The letters were a nasty business. Henry didn’t know whether what Perrin had written had been the truth, and he didn’t want to know. It wasn’t his, or anyone else’s, concern. But the fact that Lord Perrin had felt the need to harm Lady Mary’s reputation, that he would delight in sullying her name, left a bad taste in Henry’s mouth.
“I thank you.” She stared down at the letters, her gaze vacant. “The sun is becoming a bit too warm for me. I think I’ll go inside.”
“Of course.” He watched her go, his chest heavy. He should return to the house, as well. Continue examining Perrin’s documents. But he couldn’t make his feet move toward the manor. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun instead, feeling like the rays washing over his skin helped to cleanse him from the filth Perrin had produced.
A bird sang. Footsteps crunched over gravel. Henry opened his eyes and saw Miss Walker winding her way around the central feature in the garden, a basket half full of cut flowers on her arm. Her bonnet had a much larger brim than Lady Mary’s, a gardener’s hat that would easily keep the sun off her face. It unfortunately also had the effect of pressing the curls that framed her face more tightly to her cheeks and forehead with a most unbecoming effect.
Movement over the chest-high hedge that encompassed the garden’s interior drew Henry’s eye. A pale green ruffle ducked behind the hedge, a head of honey-brown hair reflecting the sun.
Henry drew his eyebrows together. What was Katherine up to now?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Katherine
She should havebrought something with her to write notes, but when Katherine had left her room this afternoon, she hadn’t known she’d be following Miss Walker. The woman made Katherine suspicious. How long could a love go unrequited before it turned bitter and twisted?
The woman bent out of sight, rising up a few moments later with a new bloom in her hand. Miss Walker had been puttering about Perrin’s gardens for the better part of two hours, giving her ample time to hide, or harvest, any poisonous flower she wanted.
The large problem that faced Katherine was that she didn’t know anything about horticulture. Miss Walker could feed her a salad full of death and Katherine would never know. She wanted to compare the flowers Miss Walker picked with sketches from that book on herbalism she’d found in Perrin’s library, but she was having trouble remembering what they all looked like.
“Purple flower with a stalk full of blossoms. Yellow tulip-looking flower. Small white buds.” She muttered the descriptions on a loop, trying to imprint them to memory. “Purple flower with a stalk full of blossoms. Yellow—”
“What are you doing?” He whispered the question near her ear, causing Katherine to jump.
She covered her mouth with her gloved hand, smothering her squawk. Frowning, she glared at Mr. Evans. “You shouldn’tsneak up on a person,” she said, after raising her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “It isn’t polite.”
He shifted, his shadow blocking the sun’s rays. “And here I thought we’d moved past the forced politeness stage of our relationship. How disappointing.”
Katherine’s stomach fluttered. She always forgot just how tall and broad he was until he stood next to her. His wide shoulders tested the strength of the fabric of his jacket. His buckskins molded across muscular thighs.
Flustered, she gave him her back. “And here I thought we didn’t have a relationship.”
His chuckle sent a shiver skittering down her spine.
She frowned, not quite sure she liked the feeling and searched for her quarry. “Drat. She’s gone.”
Reaching around her, Mr. Evans plucked a leaf from the hedge that stuck up out of place. “Why are you following Miss Walker?”
“I’ve told you I think she is the most likely suspect in Perrin’s murder.” She turned back to face him. “You and Lady Mary seem biased against her guilt, I’m guessing because of her sex. Women can be just as vicious as any man.”
“I have no doubt.” His whiskey brown eyes twinkled. “I’m certain you’ve left many a man devastated in your wake, with little regard for his heart.”
She knew it was a jest, that Mr. Evans found pleasure in teasing her, but her chest tightened. “I don’t have the luxury of breaking hearts. It is known that my father will choose my husband, with little regard for my wishes. And most men who choose to flirt with me do so with an eye to their financial gain. Their hearts aren’t involved.”
Mr. Evans sobered. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have teased you so soon after both Lord Perrin’s and Mr. Taylor’s deaths. I’m certain, however, that if you had married Perrin, even if it werefrom mercenary reasons on his part, he would have quickly grown fond of you. Anyone would.”
Her cheeks heated. “Mr. Evans—”
“Henry.”
She rocked back on her heels.
“My Christian name is Henry. I wish for you to call me that, at least when we are alone. And may I call you Katherine?”
She hesitated, her heart pounding unnaturally loudly for such a small request. “Henry.” The name suited him. Strong and practical, just like he was. She said it again. “Henry. I noticed you and my father were quite friendly the other day.”
“He seemed most appreciative of my actions toward Mr. Taylor after he nearly shot you.” A shadow crossed his face. “Contrary to what you may think, your father loves you very much.”
