He strolled past, and she absorbed him with her eyes.You should have told him what you did and why. You should have told him what…
He walked by again. Odd, that. She didn’t have time to think about it. The speaker called for attention. There was a flurry of movement and a hum of voices. She couldn’t hear as well as she’d hoped. They always began with fifth place. She strained to hear, and then she was sorry. Edgecote’s Shining Light came in fifth to tepid applause. The others went by in a blur, and then…
“This year’s prize rose is La Reine Rouge, the Duke of Roseleigh’s entry.”
Of course it is! The council lacks imagination.She shook her head. One more red rose. She slid along the wall, around the corner, and back the way she’d come.
*
With his attentionon Margaret skulking behind the musicians, Henry almost missed the announcement. Jones hurried to the dais, preening and bowing. A shove from Aunt Blanche sent Henry forward too.
Much bowing, hand shaking, and congratulating kept him at the dais longer than he would have liked. He pushed the ribbon and certificate into Jones’s eager hands and made his way through a crowd keen to congratulate the new duke, avid debutantes batting their eyes, and disappointed competitors pretending to be noble in defeat. When he reached the musicians’ gallery, she was gone.
He had seen her as soon as she slipped behind the clarinet players. No one else had noticed her, and she seemed eager to avoid that, so he had suppressed the urge to seek her out then and there. He’d been patient long enough.
He went through to the recessed hall between the offices and the kitchen but saw no sign of her. The kitchen lay at the front of the building, and he doubted he’d find an outside door there. Certain she’d come in through the back to avoid being seen, he hurried down the corridor of offices and out into the back street, searching in all directions. Nothing.
Discouraged, he considered returning to the ball, but he couldn’t leave any woman alone on the streets at night. Guessing that she would be staying in one of the respectable, but lesser, inns across the river rather than in her father’s town house, he set off toward the river at a run. She would have to take a ferry, the lone bridge being at the other end of York.
His guess proved correct. He reached the bank just as a ferry, Margaret on board, pulled away. One great leap landed him on it.
“That’ll be extra for the rocking!” the boatman complained. Henry paid him what he asked.
Margaret sat at the stern, her body tense.
He sat down next to her. “Afraid of a scold?”
“Better you than my father, I would guess. I meant to stay in Northumberland, but I couldn’t resist hearing the announcement. Foolish start.” She relaxed a fraction.
“Foolish is walking alone in the city at night,” he said.
“No more foolish than you leaping into the boat,” she retorted tartly.
“Fair enough.” He grinned.
“Did the entire world see me sneak out?”
“Only me. I’d have come directly, but I was being assaulted with applause,” he said.
“I heard that. Let me add mine,” she said.
“You don’t sound particularly enthusiastic. I’m sorry Edgecote didn’t do well.” Her subdued reaction intrigued him.
“Don’t be. This year’s entry was terrible. I worked hard to breed in the peach blush in the heart of Innocent Sprite, last year’s winner. Father had it bred out. As to the council judges, they have no imagination. Red a decade ago. Red two years ago. Red again. If they have their way, it will be red next year.” Her shoulders sagged.
Henry puzzled over her words and her discouraged tone. He suspected her breeding program had an abundance of imagination. He groped for a way to ask.
“Northumberland? Why? Do you enjoy dark, damp winters?” he asked.
“Northumberland because that is where my house is. My grandmother left it to me,” she explained.
“Is it a comfortable house?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Very,” she replied.
They reached the far bank and clambered out.
She peered up at him slyly. “But it lacked a glasshouse.”
