Page 9 of A Game of Hearts

“The first clue should be here somewhere,” Lord Limnwood’s voice behind her broke into her contemplation. “Though I confess, I find the Duke’s reference to ‘Venus’ favourite’ rather obscure.”

Emma turned to face him, careful to maintain a polite distance. After last night’s dinner, she was achingly aware of the need to prove that she could be perfectly proper.

“Not so obscure, my Lord, if one considers classical mythology. Venus’ favourite flower was the rose, although she was also fond of violets.”

His eyebrows rose slightly.

“I had forgotten that detail.”

“How fortunate then, that we are partnered. Between your propriety and my classical education, we might actually succeed at this challenge.”

She hadn’t meant to sound quite so tart, but his slight flinch suggested that the barb had struck home. To her surprise, instead of retreating into cold correctness, he smiled slightly.

“I deserve that, I suppose. Shall we examine the roses?”

The conservatory held several varieties, their blooms perfuming the air. Emma moved carefully between the plants, conscious of Lord Limnwood’s tall presence behind her. Other couples were searching the conservatory as well - she could hear Lady Anne’s voice from somewhere beyond the orange trees, instructing her partner rather imperiously.

“Here.” Emma stopped before a magnificent white rose bush. “These are Damask roses - they were sacred to Venus in Roman times.”

Lord Limnwood stepped closer to examine the plant. Emma caught her breath at his proximity, the subtle scent of his cologne mingling with the roses. For a moment, neither spoke.

“There.”

He pointed to a small piece of parchment tucked among the blooms. As he reached for it, his sleeve caught on a thorn.

“Careful!”

Emma moved without thinking, her hands coming up to help free the fine wool from the thorns. Her fingers brushed his wrist, and she felt him go very still.

“I... thank you.”

His voice was oddly rough. When she dared look up, his eyes were dark with something she didn’t dare name.

A crash from the other side of the conservatory broke the moment. They turned to see young Lord Henry Ashworth, recently down from Oxford, apologising profusely to the gardener for knocking over a pot of orchids.

“Poor Lord Henry,” Emma murmured. “He seems quite overwhelmed by this challenge.”

“He would do better to pay attention to his task rather than constantly looking to see what others are doing,” Lord Limnwood observed.

“He’s very young.” Emma watched the young man’s clear distress as the gardener lectured him about the value of the plants. “And clearly nervous. Not everyone finds such competitions easy.”

Something in her tone made Lord Limnwood look at her more closely.

“You seem very understanding of his situation.”

“I remember my first house party.” She smiled slightly. “Everything seemed so overwhelming. So many rules to remember, so many ways to go wrong. Sometimes a little kindness can make all the difference.”

Their eyes met, and Emma was startled to see real interest in his expression.

“You surprise me, Miss Everton.”

“Do I? Because I understand nervousness? Or because you did not expect me to care about others’ feelings?”

“Because you see far more than you admit to.” He unfolded the clue they had found. “Just as you saw the meaning of ‘Venus’ favourite’ when I did not.”

Emma felt warmth bloom in her chest at this unexpected praise.

“Perhaps, my Lord, there is more to both of us than first impressions might suggest.”