“Well, yes. Everyone in London is acquainted with Lord Boggs.” It was true enough, but a guilty heat was creeping into her cheeks, nonetheless.
The trouble was, shehadencouraged Lord Boggs’s attentions to her when she’d first arrived in London, foolishly thinking his hunt for a bride might coincide with her wish to save her family from penury with an advantageous marriage.
But that had been weeks ago, and it wasn’t as if anything inappropriate had happened between them. Surely, the man couldn’t have mistaken a few smiles and a dance or two for an invitation to chase her to Steeple Cross?
“Did you see him the day before you left London?”
Another lady might have believed Miles spoke with perfect courtesy, but she’d heard that tone before, and knew it for the thin veneer of courtesy it was.
She raised her chin, and met his eyes. “I did see him, yes. He called on Lady Fosberry, but I never—”
“I see.” Miles turned away from her. “Would you be so good as to take Miss Templeton to the drawing room, Barnaby?”
Barnaby glanced between them again, his expression troubled. “Cross—”
“It’s quite all right, cousin. Miss Templeton and I have concluded our business.” Miles waved his hand toward the door in a clear dismissal, as if she were one of his servants.
She remained frozen in place, her skin still tingling from his touch, unable to squeak out another word.
To see him now, she could almost believe she’d imagined his heated kisses, his touch, his whispers in her ear. The passionate man of only moments before was gone, and in his place was the cool, dignified Earl of Cross, with his perfectly tied cravat, his every button fastened, and every lock of his dark hair smoothed into its proper place.
What had just happened?
“Go on, Miss Templeton.” The cool, dark eyes met hers. “You don’t want to keep Lord Boggs waiting.”
“Very well, my lord.” She rose from her chair with icy dignity—at least, she hoped it was dignified, and icy enough to give him frostbite—because she hadn’t done anything wrong, and she wouldn’t sneak away in shame as if she had.
But her performance was wasted on Miles. He’d turned back to the window, and wasn’t even looking at her anymore.
Well then, there was no reason for her to remain here a moment longer, was there? Without another word, she swept out the door, Lord Barnaby on her heels, without sparing the infuriating Earl of Cross another glance.
“Miss Templeton,my dear girl, here you are at last, and as lovely as ever!” Lord Boggs offered her an ingratiating bow, then caught her hand and pressed an oily kiss to her knuckles.
“Er, thank you, my lord.” It took every bit of restraint she possessed, but somehow Juliet was able to wait until he released her instead of snatching it away from him. “What a surprise to see you here, my lord. How did you manage the journey in such dreadful weather?”
For pity’s sake, what use was a tempest if it couldn’t keep Lord Boggs from descending on Oxfordshire?
He peered down his bulbous nose at her, a smug smile on his lips. “A superior equipage and driver, and the best horses England has to offer, Miss Templeton.”
“Of course.” She stretched a smile over her clenched teeth. “Have you just come from London, then?”
“Yes. I intended to be here sooner, but some rather, er… pressing business kept me in town longer than I wished. It’s dreadfully dull there, now all thetonhas left the city. Indeed, I believe all the fashionable people arehere.” He glanced around him with a haughty sniff. “Quite a distance to come for a bit of hunting, really. I confess I don’t see the appeal.”
That hadn’t stoppedhimfrom coming here though, had it?
There was no reason his condescension should offend her—this wasn’therhouse, after all, and it wasn’t as if she admired Steeple Cross—but before she could think better of it, she’d opened her mouth to defend it. “It’s a handsome house, and the surrounding park is quite—”
“Shall we take a walk in the conservatory before dinner, Miss Templeton? I hear Cross has a rather nice one, if a trifle small.” He offered her his arm without waiting for her reply.
The conservatory was as good—or, rather, asbada place as any other, so she accepted his arm without argument, only pausing to mutter a quick prayer that they wouldn’t encounter Lady Cecil or her nieces, or Lord and Lady Kimble and their daughters wandering about in there.
Thankfully, it was empty, but there was precious little else to be thankful for, as the conservatory was an orchestrated nightmare, just like every other place at Steeple Cross.
Every stem was straight, every leaf upright, every flower, shrub and bush trimmed to merciless perfection. It was no less than she’d expected, really, yet somehow the coldness of this place, the ruthless sterility was much more disturbing to herherethan it ever could be in a breakfast parlor or bedchamber.
Her father had been a botanist, his knowledge so comprehensive he could identify thousands of plants by species, genus, family, and order, and evenhisgardens hadn’t been as perfectly ordered as these were.
Plants, flowers, growing things… they were meant to live in wild profusion, in a riot of tender greens and bright pinks and deep, ruby reds. There should be loose dirt overflowing onto the pathways, fallen petals gathering on the ground, and dried leaves that caught in one’s skirt as they passed by, just like at her family’s small gardens at Hambleden Manor.
