“Of course.” Kit offered Mathilda his arm. “Shall we?”
“It appears we shall.” She rose to her feet, and reluctantly accepted his arm.
He only hoped his hothouses—and Prestwick House itself—was still standing by the time Mathilda Templeton was finished with it.
* * *
“I’ve never seenfiner flowers than yours, my lord.” She sniffed delicately at a white bloom. “It’s scent is reminiscent of coconut. It looks like a gardenia, but the placard says it’s a Rose of May narcissus.”
“I suppose it must be, then.” How much time had passed since he’d last spent time in the hothouses? Years. Even when he’d lived here with his uncle, he hadn’t appreciated them, and now, he wondered why. Mathilda Templeton was a troublesome baggage, but she was right about the flowers. Theywerepretty.
“I’ve never heard of that variety, but then that’s the wonderful thing about having a hothouse, is it not? So many exotic flowers!” She strolled down the narrow pathway, pausing now and then to study a bloom that struck her fancy. “Prestwick House must be very grand.”
“Yes.”
She didn’t look at him, but ran her fingertips over the ruffled edges of the narcissus’s white petals. “Why do you stay in the cottage?”
She was the first person to ask him that question. Darby had alluded to it—he’d said something about Kit hiding there—but even he hadn’tasked.
It was strange, that she should be the first.
He hadn’t set foot in Prestwick House since Freddy had died there. Even now, a year later, he couldn’t say for certain that he’d ever darken the doorstep again. “Because it isn’t mine.”
She might have said any number of things then. That of course the house was his. That he was the earl, and earls didn’t stay in shabby cottages when they had grand estates at their disposal.
But she didn’t. Instead, she said, “I wasn’t lying about your bouquet. Harriett really did prefer your flowers to Lord Wyle’s.”
“But youwerelying about everything else?”
“I wouldn’t saylying, precisely.”
“Oh? What would you say, Miss Mathilda?”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “That I haven’t lied to you, my lord, but I haven’t told you the entire truth, either.”
“Perhaps you should do so now, then.” She wouldn’t, of course. She’d hint, and stall, and prevaricate until he couldn’t be sure of a damned thing.
“Very well, if you insist on it.” She drew in a deep breath, and turned to him, her gaze meeting his. “The truth, Lord Prestwick, is that you’re not going to marry Lady Harriett.”
Well, not so much prevarication, after all. “Oh? And why is that, Miss Templeton?”
“Because you and Harriett don’t suit.”
If she hadn’t looked so earnest, he might have laughed, but there was no humor in those dark blue eyes, and no dissembling. “It’s not your place to make that judgement, Miss Mathilda.”
“You’re quite right, my lord. It’s Harriett’s decision, and she’s made it.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. It’s not her decision at all. As I told you last night, Lord Fairmont made the decision for her years ago. What if I still wish for the match?” He didn’t, but Mathilda Templeton didn’t need to know that.
For now, it suited him that she didn’t.
“Then I’m sorry for you. Harriett doesn’t wish for the match, and she, not Lord Fairmont will be compelled to spend the remainder of her days with you if the match goes forward. Thus, her opinion matters a great deal more than his does.”
“What I don’t understand, Miss Mathilda, is why you should thinkyouropinion matters at all. This has nothing to do with you. Or does it?”
She gazed up at him, her blue eyes wide. “I beg your pardon?”
“Does Lady Harriett’s disinclination to entertain my suit have anything to do with that unfortunate incident between us at the cottage the other night?”
