He strolled through the paths, pausing occasionally to look at a patinaed bronze fountain or smell the odd remaining flower. He was beginning to recover himself from the long ride when he glanced up and found he wasn’t alone in the garden. There, across the way, standing beside a gazebo, was Miss Clarissa Lockhart. She still wore the hat with the large brim that shaded her face, but he recognized the white gown she’d worn earlier to greet her guests. The one he nownoticed did indeed have a gauzy fabric tucked at the neckline to cover almost every inch of skin there. It seemed George was correct that she had taken the etiquette book to heart that his friend had described.
Roderick thought about turning away, avoiding the encounter, but at that moment she looked in his direction and he could see by the way her posture stiffened that she saw him. He sighed and started toward her.
“Miss Lockhart,” he said. “I see we had the same idea to walk in the garden before preparing for supper.”
Her lips pursed as he reached her, her brown eyes moving over him in an appraising fashion. She seemed to find his every fault, for her frown did not change.
“Lord Kirkwood. What a pleasure.”
It didn’t sound like a pleasure to her and Roderick stifled a smile at her pepper, which she was clearly trying to temper out of politeness. That little battle inside of her must have been exhausting.
“It’s a wonderful garden,” he said. “I am especially fond of that oak tree at the center.”
They both turned toward the huge tree with its thick trunk and wide branches that provided shade to a good portion of the garden.
“It has been here since even before the house, my lord,” she said. “They estimate it to be over three hundred years old.”
He nodded and didn’t have to pretend to be impressed. “It has seen a great deal of change then. Had many a youth climb it, perhaps even a few young lovers carve their initials in its bark.”
Her gaze held his a moment and then flitted away. “I’m sure.”
“You’ve never looked?” he asked with a laugh as he stepped toward the tree. He slowly moved around it, looking up the length as far as he could manage. He had almost completed the turn when he saw, high up, the faint scar of a heart. “There!”
She had been standing back, but now she rushed forward to join him and looked up where he pointed.
“Oh, you’re right,” she said, the coldness removed from her tone for a moment. “What initials are they there?”
He squinted. “It looks like an AR and a FL or maybe a PL?”
She made a soft sound from her throat and he turned to see her gazing at the heart. “I wonder why I never noticed it.”
“Well, it’s at least three feet above my head,” he said. “And you’re a head shorter than I am. Anyway, sometimes we don’t see what’s right in front of us.”
“I suppose that’s true,” she mused and then she turned her gaze on him. Her lips thinned once more, whatever little truce she’d allowed when they examined the oak tree gone. “Well, I should go in. Please enjoy your walk, my lord.”
“I will,” he said with a slight bow. “I look forward to speaking with you more later.”
She didn’t respond to that, but gave a small curtsey and headed back toward the house. She moved to a larger set of stairs that went to the main terrace above and disappeared from his view once the angle became too high.
It was plain the woman didn’t like him and he supposed it didn’t bother him. Or at least it shouldn’t. So he shrugged it off and continued his turn about the garden, at peace with the fact that the oh-so-proper Miss Lockhart was not someone he would have to concern himself with.
Although the gathering at her family’s estate was meant to be a way to present her to eligible suitors, Clarissa couldn’t help but feel a burst of relief when she discovered one of the people seated next to her at supper was Lady Ramsbury. She’d known Marianne before her marriage, though hadn’t been allowed much to interact since the countess had once been a wallflower. A failure, Mr. and Mrs. Lockhart had said, implying, of course, that Clarissa could easily follow in those footsteps if she wasn’t careful.
But now Marianne was a welcomed addition, an encouragedconnection, because she had at last married well and was in a position of power.
“You do look lovely in that blue, my lady,” Clarissa said, looking with longing at the silk of her friend’s gown. It was so fine, in an icy blue with short puffed sleeves and cords of the same fabric coming down across the bodice. Even though Marianne’s collarbones were revealed, it didn’t seem immodest.
And yet, Clarissa knew she couldn’t be so bold. Etiquette said that a young lady should not be too showy, and exhibit her modesty and innocence by wearing only white gowns.
“Thank you,” Lady Ramsbury said with a genuine smile. “Sebastian picked out the fabric himself. I love it, for it matches his eyes.”
They both glanced down the table where the earl was sitting near her cousin, George. The two men had known each other a long time and were talking in a friendly manner. Lord Ramsbury seemed to sense his wife’s regard, though, for he turned those startling blue eyes toward her, smiled with a heavy dose of wickedness and lifted his glass as if to toast her.
Clarissa broke her gaze away from the inappropriate show of their connection, but Lady Ramsbury only laughed. “I swear, the man delights in reminding all that he might be a very reformed rake, but a rake he most definitely once was.”
Clarissa shifted. The idea of a rake put her to mind of a different earl. Lord Kirkwood and his playful demeanor in the garden earlier. He’d acted as if he wasn’t doing something wrong by being here and engaged her in conversation without thought to their lack of relationship. If that was what one got with a rake, she was not interested. The man was, of course, terribly handsome, but so were a great many men. Looks weren’t everything.
“I’m very happy for your joy, my lady,” Clarissa said. “And that you could join us at this gathering. I’ve always wished to better make your acquaintance.”
