THE GARDENS
Meanwhile...
Even before the music for the second waltz was halfway complete, David sensed Rose was having difficulty. Spying an opening in the crowd, he said, “Stay with me, and don’t be alarmed,” he warned.
Rose blinked. “Whatever are you going to...? Oh!”
Despite the momentum that would have sent her sprawling if not for David’s strong lead and subsequent hold on her as he danced them out of the circle, Rose managed to slow to a walk and to do so without limping.
“I apologize, but I was concerned your limb might be experiencing some discomfort after so much dancing, and I didn’t wish for you to be in pain,” he explained as he escorted them towards the French doors.
“My limb is fine,” she replied, about to insist that he resume the dance. What if someone saw their hasty retreat from the dance floor? A twinge of pain had her wincing and she decided David had made the correct move. “But I appreciate your consideration.” Outside the doors, she inhaled deeply in an effort to settle her labored breathing.
“I hope you don’t mind,” David said as he led them away from the doors and along the pavers leading through the gardens. “I haven’t been in these gardens for a very long time, and I’ve been told Lord Weatherstone has made improvements.” He glanced over at her, surprised to discover she had threaded her arm around his and her other hand was lightly resting on his forearm. Perhaps he had guessed right and her leg was about to give out on her.
“Over three years, two months and ten days, I imagine,” she gently chided, a teasing smile showing when David glanced over at her with a furrowed brow.
When he saw she was smiling, he chuckled. “It has been at least that long,” he agreed.
They walked slowly through the dark gardens, the swish of Rose’s skirts against David’s leg the only sound they made. The early spring air was alive with the sound of crickets and the sweet scent of flowers. The shadows of the back garden’s three trees danced across the grass as they passed beneath them, moonlight and a few Japanese lanterns providing enough light to follow the well-worn pavers sunk into the cut lawn.
Stopping every now and then to admire the beauty of the night and the stars twinkling above, David was filled with a deep sense of peace as he took in the romantic atmosphere of the garden.
He could only hope Rose was experiencing the same sense of peace. The same sense of calm that had settled over him ever since they had stepped out of the waltz.
A breeze ruffled his hair, which had him shaking off the reverie he’d been experiencing for the past few minutes. “Are you cold?” he asked.
“It is a bit chilly out here,” Rose replied. Although she wore long gloves, her upper arms were bare as were the tops of her shoulders. The ivory satin gown’s sleeves, edged in a thin satin ruffle, were ruched and barely rested on the edge of her shoulder. The fitted bodice was lower cut than most of the gowns the young misses wore, but given she was no longer a debutante, it was appropriate for the formal occasion.
David immediately stopped walking to undo the fastenings of his top coat. He shrugged out of it and draped it over Rose’s shoulders, heartened when she surreptitiously sniffed the superfine wool collar and grinned.
“Does it smell of my cologne?” he asked.
“You’ve been wearing this scent for as long as I can remember,” she replied.
“But do you like it?” he pressed.
She nodded. “Of course. You would not be David Bennett-Jones if you wore a different cologne,” she chided.
Warmed by her words, David once again offered his arm. “I shall be sure to have Floris save the recipe for the rest of my life,” he said on a chuckle.
They walked in silence for a few more steps before David glanced around and said, “Is it my imagination, or are the hedgerows shorter than they used to be?” At one time, it was possible for couples to hide behind the hedgerows and engage in a round of kissing before returning to the ballroom.
Rose giggled. “They are shorter because Lord Weatherstone has become shorter these past few years,” she said.
“He has become rather crooked,” David agreed. “He’s made other changes as well. Wasn’t there a statue and a fountain back here somewhere?”
“Are you referring to Cupid?” she asked as they passed beneath an ivy-covered trellis.
“You know of him?” he asked, a streak of jealousy reminding him that she was his age. That she had no doubt been in the gardens with other young bucks over the years he wasn’t in London.
“I come out here every year, if not during a ball, then during one of Lady Weatherstone’ssoirées,” she said. She gently pulled on his shirt sleeve so he turned to the right. They followed the faint sounds of splashing water until they reached the white stone fountain.
Cupid was still mounted atop the center column, his bow loaded with an arrow as if he was poised to shoot some poor unsuspecting soul.
A circular bench surrounded the pool, and he led them to it. Rose took a seat, obviously relieved to be off her feet for a few minutes. David sat next to her, careful to leave a few inches between them lest they be spotted by someone.
The last thing he wanted was to be a topic of gossip in the next issue ofThe Tattler.
