“You’ll happen by, of course,” I say with a conspiratorial grin. “Just going about your business, you’ll see us, stop to pay your respects, and then I will suggest the three of us take a walk in the gardens together. You’ll escort Imogen, and I’ll remain nearby as a chaperone. I will, however, make myself scarce so Imogen feels she has your full attention.”
His lips pull into a snarl. “She better not say a damn word—”
“I don’t care what she says. Don’t you dare come to my defense, do you hear me? We don’t have time for that.”
He glances back at the rose and gives a resigned nod. “Fine, but I won’t like it.”
“I’d respect you less if you did. Now, are we in agreement? I will write the letter now, send it with Bertha this afternoon, and invite her to call tomorrow.”
Elliot says nothing for a few moments, his shoulders suddenly tense. Finally, he quietly says, “What am I to do with her when we walk in the garden? Shouldn’t I…say something to, as you say, encourage her attachment?”
I furrow my brow. “Well, yes, you must speak with her, have casual conversation. You needn’t be too forward in your intentions, but a compliment or two will suffice. A kiss on the back of her hand, perhaps.”
He pales, a grimace forming on his lips.
I sigh. “Fine. Let us practice. Come with me.” I wave at him to join me. To my relief, he obeys. My main objective in speaking with him had been getting him out of the courtyard anyway, just so he’d stop sulking in despair.
When he reaches my side, he hesitates for a few moments. “I’d offer you my arm, but I’m walking with my staff. My free arm helps for balance.”
“It’s fine. You already proved last night to be proficient at the art of escorting a lady by arm. Today, we’ll walk side by side.”
The ghost of a smile flickers over his mouth.
I avert my gaze, ignoring the flutter in my heart. Although, despite my efforts, I can’t seem to find my words. So instead, we start our walk in silence, making our way along the garden path. When we reach the place we stood during our conversation about the viscount, I can’t help but blush at the memory. The way he placed his hand on my arm. This, of course, only brings thoughts of what happened after, when he took me to the courtyard and we sat together on the bench. How embarrassed I was when I touched his fist, then how stricken I became when he laced his fingers with mine and leaned closer…
I shake my head, realizing we’ve come to the end of the main path. “Let’s follow the trail to the front gardens. I’ve yet to walk in them.”
Elliot nods, and we turn course, making our way along the side of the house.
“We must practice your conversation skills,” I say. “I know you’re familiar with proper greetings, so let’s carry on with what should happen from there. Pretend I’m Imogen and offer me a compliment.”
“A compliment?” He sneers. “What about that wretched human am I supposed to compliment?”
I roll my eyes. Again, with thewretched humans. “It doesn’t have to be something true.”
“It does,” he says. “I can’t lie, remember?”
“Oh, right. Well, then you will have to look at her and find something true to say. Perhaps you can find beauty in the color of her dress, or the shade of blonde in her hair. Even something like you said to me last night, about liking my laugh, will suffice. Although, I don’t suggest you add anything about wolves. Now, come on. Try it with me. Make believe I’m Imogen.”
He turns his face to me, and I try not to blush beneath his gaze. “Your shade of hair is quite nice,” he says, words stilted.
“Good, that’s a start.”
He’s quiet for a few moments, eyes still locked on the side of my face. “It’s like raven feathers or an obsidian night sky. Your eyes are nearly the same color, a stunning shade of the darkest umber.”
My pulse begins to quicken as heat climbs up my cheeks. “Yes, you do seem to have a handle at compliments. She will like that very much indeed.”
Finally, he averts his gaze, allowing me to gather a deep inhale to cool my rising temperature.
“Now, I’ll go,” I say. “What nice weather we’re having today, don’t you think, Mr. Rochester?”
He glances around, brow furrowed. “Nice? Why would you say it’s nice? It’s stopped snowing.”
I chuckle. “For one, that is not how you should answer Imogen. For another…you truly like the snow that much?”
“Of course I do. Who wouldn’t?” When I narrow my eyes at him, he pulls his head back. “Are you telling me youdon’tlike the snow?”
I’m about to affirm my answer, but a deeper truth reaches my lips. “I hated it when we first arrived in Vernon. Growing up in Isola, I was raised under a constant supply of sunshine. Then Bretton brought nothing but cloudy skies and rain. So, when I arrived in the Winter Court, snow was brand new and something I’d never had experience with. To be honest, I didn’t stop detesting it until…well, until I started living here at the manor.”
