“Lady Charlotte felt she owed it to Griffin for trusting us about Woodbridge,” Wrexford answered.
“A fair resolution for all involved,” responded his friend, and the earl didn’t disagree.
Harper ambled by, a meaty bone protruding from his jaws.
“That,” said Wrexford, “had better be finished before you try to take a spot in the baggage coach.”
The hound didn’t dignify the remark with a reaction.
“Your pardon, milord.” Riche had been trailing the hound at a discreet distance. “The last of the trunks have been loaded, and the carriages are ready to depart.”
* * *
Charlotte stopped on the garden path and drew in a lungful of the country air. An early morning sweetness filled her nostrils, a delicate perfume of dew-damp flowers unfolding to the warming rays of sunlight.
The quiet—just a soft rustling of leaves serenaded by the faint twitter of birdsong and the gentle hum of honeybees—was very welcome after the raucous revelry of the previous evening, as the earl’s manor house had filled with the invited guests.
As well as a few unexpected surprises.
A lump slowly formed in her throat as she recalled the sight of Raven and Hawk pelting into the formal drawing room—followed by Skinny, Alice the Eel Girl, Pudge, and One-Eye Harry. Wrexford had revealed yet another facet of his complexities and conundrums. Polite Society would be agog to learn the sardonic, sharp-tongued earl—a man known for his hair-trigger temper and lack of patience—had sent his private carriage to collect a raggle-taggle band of street urchins for a stay at his country estate.
The children had gorged themselves on sweets and fruit punch, while the adults had enjoyed an excess of effervescent champagne, along with a sumptuous feast of delicacies. Charlotte doubted that Alison would wake before teatime.
Her own head was still a little worse for the wine, but the prospect of a solitary walk as the simple beauties of a new day came to life had drawn her from a fitful slumber. Lifting her cheeks to the breeze, she was glad of it. The demands of the past few days had allowed her to avoid contemplating the tangled state of her emotions.
But cowardice offered only a fool’s gold glitter of comfort. It quickly lost its shine.
“What am I afraid of?” she wondered aloud.
The warble of a dove hidden in the long grasses offered no easy answer. Yes, in the past, Love had cut her to the quick, and the folly of youthful illusions was slow to heal. But that old life had given up the ghost, and a new one had taken root . . . slowly at first, sending up tentative shoots from deep within.
Only to have them unfurl into breathtakingly beautiful blossoms, all the more exquisite for the unexpected ranges of hues and textures. Family, friends . . .
And Wrexford.
Shading her eyes from the sunlight, Charlotte stopped to stare out at the sloping fields leading down to the lake and, behind it, the leafy stand of trees, the breeze-rippled colors ranging from soft shades of newborn green to flutters of dark sage and smoky emerald.
The earl was colored in the same complexities. Some shades were easy to discern, while others dipped and darted, defying the eye. There were moments when she thought she could clearly see the hues of his heart. And there were moments when dark-on-dark shadows seemed to swirl up and block the view.
“Then again, I’m sure that I, too, appear to be a maddening collage of conflicting shades.”
Charlotte felt a wry grimace pull at her lips.Ye gods.For two people who claimed to have a modicum of intelligence, they seemed to be making a hash of things....
Feeling a little lost, she wandered out of the gardens and turned down the footpath leading to the stables. Hoots of laughter floated over the high boxwood hedge. The children were already up—the earl had given them permission to play with a litter of puppies—and as she slipped through the opening in the greenery, she saw they had all been let loose to play in one of the empty paddocks. Amid all the hilarity and the squish of mud, her approach went unnoticed.
After moving quietly to a spot half-hidden by a stack of newly cut hay, Charlotte leaned up against the fence to watch. She found herself smiling....
And then, to her utter surprise, she felt the salty prickle of tears.
She forced herself to breathe in and out. Her emotions were clearly in a humble-jumble tangle—
“You’re up early.”
The soft earth had muffled Wrexford’s steps. He looked like he had just come from riding. The wind had snarled his hair and whipped a flush of red across his cheekbones. Mud spattered his doeskin breeches and well-worn boots, giving him a slightly raffish air....
Charlotte quickly looked away, hoping to hide the confusion tugging at her thoughts. “As are you.”
He settled himself next to her, shoulder brushing shoulder, and peeled off his gloves.
