A pulsing pain drove itself into Frederick’s temple, and he couldn’t bear this any longer. Turning to his companion, he gave her that smile that so easily graced his lips.
“I do beg your pardon, Miss Jenkins, but I must depart.”
Giving him an affected pout, the lady frowned. “It cannot be. Not so soon. When you said you wouldn’t be able to remain for the whole afternoon, I hadn’t thought you would leave only a couple of hours into the festivities.”
“I know, and it breaks my heart, but I must away.”
With a sigh worthy of an actress, Miss Jenkins nodded. “Yes, I understand you have much serious business to attend to.”
Frederick took her hand in his and bowed low over it, making enough of a show that quite a few were bound to notice. “I do hope you will forgive me.”
“I suppose. If you promise to take me on a drive tomorrow.”
Wincing, he placed a hand over his heart. “I fear I am not available tomorrow or the rest of the week.”
“Then the next?” she asked with an upward quirk of her brow.
Frederick gave a show of considering it, though his pulse quickened at the thought of being trapped in her company again. “Perhaps in a fortnight.”
“And perhaps I will be available,” she said in a manner that was likely intended to be coy, but such attempts were only successful when the lady hadn’t made her desperation clear.
But it mattered not. In a fortnight, tongues would be wagging enough that she would be glad to be rid of him. Just as Miss Hawksworth would cut ties with Timothy.
Straightening, Frederick escaped while he could, turning on his heel and striding quickly across the green and down the lane. He walked quickly, head down, and the clamor of the festival faded behind him until only the faint strains of a fiddle reached his ears, but his thoughts churned louder than the noise he’d left behind as thoughts of his future and Dunsby Hall circled about his head.
The narrow lane curved between the backs of cottages, their gardens spilling over low stone walls full of wild roses and foxglove, and Frederick barely noticed the path turning toward the edge of the village, where a line of elm trees cast long shadows across the worn footpath leading through the meadows.
And when the lane curved around a blind corner, Frederick nearly collided with Thea, standing half in sunlight, half in shade, her hands clasped before her as though holding herself together. The sounds of the festival were well behind them, and there wasn’t another soul in any direction. Here, only the wind and birds would bear witness.
There was nowhere to flee.
“Frederick.” Though the name might have been taken for a greeting, Thea’s tone was anything but.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The faint rustle of leaves filled the space between them, the sound sharper than it had any right to be. Frederick’s throat tightened, squeezing shut as though his cravat were a noose, strangling the air from his lungs.
Thea didn’t fidget or glance away as most might’ve done. Those clear, deep eyes fixed upon him without flinching, and that composure only made matters worse. He wanted to look anywhere else—at the trees, the grass, the cottage wall—but Frederick was trapped in her gaze as the silence stretched, thinning until it was liable to snap.
Or perhaps it was simply him: Thea looked entirely unaffected. And the longer she held her peace, the more he unraveled.
If she would only speak! Scold him. Anything would be better than this unbearable quiet as Thea watched him with eyes that saw too much. Frederick shifted his weight, his fingers fiddling with the seam of his trousers as his arms hung uselessly at his side.
The sunlight caught in the loose curls at her temple, bringing out shimmers of gold, and if Frederick had any air left in his lungs, it would’ve fled him at the sight of a lady who put Aphrodite to shame.
“Are you truly going to stand there, pretending you do not know precisely why I am here?” asked Thea, her voice leached of all inflection.
Drawing in a breath (as though that would do anything for his equilibrium), Frederick forced out the words. “I suppose you are quite vexed with me. What with the note, and now, Miss Jenkins—”
But Frederick stopped short when Thea’s brows rose at that. Not out of surprise but challenge. And the faintest of scoffs escaped her lips.
Those lips…
Shaking free of that thought, Frederick’s brow furrowed as he stared at her. “You aren’t angry about Miss Jenkins?”
Another huff, and Thea crossed her arms as she stared at him.
“Youareangry about her?” Though he’d meant it as a statement, the tone was clearly questioning, and Frederick wondered how he’d lost all ability to discern Thea’s moods. At present, the lady was quite perplexing.
“Did you think a simple note would suffice?” asked Thea, her arms dropping to her sides as her hands fisted. “And that I would see you withSally Jenkins—of all people—and be so furious that I would dismiss you from my thoughts without further explanation? That I would ignore everything I know about you—aboutus—and let you slip away? That I wouldn’t sense that you, in all your blind glory, are doing your utmost to avoid the issues plaguing you?”
