Without asking permission, Anthony opened the door and let himself in, closing them behind him.
Warm, humid air settled around him like a heavy blanket, as did the earthy scent. He headed down the first path. Discreet lamps cast shadows from the plants around the walls, and Anthony drew a deep breath at the blissful silence.
Pulling off his gloves, he plucked a leaf off a tree and crushed it. Raising it to his nose, he stood and inhaled the fresh scent.
Perhaps it was time to visit Harriet? His aunts were hounding him to wed someone. Plus, his aunt and cousin were in London, and then there was Miss Spencer whom he disliked and yet couldn’t stop thinking about. The city was suddenly filling up with people he wished to avoid.
And you’re Lord Hamilton and care nothing for anyone or anything.
“Botheration.”
The word came from behind a row of plants. Moving quietly forward, he looked through the leaves.
“What to do. What to do.”
Miss Spencer was there, pacing up and down the next path. She’d not heard him approach as she was muttering to herself.
Before he could retreat, she said, “Blast! That man is a horrid, pernicious toad.”
Anthony wondered for a moment if she was talking about him. He continued to watch as she paced away from him and back again. Then she stopped, and her shoulders lowered, and shook. Was she weeping? Anthony took a step back, his boot crunching on a leaf, and her head lifted, looking his way.
“Who is there?” she demanded and then sniffed loudly.
“It is I, Lord Hamilton.”
“Go away,” she said.
“Are you all right, Miss Spencer?” he said through the leaves.
“Yes.”
Anthony kept his distance from people for a reason, to keep himself safe.
“Go away, my lord. Please,” she added. “I-I wish to be alone.”
He should do what she said. It was the sensible course of action. He found himself walking down the row, turning at the bottom, and then making his way to where Miss Spencer now stood.
Her eyes were dry, so she wasn’t crying but Jamie was right, something was very wrong with her. She was pale and clutching a handkerchief in both hands.
“Is there any way I can assist you?”
“No.”
“Allow me to take you back to your sister then.”
Anthony could feel her desperation, even from a few feet away. He’d never seen her anything but bored or cutting, which were two things he excelled at. What he did not excel at was dealing with a woman who was not herself.
“I believe Lord Bailey has twenty species of ferns growing in here,” Anthony said when nothing else came to mind.
He could feel her eyes on him.
“Apparently he spends up to four hours a day tending them, according to his wife, who is a friend of my aunts.”
“I met her,” Miss Spencer said quietly. “She is… ah, very nice.”
He snorted at her hesitation. Bailey’s wife was a woman who could talk from sunrise to sunset.
She fell silent.
