“Then we should have walked there.” She said it without reproach, a simple observation. “I would have preferred it myself.”
He nodded, and they walked on. Behind them, Mrs. Fenmore muttered something under her breath about the gravel path and the state of her ankles.
Miss Stanton was perfectly suited to be a duchess. Edward knew it. She would manage his house with quiet competence. Shewould be kind to Oliver. She would never make unreasonable demands on his time or his attention.
She would never corner him at the edge of a crowded park with color high in her cheeks and tell him uncomfortable truths as though she had every right to them.
He watched a father lift a small girl onto his shoulders near the water’s edge. The child grabbed the man’s hair with both fists and shrieked with delight, and the father laughed and spun them both around.
Bring Oliver to the park.
Edward looked away.
“Shall we walk as far as the bridge?” he asked.
“That would be lovely,” Miss Stanton said.
And she was. Lovely and sensible and entirely right for the life he had mapped out for himself.
He offered her his arm and walked on and tried very hard not to think about the ache that had settled behind his ribs since he had walked away from the Serpentine.
CHAPTER 16
“The brushwork is extraordinary, do you not think?” Hugo gestured toward a massive canvas depicting a storm-tossed ship, its sails shredded, its hull listing against waves the color of pewter.
The Royal Academy exhibition buzzed with London’s finest, all of them pretending to understand art while jockeying for social position.
Edward stared at the painting without seeing it. His attention had fixed on a figure across the gallery. Green gown. Light brown hair pinned up to expose the curve of her neck. A polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Lady Sophia stood with her friend, Lady Guildthorpe, examining a portrait of someone’s ancestor. She had not looked in his direction once since he arrived. Not a single glance. Not even the courtesy of pretending she had not noticed him.
She was avoiding him.
The realization burned in his chest like swallowed coals.
“Edward.” Hugo’s voice cut through his brooding. “You are glaring at that shipwreck as if it personally offended you.”
“I am appreciating the brushwork.”
“You are doing nothing of the sort.” Hugo followed his gaze and sighed. “Ah. I see. The lady in green. She does look rather determined not to acknowledge your existence.”
“I had not noticed.”
“Liar.” Hugo clapped him on the shoulder. “Go speak to Miss Stanton. She arrived ten minutes ago and has been glancing in your direction with flattering regularity. At least someone wishes to acknowledge your existence.”
Edward tore his gaze from Lady Sophia and scanned the room. Miss Amelia Stanton stood near a landscape depicting the Lake District, her yellow gown bright against the muted colors of the painting. She caught his eye and smiled.
He crossed the gallery toward her, forcing himself not to look back at the green gown in his peripheral vision.
“Miss Stanton.” He bowed. “We meet again.”
“Your Grace.” She curtsied, her cheeks flushing with pleasure. “I was hoping I might see you here. Did you receive my note thanking you for our walk in the park? I worried it might have gone astray.”
“I did. It was most gracious of you to write.”
“The pleasure was entirely mine.” Miss Stanton turned to the painting before them. “Is this not beautiful? I have always loved the Lake District. My family visited when I was a child. The mountains seemed so vast, so eternal. I felt very small standing among them.”
Edward looked at the painting. Rolling hills. A glassy lake. Sheep dotting the green slopes like scattered cotton.
