“I am an artless sort of fellow.”
“I doubt that.”
“Lady Lanora.” He lowered his voice to a husky murmur, leaning toward her. It wasn’t fair, but he made no claim to be. “Please. Permit me one opportunity to explain myself. Is that so much to ask?”
She swallowed. Her pulse raced in her slender neck. “Very well.”
“Excellent.” He flipped the reins, angling them toward a flower garden constructed of blooms and walls of carefully trimmed evergreen. He knew well the garden’s discreet paths. When they reached it, he brought the carriage to a halt and jumped down. One of the street boys lingering there ran up. William gave him a coin to watch the carriage before walking round to Lady Lanora’s side. She was looking straight ahead, her posture rigid.
“It will be easier to speak if we’re of a level.” He held up a hand to her.
She cast him a quick glance, as if looking at him would ruin her resolve. “Why have we stopped?”
“What I wish to tell you is of a very sensitive nature. I seek privacy.”
She gave a little shake of her head. “Grace said you would attempt to get me alone,” she murmured, as if speaking to herself.
“Who is Grace?” He cast about in his mind. He couldn’t recall Lady Lanora having any friends, let alone one named Grace. Then, he didn’t know the name of every Miss in London.
“My dearest friend. You would not know her. She came with me from the country.”
“And did this Grace give you advice for when I made my fateful attempt?”
“She would wish me to allow it.”
He grinned. “I like her already.”
The look Lady Lanora gave him was oddly reproachful. “So you say now.”
Feeling he was on uneven footing, knowing so little about her friend, William returned to his goal. “Will you walk with me in the flower garden, Lady Lanora? I promise not to attempt a waltz.”
She sat for a long moment before nodding. Turning, she offered her hand. He clasped her fingers, helped her down and tucked her hand into his arm. To his surprise, she made no effort to break free, permitting him to remain at her side as they headed down the first gravel path. The crunching of his boots on stone filled the silence between them.
“You’re lucky you may wear boots. Slippers are a dreadful bit of silliness,” she said, surprising him again by breaking the silence.
“Are they?” He’d never given them much thought, aside from when he was slipping one from a delicate foot.
“They’re dreadfully impractical. A set for every gown. Material that does not withstand water or dirt. Like as not, one evening will ruin them.” Her smile was wistful. “In the country, I wear boots.”
“You would be like your aunt, I see.”
“How I wish I could be.”
Why did she sound so sorrowful? What young woman lamented not being a dowdy old widow with a pack of dogs? Fine as Lady Edith’s collection was, a pack of terriers hardly replaced a husband and children.
He led her around several turns, wending his way toward one of the five focal points of the somewhat maze-like rooms created by walls of evergreen. Fewer flowers were in evidence than at other times of the year, for spring was behind them or not yet come, depending on how he wished to view the world. The particular space he brought her to, however, boasted a statue of Achilles. He thought it might appeal to her, given her choice in reading.
“I didn’t realize this was here.” Her tone was pleased. She left his side to examine the statue.
“Not many do. This is a less frequented area of the park. Most people come to be seen, after all.”
Her back stiffened. She turned slowly, cool gaze assessing. “And we are here for you to explain your behavior.”
“Would you care to sit?” He gestured toward one of three benches placed around the statue.
After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. She moved to Achilles’ right, for the statue faced the opening, the only side with no place to sit and view it. William sat once she had, angling himself toward her. Sunlight shown bright around them. Somewhere, in the distance, children laughed. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He spent so much time lying, he wasn’t sure where to begin with the truth.
The one thing he was sure of was that he must not reveal he’d lived in London’s poorest borough for the many years he was absent from the marquess’s household. That would turn any well-bred lady from him, even a sympathetic one like Lady Lanora. Nor could he reveal who Cecilia truly was. Her safety was not a gambit. William shied from contemplation of what the marquess would do should he ever locate her.
