Her escorts had been perfectly pleasant young men whom she had no objection to meeting in company, but closer association had never resulted in any desire on her part to pursue the acquaintance on a more personal level. She’d felt her mother’s eyes on her last night at a reception for Miss Robbins when she had gently, in her own opinion, declined asecond outing with Mr. Ambrose, a tongue-tied youngster whose patently adoring gaze made her feel eons older than the recent Cambridge graduate. Fortunately, Mama had not mentioned it when they’d said goodnight, for her only reason for refusing was disinclination, which sounded ungrateful if not heartless.
Laura sighed as she tied a wide-brimmed straw hat under her left ear by its willow green ribbons. She had noted the uncertainty in her eyes in the glass, but was blind to the charming effect of the hat perched at a dashing angle atop her honey-hued curls. Her face cleared suddenly as she realised that any slight disappointment her mother might have felt at her refusal of Mr. Ambrose would be swamped in her delight that Lord Hastings was to be her daughter’s escort this afternoon. Laura was well aware that her mother was excessively partial to Jack Hastings; in fact, she’d teasingly suggested that Annabelle had succumbed to the baron’s flattering tongue on the occasion of their first meeting just for the naughty pleasure of seeing her parent assume a mantle of ill-fitting primness in refuting the charge.
Twenty minutes later, having taken leave of her mother, who was reading in her room, and having passed a few minutes with Sophia playing the pianoforte until her own engagement to drive out, Laura smilingly accepted Huckston’s assistance in climbing into Lord Hasting’s curricle.
“Isn’t this a glorious afternoon for a drive?” she exulted, beaming at the driver.
“My sentiments precisely,” Jack replied, his smile outshining hers. “As I predicted, one has to be nimble and fleet of foot these days to secure the pleasure of your company. Do you have a particular destination in mind?” he asked quickly, as if sensing her slight mental withdrawal.
She shook her head. “No, except that I’d liefer go anywhere than Hyde Park.”
“You would prefer to dispense with the rituals of meeting and greeting?” he speculated shrewdly.
“Yes.” She was grateful for his understanding. “Why, I wonder, must every gentleman who invites one to drive out head straight for the park?”
“Some are not fit to drive anywhere except in a park parade,” Jack muttered, skilfully avoiding a collision with a youth in a high-perch phaeton with yellow wheels, who was making sad work of holding his showy pair together. When they were safely past, he turned to her and suggested, “Since you are wearing a broad-brimmed hat today that should afford almost as much protection as a parasol, I wonder if you might like to visit the Physick Gardens in Chelsea, that are maintained by the Society of Apothecaries?”
“I’d love to.” Her interest piqued, she asked, “Shall we be allowed to walk about? Are the plants grown for medical purposes?”
“Yes to both questions, but there are other rare and exotic species represented there also. It is one of my mother’s favourite destinations.”
“Does Lady Hastings generally come to town for the season?” Laura ventured, trusting he would not consider the question intrusive since he had introduced his mother into the conversation.
“My parents always spent a few weeks in town every spring, but she has not been here since my father died. She was very devoted to my father — and he to her.” He shook his head, and his eyes clouded over. “It is as if a light, the main light, went out of her life, and I cannot fix things for her. I admire the way your mother carries on so bravely in the same situation.”
Laura was beset by a flood of conflicting emotions. Her fixed conception of Jack Hastings as a carefree personality with asunny but shallow nature, perhaps incapable of deep feeling, wavered and cracked like a reflection in a splintered mirror.
His affection and concern for his mother illuminated the simple statement he’d made about her bereavement. She longed to offer him comfort and hope, and part of her wanted to explain that her own mother’s case was vastly different. She struggled against the lifetime practice of hiding the true nature of her parents’ strained relationship from the world’s judgment.
After a long moment she said awkwardly, “Everyone reacts differently to grief and loss. A set period of mourning is merely a guideline according to the conventional wisdom of society for dealing with the loss. Circumstances alter cases,” she went on, embellishing a sudden insight. “I am younger than you and female, so it is natural that my mother would be more involved in seeing to my welfare, including this come-out. Your mother perhaps has not such a compelling reason to resume an active life, nor as much incentive to put aside her grief.” She stopped abruptly, convinced she’d been babbling at random, but he was looking at her with an arrested expression.
“You are suggesting that my mother might make more of an effort if I needed help in my life?”
“Well … I was simply explaining that my mother is very involved at this time —”
“Exactly. Thank you, my dear beautiful, adorable Laura for making everything clear. What a fool I’ve been not to see — and I know just how to go about it, too!”
Laura considered objecting to his extravagant language in addressing her, but decided he was in the throes of some sort of revelation and therefore not really responsible for his behaviour. In any case, they seemed to have reached their destination, so she made no protest.
The gardens were absolutely delightful. Wandering about the paths at will, Laura enjoyed a sense of comfort like nothing she’dexperienced thus far in London. Jack was the perfect companion for such an outing. He made no attempt to entertain her, but walked by her side and mostly kept a companionable silence until she directed inquiries or remarks to him.
“Oh, what wonderful lavender! Just look at the lengths of the stems, Jack.” Laura had removed her gloves at the outset, impelled by the need for tactile exploration.
Jack smiled as she ran her hand along the stems and brought her fingers up to her nose, inhaling blissfully. “I’ve seen my mother do that many a time,” he said. “After roses, I believe lavender is her favourite flower.”
“My mother loves it too. Wellstead’s flower gardens are mostly her creation, and Burns takes care of the kitchen garden.”
“And the farm is your responsibility, I believe you said. What does that entail, exactly?” They had come to the intersection of two paths and he stood looking searchingly at her.
Laura found her eyes going repeatedly to that errant lock of chestnut hair that persisted in straying on to his brow sooner or later. She administered a mental rebuke for silliness, and fixed her mind on trying to explain herself to the one man among those she’d met who refused to keep their acquaintance on the conventionally superficial level, but seemed intent on fathoming her nature. “I do not physically plough the fields, of course, though I help with planting and weeding. I read the agricultural papers and test the soil and calculate the amendments needed for various crops. I plan the selection and rotation of crops so no fields need lie fallow. Mr. Judson, who has farmed for my father for many years, does most of the heavy work, and his wife and children help me take care of the animals and the chickens and run the dairy. And I conduct all the business, buying and selling and keeping the accounts. The farm is our livelihood, you understand.”
“Yes, of course, and I comprehend that your father’s demise has placed much responsibility on your shoulders, but how did it all begin?Whendid it begin?”
“As a young child I adored running free out of doors, and rather chafed at the discipline of lessons, but of course it would never have come about if my father had not treated me like a son.” She stopped short, a look of uncertainty spreading across her countenance as she met his questioning gaze. “I never really considered it before, but my mother pointed out recently that my father had little appreciation for what one would term female accomplishments. I must have sensed that as a youngster and, since I desired his approval, I suppose I scorned them also.” Her words were coming more slowly now. She made a wry face and hunched one shoulder. “With the result you see before you — a female utterly lacking in feminine accomplishments and very much out of step with the rest of her sex.”
Jack shook his head deliberately. “No, I see before me a lovely girl utterly lacking the usual airs and graces that most young women adopt these days, one whose good sense, modesty and kind heart will endear her to the rest of her sex. I see other things too, but mostly I see a pair of astonishingly beautiful eyes that have bewitched me from the moment I came to my senses in a darkened bedchamber in Hertfordshire.”
He was moving toward her, and panic inundated Laura. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her breathing was constricted. Movement seemed impossible, but she had to stop him! “No, please, no,” she stammered. “You must not.”
