We continued our tour, and Graham trailed close behindas I wandered endlessly amidst flowers, manicured bushes, and statues. I caught him in conversation now and again with a stranger, but he was never more than a few steps away.
We must’ve walked a mile when we came upon a large square pond, facing what Graham told me was Prinny’s new stable house.
“But it’s almost more elegant than the Pavilion.”
“Do not tell him that,” Graham warned. “There’s talk he means to remodel the whole thing to match it.”
“Why change something already so beautiful?”
“Because he can.” Graham led me to the water’s glassy edge and around a tall rosebush to a little stone bench.
My feet sighed with relief as we sat. Three gentlemen and an older woman peered at the water on the opposite end.
“What do you think?” Graham asked, gesturing to our surroundings. “From a non-business perspective.”
I narrowed my gaze, and he smiled innocently. “I love it,” I admitted. “A hidden castle tucked away by the sea.”
“Would you return, then? Add Brighton to your list of sea resorts for the summer?”
“Business,” I chided him.
“I meant to visit me, not to invest.” He acted as though I’d offended him.
I pretended to ponder the thought. “There is a sixty percent chance I’d return to visit you, Graham. As long as we visited the Pavilion.”
“Sixty, hmm?” He folded his arms. A fish flopped in the pond, causing ripples to cascade toward us. “I might be able to persuade another ten percent increase. Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
We lunched late at an inn. Graham ordered us bothprawns, which were heavenly. Buttery goodness, the flavors were an explosion of garlic and salt and witchcraft. With only one left, I nearly wept, so distraught I licked my fingers like a heathen.
“Anna Lane, I am embarrassed to be seen with you.” Graham leaned back in the seat across from me, watching me with that splitting grin that claimed victory.
I moaned. “Mmm. Seventy-five percent.”
He bit his lip and chuckled. “Shall I call for another plate?”
I swatted him with my napkin.
From the inn, we walked to the rocky shore and sat on a boulder in the sun, watching the tourists walk up and down the shoreline.
Graham, leaning on one elbow, told me about his childhood. Around thirteen years of age, he realized his family did not meet typical criteria. His father either laid in bed all day or left for a month at a time. And around that time, his maternal grandfather came to visit and sent him to school.
“I regret that most of all,” he said, tucking one leg under the other. “Leaving my mother and Ginny. Ginny won’t talk about it, but I know things were dire. I wish, more than anything, that I could have protected them from my father’s abandonment.”
“But how could you have?” I shook my head. “You cannot look back. You have come so far.”
He sniffed, thumbing loose pebbles on the boulder. “And you? Do you ever wonder about your mother?”
“Sometimes I study her portrait and wonder what her voice would have sounded like. Papa says she had a razor-sharp wit and unparalleled humor. I would have lovedknowing her, but I never felt her absence as keenly as Papa did. I always had him.”
“You’ll see him tomorrow. Are you eager to return home?”
I considered. “To London? No. But, home? Yes, of course.”
He held up his hands. “I mean no offense. I just wonder, given all your options, why you have not yet chosen a home of your own. With Mr. Cross, perhaps?”
I narrowed my eyes. Sly fox. “If I wanted Mr. Cross, I’d already have him.”
