Mary blushed and kept her eyes on her food. What was that about? He had to think for a moment, but then he remembered his disheveled state, Margaret’s disarranged gown, and the look on his sister’s face when she’d come in.Oh dear. Scandal already and I haven’t even done anything.
“I notice our guest isn’t here this morning,” he said. “She must be sleeping late.”
“Up with the birds, that one. I told her the snow is melted and the weather improving. I suggested she leave this morning while she can,” his aunt said. She raised her chin in self-satisfied defiance.
Henry threw down his serviette and pushed himself up, both hands on the table. “Suggested? I won’t be surprised if you have footmen assigned to assist her out the door.”
A flash of disquiet crossed his aunt’s face so quickly he may have imagined it. He didn’t wait to find out. He was out the door, his breakfast uneaten.
He found his guest’s quarters in an uproar. He did not, of course, enter her room. He spoke to the maid at the door. “Kindly ask your mistress if I may have a word.”
Lady Margaret’s face appeared over her maid’s shoulder. “Spoke to your aunt, did you?”
“Listened, more like. I apologize for my family’s rudeness. Please don’t leave.” He wasn’t certain that was proper; he didn’t care.
She glanced at the maid, who scuttled discreetly away. “I never intended to stay at all. If the roads are clear and the skies no longer threatening, I am best advised to be on my way.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“That I should leave? Yes.”
“That the roads are clear,” he said, holding his breath.
Her brows rose slowly, and a naughty grin bloomed as slowly as a rose. “It never hurts to be careful.”
“Perhaps we should investigate. We could walk,” he said.
“Outside?”
“I’ll give you a tour of the Roseleigh gardens,” he said.She’ll need her imagination. Snow covers everything.He bit his lower lip.
She raised a finger, and for a moment, he thought she meant to touch his mouth. “You did it again,” she murmured.
“Will you go?”
“How can I resist Roseleigh…gardens?”
Within minutes, she was dressed in her warmest cloak and sturdy boots. Her soft bonnet, he noted, had a white rose badge created in skilled needlework. He glanced at it pointedly, lips twitching. He winged his arm, and with a pause while a footman fetched his greatcoat, they were on their way.
Gardeners had cleared paths through both the formal and the casual gardens, leaving the plants under their warm blanket of snow. He led her to the eastern rose beds. Mounds of snow lay over the bushes, some of which were higher than his shoulders.
“The roses are arranged by variety. This bed features various damask roses, for example, and on our other side is a bed of various Gallica roses. As you can see.” He bit back a laugh and his joke.
“But, Your Grace, your roses are all white! I would not have expected that at Roseleigh. When did you begin breeding white roses?” she asked, batting her eyes in faux innocence.
“Threatened that we might steal your thunder, Lady Margaret?” he asked.
“Flattered, I would say!” she replied.
He sighed dramatically. “Alas, under their fine white coat, you would find a riot of color come May—maroon, pink, every possible shade of red—but no white.”
She shook her head. “Such a pity, to cut your joy off that way. Come to Dove Abbey. The shades of white will astound you in their variety. But no red.”
Henry sobered. “It truly is a pity. The whole thing has reached ludicrous proportions.”
“Would you come, then?”
Yes.The word was on the tip of his tongue. He sighed. “Not this year, not next spring. Roseleigh needs me, and Parliament will likely demand my presence to confirm me in the title. I may not even make it to York next June, or I would say I’d see you then. Someday, perhaps.”
