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The queer fluttering behind his breastbone couldn’t be entirely blamed on his bullish dash from the house.
“I was told you were meeting with your bailiff, my lord. Else I would’ve said good-bye in person. I left a note with Wynby thanking you and the duke for your hospitality.”
Her manners remained impeccable despite Father’s unforgiveable behavior.
Chester caught up to her, and resting his forearm on the cart’s edge, grinned. Only she had the ability to make him smile like a trained monkey. Didn’t she know he had a reputation to maintain as the formidable Marquis of Sterling?
“Who told you that codswallop? My appointment with Jervis isn’t until this afternoon.”
He’d wager he knew full well who had. Dockery, the sour-faced sot. Chester intended to dismiss him right after discharging Jervis. That meant he had to hire a secretary and steward, in addition to a housekeeper. From what he’d seen of the grounds, another gardener wouldn’t be amiss either.
“Oh, well. It matters naught. I need to get home promptly in any event. Mama will be fretting despite the note that was sent. I’ve not been gone overnight since she took ill.” She plucked a dog hair from her clean cinnamon colored gown.
Someone must have seen to Eden’s garments last night. Probably Wynby’s thoughtfulness, done on Chester’s behalf. Byron might’ve been Father’s favorite, probably because he was just like him, but as a gangly lad, Chester had won the hearts of his dear departed mother and Perygrim’s staff.
While Eden looked fetching in her simple attire, her eyes and soft tawny hair truly lent themselves to softer hues. Pale greens, pinks, sky-blue. Now those were the shades for her. Spring colors.
“Might I accompany you?” he asked
The words left his mouth before he could stop them. What was it about her that made him yearn to be with her? What had him casting aside his usual decorum, discipline and vigilance, and brushing aside his duties? They’d met less than twenty-four hours ago, yet he felt as if his spirit knew hers.
Blister and ballocks.
He was the daunting Lord Sterling. Not a mewling wet-behind-the ears milksop prone to fanciful balderdash.
“Given the duke’s reaction last evening, are you certain that would be altogether wise, my lord?”
Was she troubled for him?
“He’d best get used to it. Besides, I thought perhaps you might show me your herbs. I would like our chef to purchase those he needs from you in future. If you have a sufficient supply, that is. Perhaps we could buy honey too? I’m quite fond of quince with honey and nuts.”
A finger on her small chin, Eden tilted her head. After a prolonged moment of her intelligent gaze searching his eyes, probing his very soul, she gave a short nod.
“I have a quince tree too, but they won’t be ripe for months yet.”
He’d seen the reservation in her eyes, seen her mind chugging away, trying to decide if she could trust him. Likely, she’d spent her entire life assessing people in that manner, never quite sure who was friend or foe.
Because she lived between two worlds, fitting into neither, and destined to be an outsider.
Not quite suitable for gentry or haut ton parlors, but neither was she accepted in the lower orders. How difficult her life must be. Judged by everyone for no fault of hers, struggling to find her place in an unkind world. She was resourceful though. He’d learned that much about her in their short acquaintance.
Eggs, honey, herbs.
What else did Eglantina Haverden dabble in?
As he climbed aboard the cart, she tugged Mr. Wiggles closer.
Chester didn’t miss her slight wince. No doubt she was sore from her unfortunate escapade.
Yesterday’s petulant weather had blown through, and a vivid azure sky, with an occasional cottony cloud scattered here and there, had taken its place. A hedgerow, heavy with pink buds, bordered one side of the drive. They’d be bursting into bloom soon, as would the overgrown roses he’d just tramped through.
She hummed and tapped her little feet while she drove. Beyond a doubt, she was the most unpretentious, unabashed woman he’d ever met. Unlike most ladies of his acquaintance, she didn’t seem to feel the need to jabber on about nonsensical things.
He studied her pert profile from her straight, little slightly turned-up nose to her adorable chin.
There was something truly unique about Miss Eden Haverden.
She’d studiously avoided mentioning Gabriella Bickford, and he wasn’t broaching that prickly subject either. Just because his father had commanded it, that didn’t mean Chester would concede to the alliance.
