Page 20

She gave a small shake of her head. “You say that very easily for a man who makes everything else difficult.”

He pinned a loose leaf against the trunk with his thumb and let the breeze take it. There was no clever answer that would make her believe him, and cleverness was how he usually kept a conversation from reaching anything tender. “Would you let me try being your friend?”

The word friend sounded safer aloud than it felt. It would allow conversation without promises, books without courtship, perhaps another walk without their mothers arranging the weather around it. It would also mean watching her choose someone else and pretending the result had nothing to do with him. He offered it anyway.

Lydia considered it. “A friend would not have objected to Dunhaven.”

“No.” He felt the concession settle.

“Or looked at me as though I had done something wrong.”

“I shall try to remember that.” He meant it.

She pressed her lips together. He could not tell whether she was deciding to believe him or merely refusing to spend more of her evening resisting him. At last she said, “Very well.”

“Very well?”

“We can try.” She hesitated, then added, “And I am sorry I left you standing there.”

“You had reason.”

“Still. I would not ordinarily do that.”

“I am beginning to understand.”

She gave him a doubtful look, and he almost smiled. “I would like to go back in,” she said.

He moved aside. As she approached, he offered his arm. Her pause before taking it cost him more than her anger had. When her fingers settled against his sleeve, he felt an absurd measure of relief.

They walked toward the terrace. “Did the notes help?” he asked.

“In the botanical book?”

“Yes.”

“A little. Whoever wrote them disagreed with the description too.”

“Then you have an ally.”

“An anonymous one who has left me to do the difficult part.”

“That seems poor conduct in an ally.”

“I shall reserve judgment until I have read the rest.”

Her hand lay lightly on his sleeve. When a branch crossed the path, he held it back and let her choose how to pass. He took no advantage of the obstacle. At the terrace steps, she lifted her skirt clear of the gravel. “Your guests will be wondering where you are.”

“Whitmore knows.”

“That was not quite what I meant.”

“No.”

She glanced at him, and this time the smile came far enough to trouble him. At the doors, she released his arm. Inside, she went to her mother and said something that made the countess look toward him. Tristan bowed from a distance and turned away. He did not ask Lydia for another dance.

Later, he saw Harrington approach her. She rose from her chair, placed her hand on his arm, and went with him toward the dancers. Tristan stayed where he was. He listened to a question about the hunt planned for the following morning and answered it correctly. When the gentleman continued, Tristan asked after his horse.

When the dancers returned to view, Lydia was smiling at Harrington’s reply, and Tristan, who had promised her friendship, discovered that friendship apparently required learning to watch without interfering. He returned his attention to his guest before she could catch him watching.