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She was a caged bird, flitting against a gilded prison and longing to take to wing. Whoever was lucky enough to set her free, would no doubt see her soar. Pondering his poetic musings, he swung the door open, and Mrs. Twistleton preceded him through.

Suddenly finding himself eager to prolong his visit, Mathias mentally calculated the rest of his afternoon. His sister, Megan, and their mother weren’t expecting him until half-past four.

Yes, he could spare an hour for tea. Particularly if it meant time with Nicolette.

“I’d be delighted to stay,” he heard himself saying, practically before he’d finished his thought.

Careful, old chap. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

“Excellent,” Mrs. Twistleton said, a genuine smile bending her mouth as they stepped onto the pavers.

One of the things he appreciated about all of the Twistletons was their lack of artifice.

“Cook made lemon Shrewsbury biscuits.” Leaning in conspiratorially, she lowered her voice. “They’re Nicolette’s favorite. She adores anything with lemon. She didn’t eat her dinner or breakfast, and barely touched her midday meal, so I do hope the biscuits will tempt her. She’s already lost so much weight.”

Worry etched her features as they settled on her daughter, and the line of her mouth thinned.

Understanding dawned, and Mathias comprehended how difficult it must be for Mrs. Twistleton to protect her daughter from further hurt and yet encourage Nicolette to face her fears. To allow herself a different future than the course she was presently set upon.

Spinsterhood.

Of its own volition, his gaze sought her.

She sat with her legs resting on a dark burgundy chaise lounge, no doubt brought outside for her comfort. Her puppy lay on her lap, and as she read, she idly petted the sleeping dog.

Nicolette looked content and more peaceful than he’d seen her in a long while. Her serenity enhanced her beauty, and Mathias found himself staring, entranced.

“Darling,” Mrs. Twistleton said, a shade too brightly. “Look who has joined us for tea.”

Mrs. Twistleton’s exuberant declaration yanked Mathias back to the present.

She bustled forward, motioning to Reeves approaching with measured steps from the other direction with a laden tray.

Nicolette glanced upward. Her beautiful eyes rounded, and her equally pretty mouth slackened in astonishment upon spying Mathias. At once, she snapped her mouth and novel closed simultaneously. She swiftly tucked the book beside her, very deliberately pulling the fabric of her white muslin gown atop it.

Hiding it, is she?

Just what had the ever-so-unapproachable Nicolette Twistleton been reading?

From the becoming color skating up the gentle slope of her cheeks, he’d wager it hadn’t been prose by Mrs. Wollstonecraft, Olympe de Gouges, or Voltaire.

Interesting.

Her mother didn’t seem to have noticed or else was aware of her daughter’s choice of reading material and had no objection.

“Thank you, Reeves,” Mrs. Twistleton said as she set about organizing the contents of the tray.

“Madam.” Reeves dipped his head and departed, one precise footstep after another.

Mathias bowed before Nicolette, admiring her shiny raven hair, pulled into a simple chignon, and the pearl earbobs dangling from her shell-like ears. Her empire style gown with a lavender ribbon below her bosoms emphasized her creamy décolletage, though the neckline could hardly be considered risqué.

She was a fresh spring flower. A beautiful blossom on the verge of blooming.

God’s ballocks.

Since when did he wax poetic?

In truth, more and more so secretly for some time now. Ever since, a certain young woman became eligible on the Marriage Mart once more.