They had completed two encounters. Three left, if he could live through them. There was no stipulation of what types of events counted. If they were all silent walks in the park, that suited him just fine.
Thus, he found himself standing on her doorstep once again, too early for the fashionable set to descend upon Hyde Park. He knocked, ready to enter at Jacobs’s command. But instead of the manservant, Mrs. Reid herself appeared, already attired in her pelisse, bonnet, and gloves.
He frowned, wishing he could spy the boat and the cliffs again, and also wondering if her gown was that rich green hue again, or if she was back in her half-mourning colors. Not that it mattered what color gown she wore. But the green had brought out a luster in her walnut-toned brown hair.
“Shall we?” Mrs. Reid said as both a greeting and to spur them away from her home.
Knowing that Mrs. Reid gave only information to obscure, he had to ask, “Is there something amiss in your abode that I cannot come inside?”
She stopped short, pulling on one of her gloves and staring at him intently. “Do you wish to go inside?”
That made him seem somehow desperate, or even as if he had some alternate plan that did not include a stroll around the park. “No,” he said, though he would have liked another peek at both the cliffs and the idyll. And then he realized that she had answered his question with a question, which was a time-honored tactic of evasion. She had managed to best him again.
“Well then,” she said, holding her arm out to indicate the direction of the park.
He was unsettled. Normally he would brood about it, but considering this stroll marked their halfway point of this absurd faux-courting bargain, he might as well be honest. “You perplex me, Mrs. Reid.”
“Then I apologize, for that is not my intent,” she said, but she didn’t seem bothered or flattered by his admission. Wouldn’t another woman be delighted to perplex her suitor? Not that he was a real suitor, but in general, it seemed like that would be thecase. If one read a novel or some such, that would be how the woman would be written. Not that he would know.
“I do wonder at your intent sometimes,” he said. The day was brighter in sun than the previous week, but colder in temperature. The wind kicked up, sending a smattering of leaves cascading across their path.
“I have no motive. It is you that arrived on my doorstep,” she reminded him. “Therefore, I intend only to speak the truth of what I see in life.”
He thought about that. It was the very reason he disliked being in Society—no one spoke the truth. There were allusions and euphemisms, metaphors and coded languages of fans and flowers and colors. He avoided them for the reason that no one said what they really meant. And here was a woman who did exclusively that and he disliked her for it. “For a long time, I thought I did the same.”
“Do you not speak the truth any longer? Why would you stop?” Mrs. Reid turned to him as they strolled.
He liked having her interest, he found. It made him feel important, at least while she gazed at him. Surely a witty put-down would follow whatever inanity he expressed. No, only if he didn’t speak the truth to her. How droll and uncomfortable at the same time. “I always believed I spoke the truth. But as I got older, I realized how much I lie to myself.”
She murmured a thoughtful agreement. They walked on in silence until she broke it. “It is admirable to have enough self-reflection to realize one lies to oneself. I suspect I do as well, but I haven’t the capacity to see through it yet. Perhaps I require more introspection.”
“Or perhaps you do not suffer the affliction,” Beckett said, giving as much grace as he could.
“You are very kind to say so.” If she were any other woman, Beckett might expect a flash of a smile or perhaps she mighttake his arm. But of course Mrs. Reid did neither of those things. They walked on, rounding off one corner of the park to stroll onto another path.
“I am a believer in introspection, as a whole.” Beckett felt as if he were facing down an angry bull, starting a philosophical conversation with Mrs. Reid, but they were nearly done, so why not hang a red flag and see if she charged? “The Bible says ‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,’which is the only way we can justify judging others. The first step is to see where one’s sin lies. Pride, vanity, sloth?”
“I know the verse,” Mrs. Reid said, looking into the distance. There was more she wanted to say, he could see it.
“Are you quietly judging me to see what my sin is?” Beckett asked in a teasing manner. She could easily eviscerate him from so many angles.
“No, although I do find it interesting you chose those three deadly sins to list.” Mrs. Reid, were she any other person, looked nervous. As if he might eviscerate her. “I—er—” She stumbled over words, and her quick steps slowed.
“You may unburden yourself, madam. We have only two more encounters to go.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “But mockery is forever.”
He reached out as if he would dare touch her. But he did not. “I would not mock you, Mrs. Reid.”
She looked at him with big chestnut-colored eyes, and he surmised that someone close to her must have mocked her, and quite viciously. Enough that she still felt the echoes of it.
“I don’t understand why anyone must cast stones in the first place,” she said, her words coming out in a flurry. “Why does anyone want to hurt another?”
His heart softened—but only a little. She had enough thorns on her to prick even the most thoroughly prepared. “Have you not hurt others?”
“I’m sure I have, but I do notintendto do so.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “I speak without thinking. Often. Which is why I prefer correspondence. There I can scratch out the words that seem insensitive or rude before the recipient can see them.”
“Do you have a lot of scratching out?” Beckett clasped his hands behind his back.
