Did the man not appreciate the beauty and joy in life? That concerning thought loosened her tongue. “This is far more beautiful than Vauxhall. The detail and placement of every light has been carefully thought out. Do you not see the splendor of this creation?” She finally looked at him and wished she hadn’t. The soft lighting made him seem far less stiff and much kinder than perhaps he was.
“If you take my arm, I will be happy to reply.”
Very much wanting to know his thoughts, she laid her hand on his arm and allowed him to walk her forward, but she would not be thwarted. “Now, as to your appreciation or lack thereof.”
“I can understand your wonderment. However, having seen this sight since a child, the wonder has faded. It is simply lanterns in a garden to me.”
“So do you look at a sunrise or sunset in the same way? If you seeTimon of Athensperformed for the third time at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, is it then just another evening about Town?”
He stiffened slightly beneath her hand but otherwise gave no other indication that he was insulted by her words. “I’m afraid that is the case.” He paused, but she sensed there was more. “Once I saw life as you do, a new daily adventure of discovery and joy. But I am jaded, older than my years, as my mother complains. The entertainments that so many of my peers find enjoyable are simply a way to spend time for me.”
The sting of tears hit her eyes, and she blinked them back. He could not be more than a handful of years older than she. Surely, it was not because he was a man. Even Lord Sommerset, his contemporary, appreciated the nuances of life.
“Dory, could you make sure all twelve lanterns are in the tree over the bench?” At Rose’s request, Dory reluctantly released the earl and stepped up onto the low bench.
He set his hand under her arm to steady her, though she was quite well balanced, despite her unskilled display of the waltz. Quickly, she counted the lights. Turning back toward the court, she caught sight of Rose heading into the next one. “There are exactly a dozen.”
When Rose didn’t reply, Dory looked to Lord Harewood, who was almost as tall as she standing on the bench, which made herfeel much more equal. “So a new dish or aria does nothing to engender happiness for you?”
“No. However, that does not mean I am not pleased to go through the paces of life. My heart simply does not beat faster for anything in particular. I suppose that means it will last much longer.” Though he chuckled, there was something in the sound that seemed sad to her.
Suddenly, she remembered what Rose told her about Lord Harewood betting on Lord Sommerset marrying a Mabry. “Do you not feel joy when a bet you set down comes to fruition despite everyone else betting against you?”
His eyes widened in surprise. “My Lady Dorothea, I’m shocked you would mention such an activity.” Though the words were to be expected, the amusement in his eyes was not.
Understanding that he teased her once again as he did his friends, the Earl and Countess of Sommerset, had her cheeks heating, not in embarrassment, but in pleasure. “No more shocked than I was to learn you participated in such. Do tell me. Does winning when no one else sees what you foresee cause your heart to beat faster?”
He grinned, and in the light, it made him appear far more handsome and approachable. “It would seem you have found me out, though to be honest, I had not thought on it before.”
That he could find joy in something, even if it was betting, relieved her. It was as if that small presence of humanity meant there could be more buried beneath the surface. “I wonder if perhaps it is the uncertainty.”
“No, I am quite certain when I place a bet on what will occur. That cannot be it.”
She searched among her knowledge of philosophy. The three ancient ones—Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates—had much to say on happiness, but even as she thought through what she knew, she could not find what she sought. “Perhaps, then, it is thesatisfaction of being correct despite, shall we say, the odds. To go against the norm and be considered odd or worse, unacceptable, only to later be revered as brilliant, must indeed engender a feeling of happiness. Perhaps it is a feeling of happiness with oneself, or it could be a happiness of intellect in knowing what others do not know and cannot see.” A small part of her recognized she followed another squiggly line, but it was far too intriguing to stop. “That does bring up the question of whether an intellectual happiness is possible and of equal value to an emotional happiness. As much as we like to believe that as human beings, we can think without emotion, that is far from the truth and some think with emotion far more than they think without it. So, then, is there such a possibility as an intellectual happiness?”
His eyes twinkled with evident amusement as he listened intently.
She wanted to stop but couldn’t. “On the other hand, it could well be that the intellect is fully engaged, which brings about that satisfaction or emotional happiness. In that instance, it would be a happiness that is triggered by the intellect and—” Without thought, she grabbed his head and pressed her lips to his to stop her own dialogue.
His closed lips were firm yet soft, and she licked at them.
He sucked in a breath, and she thrust her tongue past his parted lips. Immediately, her thoughts flew away and her blood pounded in her ears. His hands found her waist as he stepped closer, his tongue now tangling with hers and causing a million faeries to flit throughout her body, making her far warmer than usual. A desire to draw closer had her taking a step, except she found no purchase.
As she fell forward, she was lifted to the ground and his mouth left hers.
She looked up at him, startled, her ideas flying back into a neat line in her head. “…manifested in emotion.”
His brows drew down, but his lips curved upward as he stared at her in puzzlement and amusement. “My Lady Dorothea, I do feel somewhat put upon.”
“I apologize, my lord. Did you not like the kiss?”
His lips flattened, all sense of humor disappearing. “Why would you ask that? Because I feel put upon? Or is there another reason?”
His mother was right—he did answer a question with multiple questions. “I ask because it seemed to me, novice that I am, that you enjoyed the kiss as much as I. Therefore, I do not understand why you would feel put upon.” The warm, fuzzy feeling she had begun to feel in her belly had cooled considerably at his attitude.
“Ladies do not go about kissing men. As a lady and student of Belinda’s school, you must know that you could tarnish its reputation with such behavior.”
Indignation rifled through her that he had that very afternoon kissed her with little thought to the consequences, yet when she kissed him in relative darkness, it was suddenly of the utmost insult to propriety? How dare he presume—oh. She felt her cheeks flame anew. He must know of her mother.
