Mr. Frampton was being paid to shadow her every step, not doing so due to the tender sensibilities of his besotted heart.
But as for friends? Tabitha was surprised to discover that designation could easily be true, if their circumstances had been different. Mr. Frampton was easy to talk to and a riot to walk through town with. She was having fun. A sensation she had despaired of ever feeling again.
Mr. Frampton had been ordered to ensure her safety, not to maintain propriety, which meant in addition to all of the regularly scheduled Marrywell festival events, Tabitha had also visited a race track, two gambling rooms, and three delightfully common taverns.
They were now in the botanical gardens, along with at least half of the other merrymakers in town. The wooden dais where the May Queen and King were crowned and various competitions occurred was to her left. The entrance to the enormous hedgerow labyrinth was to her right. She and Mr. Frampton were in the middle, where rows of tables had been set up for the various chefs and home cooks to sell samples of their wares.
Apparently, he would not be purchasing more of the competition-losing lamb shank pie.
“You are dreadful,” he informed her. “A polite young lady would never hoodwink an unassuming man of business.”
“You assume quite a lot,” she returned with a cheeky smile. “Such as whether I am a polite young lady.”
“Gloves off, are they?” He gave a wolfish smile. “Shall I select a sweet for my sweet?”
“Absolutely not,” she said in haste, though her cheeks heated with pleasure. “After that pie, I don’t trust anything you might try to feed me.”
“I should have been just as suspicious of your motives,” he grumbled.
“Shall we find the follies?”
She wanted to link her arm through his, but refrained. The truth was, she did not need to hold onto Mr. Frampton’s elbow to find the follies. She knew Marrywell as well as her own slipper. She simply felt comfortable with Mr. Frampton.
However, Tabitha had no doubt that were she to make the demand, Mr. Frampton would hang back with her lady’s maid and allow her to fraternize with the other merrymakers without intervention or interruption.
The problem was, she liked his interventions and interruptions. These past two mornings, she had bounded out of bed more excited to see Mr. Frampton’s handsome face and hear whatever nonsense he might choose to spout, than she was interested in the actual matchmaking activities.
And… that interest seemed mutual. Already, Mr. Frampton had gleaned more about her in two days than her betrothed had bothered to ascertain in all of Tabitha’s twenty-two years.
If only Viscount Oldfield were Mr. Frampton, and Mr. Frampton the viscount! It would be no hardship at all to imagine herself spending the rest of her days with someone who listened and who made her laugh. She hadn’t even realized how fundamental those two characteristics were until she experienced them for the first time with Mr. Frampton, and realized just what she would be losing when they were gone.
Yet, Tabitha had no room to complain by most people’s standards. She was highborn and privileged, with powerful friends and an endless supply of pin money. And she needn’t even exert herself in the marriage mart to find herself engaged to an equally wealthy lord.
It was the stuff of fairy tales. In theory.
“You’re making a dark expression,” Mr. Frampton told her. “You didn’t try the poisoned pie, did you?”
She shook her head. “Just thinking about…” my future husband.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as she feared.
Yes, she well knew of Lord Oldfield’s “lecherous old roué” reputation, but perhaps that would change after he became a married man. Perhaps he would take true interest in his new bride, beyond the contours of her bodice. Perhaps he would prove himself to be just as witty and kind and clever as his man of business. Perhaps she and Viscount Oldfield might actually fall in love. Or at least enjoy a modicum of mutually pleasurable companionship.
And perhaps Tabitha would give birth to a litter of flying elephants right here on the well-trodden grass.
Chapter 5
Hudson and Lady Tabitha strolled through the crowded botanical gardens. Not arm-in-arm. A servant touching a lady in such a manner would not be proper—or wanted. But they did walk side-by-side, her expensive skirts occasionally brushing against the black leather of his Hessians.
Although he knew he should not entertain such ludicrous notions, Hudson could not help but wish Lady Tabitha was in his company because she chose to be, not because she had been ordered to put up with a bodyguard.
To be fair, she did not treat him like a nuisance… or even like a lesser. Despite her aristocratic heritage and his working class status—which itself was a significant step up from his impoverished roots—Lady Tabitha had not only accepted Hudson’s presence, but even went so far as to treat him… rather like a friend.
Oh, obviously she could not introduce him as such to her peers or waltz with him at balls as though he were worthy of vying for her hand. But Lady Tabitha stayed by Hudson’s side, rather than force him to trail her from the shadows. Their conversations were lighthearted and easy, despite the circumstances looming over her.
Had she been peevish, Hudson would have understood. Had she been haughty, that would have been her right. But instead she was gracious and friendly and kind.
Hudson hoped his employer realized just what a treasure the viscount’s betrothed was.
