After ten minutes of going about turns and twists of sculpted gorse, I was lost. All the corners and curves began to look the same. I didn’t know how to get out, how to get back to the house or find a way to the mews.
Then I stopped moving.
I breathed fast like I couldn’t fill my lungs.
Soon, I was convinced I wouldn’t be found by Katherine . . . or anyone else.
I was alone, smelling pine and heather and something offering honey.
Mr. Thom was right. No matter how I tried I couldn’t run to Mount Olympus. If only one could gain wings and fly away from an older sister’s judgment.
Katherine was inside the grand house shaming me and the duke with her silly accusation. How could she? Why did she feel entitled to ruin my life? Mistakes or wins—they should be my choice.
Turning another corner, breathing in the cleansing pine, I decided I’d make kartoshka, one of the duke’s favorite desserts from Saint Petersburg. That would make up for Katherine’s nonsense.
Showing him extraordinary kindness might teach her a lesson.
Clearly, I was more upset than even I wanted to believe if I could stand in this beautiful place and plot revenge.
Humming a hymn, I settled. I needed to go home. The duke was well. We were still welcomed, wanted friends in his world.
On my next turn in the maze, I stumbled onto a bench. Plopping down, with arms folded, I figured this was as good a place as any to rest. I sang aloud, a hymn of peace.
“Such a pretty voice.”
Loaded with books and papers, a gentleman came from the other direction.
“Oh, hello,” I said.
He didn’t respond. His lips shut and he stared.
“We’ve met before,” I said. “You came to Ground Street with the duke.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything.
His staring at me continued. Then it seemed he dropped his papers and books.
“Let me help you.” I moved to the pages littered in the grass. Some looked like notes. Others were sheets of music.
The man didn’t move.
Then the wind shifted the papers.
“Are you going to help me, sir? I’m not here to merely help you.”
Groaning, he pitched his head up and down, but still no words.
Perhaps he had a problem with his speech. Mr. Carew had told us about some of the patients and conditions he treated. I was sure this would be something he’d know how to help with or show me how best to communicate with this person.
Finding someone with true difficulties took some of the steam from my heated teapot. I touched his arm, catching his sleeve by the buttons. “Be at ease, sir. I do not mind helping at all.”
He stilled. His gaze went to my hand.
I stopped moving. Being used to having Tavis around, I’d forgotten that some chose not to associate with us. No matter how much my father had accomplished, my brown skin touching his darker coat might be an offense.
This gentleman in fine wool coat dyed deep blue noticed. He put his palm on my hand before I fluttered away. “Don’t go.”
“I did not mean to be so forward, sir.”
