Her voice drifted through the hedge, an observation about botany, a smooth inclusion of Miss Winters into her favor, a praise that forced the fashionable pair to recognize their prey had found a protector. She linked arms with the trembling youngwoman, an act that felt genuine rather than performative.
The two ladies retreated with the stiff grace of acknowledging defeat. Samuel noted their departure with indifference, his focus remaining on Lady Alice.
She led Miss Winters to a bench by the lily pond, produced a handkerchief, and sat beside her, speaking with a gentleness that Samuel would not have believed possible had he not witnessed it himself.
Though he could not hear their words, he observed their impact. The young woman’s shoulders gradually relaxed. Her grip on the book loosened. At one moment, she smiled, truly smiled, and Lady Alice returned the gesture, both expressions devoid of sharpness.
Something shifted in Samuel's chest, an uncomfortable and unnameable sensation.
He had been wrong about her.
The realization settled like a stone in Samuel's stomach. He hated being wrong, for it hinted at a failure of observation and a crack in his usually reliable judgment. He prided himself on his ability to assess character quickly, to separate substance from performance, and to identify the genuine article amid a sea of counterfeits.
Lady Alice had fooled him. Or perhaps this notion stung worse, she had not been fooling anyone at all. The wit and audacity he admired might be just one facet of something more complex, a surface hiding depths he had not bothered to explore.
Willful blindness, his father's voice whispered from memory. The worst kind of error, because it is chosen.
Miss Winters rose from the bench, leaving with renewed confidence. Lady Alice remained, her gaze following the departing figure, her expression thoughtful, making her appear younger and less guarded.
He should leave. He knew this with the certainty of a man aware of his own limitations. He could slip along the perimeter path and vanish before she noticed him. Nothing required him to engage or justify his presence.
And yet.
He stepped through the gap in the boxwood before he could stop himself.
Lady Alice turned at once, her eyes locking onto him with the precision of a hawk spotting movement in the grass. Her chin lifted in that characteristic gesture he had come to recognize, full of challenge, amusement, a readinessto do battle.
“Eavesdropping, Lord Crewe?” Her voice carried clearly across the distance. “How shocking.”
He approached with measured steps, hands clasped behind his back. Suddenly he was uncomfortably aware of himself—caught between the role he’d scripted and something more honest threatening to surface without permission.
An apology formed on his tongue. The proper response, the expected words to restore their familiar dynamic.Forgive the intrusion. I was merely passing. I did not intend to witness…
But the apology felt inadequate. Worse yet, it felt false.
Instead, he surprised them both.
“I find myself,” he said, “in the unusual position of approving your mischief, Lady Alice.”
Her eyes widened in genuine surprise, not the affected variety she usually wore. For a moment, her composure slipped, revealing something beneath that made his chest tighten.
Then she laughed.
It was not the bright, social laugh he had heard at dinner parties, polished for effect. This sound was raw, as if she had not expected to make it, transforming her face in a way that made Samuel’s throat go dry.
“Lord Crewe,” she said, recovering enough tospeak, “I do believe that is the first compliment you have paid me that did not come wrapped in criticism.”
“Do not grow accustomed to it,” he replied, his voice softened despite himself. “I remain capable of disapproval on most subjects.”
"I would expect nothing less." She studied him with her sharp blue eyes, her head tilted in assessment. The same look he had been directing at her for days, now returned with interest. "You saw, then. All of it."
Samuel inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"And you chose to emerge from your shrubbery rather than pretend you had not witnessed my momentary lapse into decency." Her lips curved. "How unlike you."
"I am occasionally capable of surprise," he said. "Even to myself."
The light caught her face, illuminating features he had studied from a distance but never examined this closely. The loose curl at her temple stirred in the faint breeze. Her cheeks bore a faint flush. Was it from the confrontation or something else entirely?
