“You jest, but I did not know a certain species of hedge was needed to make a hedge maze, although I suppose that makes sense. Is it a certain shrub? No, you know what? I don’t care. The point of a hedge maze is to, you know, solve the maze, or to perhaps to steal time alone with the object of your affection—or so I’ve heard—and not to be concerned with the species of plant used to compose the maze.”
“Or so you’ve heard?”
“We could ask the Duchess of Buckingham if she has a hedge maze we can borrow so I can show you what I mean.”
But of course, there was no property large enough to hold a hedge maze in London, and this was just a clumsy attempt at flirting on Fletcher’s part, and Louisa wasn’t even paying attention now. Rotherfeld suddenly appeared fifty feet away. And Fletcher wished there was a hedge maze he could get lost in. Preferably one full of bees.
Louisa frowned. “I’d like to discuss the mechanics of shrubbery with you further, but I suppose I must now get pulled into a conversation about, I don’t know. The species of silkworm the Chinese use to make the silk we import or more efficient ways to harvest grain.”
“Sounds scintillating.”
Louisa grunted. “Indeed. These are all things I have had to pretend to be interested in today, incidentally.”
Fletcher frowned at that. Was it possible Louisa found Rotherfeld as dull as Fletcher did?
Rotherfeld approached them, held out an arm for Louisa—which she took—and gave Fletcher a once over. “Ah, Greystone. Nice to see you again.”
“Likewise.”
“Greystone was just telling me that he is going to start courting Eliza Harding,” said Louisa.
“That is not what I said,” said Fletcher. “I mean only to start a conversation. Let us not get ahead of ourselves.”
“The lady astronomer!” said Rotherfeld. “I’ve heard she studies the stars with her father.”
“Precisely what I intended to start a conversation about.”
“I suppose she is pretty,” said Louisa. “In aconventionalway.”
“What does that mean?” asked Fletcher.
“Her looks are pretty but expected.”
“The devil you say,” said Fletcher. Was Louisa jealous? He laughed, suddenly delighted. “I find her striking, and if I do court her, I’m the one who has to look at her, so if you’ll excuse me.”
Fletcher crossed the garden, still not entirely sure what he was doing. He felt goaded by Louisa and also a bit pressured to prove to Rotherfeld that he had no designs on Louisa.
Even though he did. After all, he was going to talk to Lady Eliza in order to make Louisa jealous.
What a mess.
“Lady Eliza, how are you?” he found himself saying.
“It is a lovely afternoon, my lord. And it is a delight to see you again.”
“We did not have a chance to speak much when last we met.” Fletcher had no idea when that was. The Rutherford Ball? Three years ago? Who could say? “I have heard you study astronomy, though, and I think that is fascinating.”
“Oh! Yes, I do. Itisfascinating.”
They spent a few minutes discussing the book Fletcher had read, but as they talked, Fletcher kept an eye on Louisa, who was letting Rotherfeld escort her to various clumps of gentlemen with whom she pretended to engage conversation that was clearly boring her to tears.
Eliza’s father appeared and shook Fletcher’s hand, but then someone snagged Lord Harding’s and Eliza’s attention, leaving Fletcher alone in the garden.
He wandered over to one of the food tables and partook in some small sandwiches. He was eyeing some little cakes when Louisa appeared again.
“Did you know,” she said, “that a group of owls is called a Parliament.”
“I did not.”
