“Heaven help the fool who dares throw down the gauntlet.” A smile ghosted over his lips. “However, for now—”
“Yes, yes—for now, you must go,” she urged, releasing her hold.
He gave a gruff nod and turned for the entranceway.
Atap-tapof the ebony cane touched his boot. “I shall count on you to keep her out of trouble.”
CHAPTER 26
“Slow down, sweetening,” Charlotte cautioned as she and McClellan climbed down from the carriage and followed Hawk through the entrance to the Royal Botanic Gardens. The clouds had cleared during the ride from Town and the dew-damp foliage was sparkling with the morning sunlight. “You mustn’t run along the paths.”
“Ha! I can barely walk!” Hawk made a pained face. “What wiv the stiff collar, the tight coat, and all these cursed buttons and furbelows, I feel like a trussed pig.”
“But you look like a little gentleman,” replied McClellan in a voice that held a note of warning. “Rather than a heathen savage.”
Charlotte suppressed a smile. She had recently purchased fancy new clothing for both boys in preparation for their first forays into Polite Society. But she wasn’t quite sure how the maid had managed to get Hawk dressed in his finery.
Bribery, no doubt. There was likely a platter of fresh-baked jam tarts waiting at home.
“McClellan is right. You look very handsome,” shemurmured. By some miracle, his face was still clean, and his hair untangled. However, the vast array of plantings and thick bed of dark earth didn’t bode well for that lasting long.
The thought of such mayhem helped lift her spirits.
On waking, she had promised herself to set aside all worries for a few hours. Now, seeing the look of wonder on Hawk’s face as his gaze fell on one spectacular specimen after another, she didn’t regret it. No word had come from Wrexford the previous evening, and she assumed he had made no progress in finding Hollister. As for her own discovery about Cordelia . . . it could wait until evening.
“Here is a guide to the gardens”—Charlotte reached into her reticule for the leather-bound volume she had ordered from Hatchards—“along with some sketchbooks. Come, let us make some drawings of the plants that capture your fancy . . .”
The sunlight soon warmed the chill from the morning air. Bees buzzed through the colorful flowers, and a gentle breeze ruffled the foliage, perfuming the air with the sweet essence of a world in bloom.
Closing her eyes, Charlotte took a moment to breathe in deeply and listen to thescratch-scratchof Hawk’s pencil adding to the symphony of garden sounds. This had been a good idea. Life must be celebrated, no matter that Death was stalking through the shadows.
“Look, look!” he exclaimed, holding up a page for her to see.
“It’s wonderful,” she replied, determined to keep the specter of dread at bay. After admiring the drawing, she pointed to another intriguing specimen up ahead. “Shall we move on and see if we can capture that one on paper?”
For the next few hours, they made their way through the winding pathways, taking delight in the profusion of colors and textures. On reaching the famous pagoda designed by William Chambers in the previous century, they found a bench and McClellan spread out their picnic. All around them, monarchbutterflies flitted through the gold-flecked light, bright dots of orange and black against the ever-changing shades of green.
It’s an idyllic place,thought Charlotte as Hawk’s happy chattering rose above the ruffling of the long grasses. The boys needed to broaden their horizons with trips to the countryside.
A laugh from McClellan drew her back to the moment. Hawk had set off in chase of a squirrel, only to take a tumble as his foot snagged in a bramble.
“I would have caught it, if I hadn’t been wearing such cursedly stiff shoes,” he grumbled on his return.
Charlotte dusted the dirt from his shoulders. “Oh, come, gentlemanly dress is a small price to pay for such a magical place, is it not?”
He grinned. “Yeah, I s’ppose so.”
“Then do try not to destroy your coat,” drawled McClellan as he gobbled down a chicken leg and wiped his fingers on his sleeve. “At least, not until the carriage ride home.”
Smiling, Charlotte shaded her eyes and spotted a flash of sunlight through the trees. “Ah, there is the hothouse where Sir Joseph’s original specimen collection is housed. Shall we take a stroll to view them, once we’re finished with our picnic?”
* * *
Wrexford was jarred from his brooding by the thump of a boot against his workroom door. It was followed by an oath as the latch sprung open and Sheffield stalked in.
“You must be ill,” drawled the earl, seeing his friend’s hands were empty. “It’s the hour of the midday meal, and yet you’ve purloined no food or drink from my larders.”
Sheffield didn’t respond with a quip—a sign that something was seriously amiss. Instead, he went to stand by the hearth, his back to the room, and braced his hands on the marble mantel.
