Chapter Six
"What a remarkable coincidence, Daniel. We were just discussing hedgerows."
"Were you?"
"We are now."
Lillian pressed her lips together to suppress a smile as Rosanne beamed at her brother with the innocent expression of a girl who was fooling absolutely no one. They had been walking the grounds of Wynthorpe Hall, enjoying the crisp afternoon and the last of the summer wildflowers, when the Duke of Wyntham had materialized on the path ahead of them like a particularly well-dressed ghost.
He was, according to his own account, inspecting the boundary hedges. This explanation might have been more convincing if the boundary hedges in question had not been inspected, by Lillian's count, at least three times in the past fortnight, and if the duke had not been walking in their precise direction rather than examining the shrubbery.
"The hedges appear to be in excellent condition," Lillian observed, keeping her voice carefully neutral. "Your steward must be commended."
"Simmons is a capable man." The duke's tone was stiff, formal, betraying nothing. But there was a faint color along his cheekbones that Lillian had learned to recognize as discomfort; the closest thing to embarrassment his rigid control would permit.
"Indeed he is. Though I confess I am curious about the specific nature of your concerns. Are hedgerows prone to particular maladies at this time of year?"
"Maladies." He repeated the word as though testing it for hidden meanings. "I would not call them maladies, precisely. There are considerations of growth patterns, boundary maintenance, pest management..."
"Pest management," Rosanne interjected, with suspicious brightness. "How fascinating. You must tell us more about pest management, Daniel. I am certain Miss Whitcombe would find it riveting."
"I would not wish to bore Miss Whitcombe with the details of estate management."
"You would not bore me at all, Your Grace." Lillian met his gaze directly, enjoying the flicker of surprise that crossed his features. He was so accustomed to people accepting his dismissals without question; it seemed to disconcert him when someone pushed back. "I have a genuine interest in practical matters. Yesterday I read a treatise on crop rotation that I found quite engaging."
"Did you?" Something shifted in his expression; not quite a softening, but a lessening of the rigid wariness. "Which treatise?"
"Thomas Coke's observations on the crop rotation. I found his arguments regarding turnips particularly compelling."
Daniel stared at her for a long moment, and Lillian had the disconcerting sense that she had said something unexpected. Which was absurd, she had merely mentioned a book, but he was looking at her as though she had said something unbelievable.
"You have read Coke's observations," he said.
"I have. Your library is quite extensive, and Rosanne was occupied with correspondence."
"You borrowed a book from my library."
"I did not realise I required permission." Lillian kept her voice light, though inwardly she was beginning to wonder if she had committed some social transgression she was unaware of. "If I have overstepped..."
"No." The word came out more forcefully than he seemed to have intended, and he moderated his tone with visible effort. "No, you have not overstepped. I am merely surprised. Most young ladies do not express interest in agricultural improvement."
"Most young ladies have not spent their lives on a modest country estate watching their fathers wrestle with the practical challenges of land management." Lillian smiled. "I am afraid I am rather boringly practical, Your Grace. I find it difficult to work up enthusiasm for watercolours and pianoforte when there are more pressing matters to consider."
"Boringly practical." He repeated the phrase slowly, as though turning it over in his mind. "I would not have described you as boring, Miss Whitcombe."
"How would you have described me?"
The question hung between them, charged with something Lillian could not quite name. Rosanne had fallen conspicuously silent, her gaze darting between them with barely concealed fascination.
"I would have described you as..." The duke paused, his brow furrowing. "Unexpected."
"Unexpected." Lillian considered this. "I suppose that is better than boring."
"Considerably better."
Was that almost a smile at the corner of his mouth? Lillian could not be certain, the expression was so fleeting, so quickly suppressed, but for just a moment, she thought she had seen it.
"Well," Rosanne announced, breaking the peculiar tension that had settled over them, "this has been a delightful discussion of hedgerows and agricultural improvement, but I find myself suddenly fatigued. Lillian, would you mind terribly if we returned to the house? Daniel, you are welcome to continue your inspection."
