They had moved much closer to her, and Keaton quickly oriented himself to face her.
“The pleasure is all ours, Lady Gertrude. And what a lovely day you have chosen for it. Or so I am told,” Keaton tilted his head with a pout.
Lady Gertrude laughed nervously, unsure how to take the self-deprecation, and Keaton grinned wolfishly. Georgia pinched his arm.
“Oh, you have finished your champagne, Your Grace. It is rather special. Let me get you another,” Lady Getrude started with a smile in her voice.
Keaton turned his head to Georgia, raising an eyebrow.
“Athird? I think we should make that the last, don’t you?”
“It makes me feel at ease. And in turn, that helps me enjoy the occasion,” Georgia whispered testily.
“Alcohol will tend to have that effect. It is the enjoyment of those around that might be affected adversely,” Keaton retorted.
“Then they should join me, and we can be disruptive together,” Georgia finished.
“Whatever has gotten into you?” he whispered, plastering a smile over his words for the benefit of any observers.
But Lady Gertrude had returned, and Keaton heard liquid being poured. The sudden loudness of fresh fizzing told him his own glass had also been added to. They stood for a few moments making small talk with Lady Gertrude before releasing her to mingle. They walked on, Keaton allowing Georgia to steer him and now beginning to question if she was actually competent to do so.
“Just do not guide us into a fountain,” he muttered.
Georgia laughed. Keaton found himself smiling at the image and looked away, hoping she had not seen it. Maintaining a distance from another person was far harder when sharing humor with them. Almost impossible when sharing a drink.
“Incidentally, I re-examined the clay template I was working from. You are right, it does bear a marked similarity to you,” he said, trying to sound casual, as though this were of no consequence.
“It was almost like a mirror. Quite eerie. But very flattering. You had flattered me almost to excess, I think,” she murmured.
“I did not seek to flatter at all,” he replied, “the image came without conscious thought.”
“Shall we all promenade along the elm walk?” Lady Gertrude called out to her gathering, “I have arranged for a private seating area at the far end where tea and cakes shall be served.
Keaton waited for Georgia’s guidance, unfamiliar with the layout of the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. She steered him and then stepped forward. He followed a heartbeat behind.
“Your Grace,” a man’s voice sounded from Keaton’s left.
Keaton turned in that direction.
“It is Lord Anthony Cockburn of Chelmsford,” said the voice, “I knew your father. I am glad to see you rejoining society after your long exile.”
“Thank my wife for persuading me out of my estates,” Keaton replied with a gracious smile.
“A rare woman,” Chelmsford affirmed.
“A man of taste,” Georgia murmured after Keaton assumed the Lord had moved from earshot.
“Indeed. I remember the conversations he and my father had on the subject of art.”
He knew when they had stepped onto the Elm Walk for the subtle coolness he suddenly felt on his face, caused by the shade cast by the trees. The soft susurration of the summer’s breeze through the canopy also sounded more immediate.
“I do love the scent of elm trees,” he began, feeling Georgia shift her position beside him as though looking at him.
“A friend of mine said that elms were the most ancient of English trees and most befitting shade for a gentleman,” she commented absently. “He was not a gentleman, but I think would have given anything to be one.”
“He was a rogue?” Keaton asked, curious despite himself.
Georgia laughed. “No. He was a footman and one who revered the aristocracy. He worked for the Marquess of Doncaster before taking the position at Silverton and bitterly regretting it.”
