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“Yes,” she said. “Though I have accomplished very little.”

“I wrote to Caroline,” he said, unexpectedly.

Elizabeth looked up, her curiosity piqued. “Did you tell her you have been reading a novel properly?”

“I thought it best not to begin with something she would immediately question,” he said dryly.

She laughed, and the sound rose bright into the warm air. “What did you tell her?”

“About Sir Henry’s horses. Lady Wetherby’s garden.” His attention settled upon her, and his voice gentled. “A lady I should like her to meet.”

Elizabeth’s fingers stilled on the stem she held, the petals trembling against her thumb. “Oh,” she breathed.

“I hope you do not mind,” he said.

“No.” She looked at him and found the answer beneath her surprise. “I should like to meet her.”

His smile warmed, softening his jawline. “I believe she will like you very much.”

Elizabeth hoped so. She had listened to him speak of Caroline with such affection that meeting her mattered more than an ordinary introduction. A small, shy joy bloomed at the thought of being someone he wanted to show to the people he loved. She looked toward the terrace, where Charlotte had stopped to speak with their hostess. They still had time before Charlotte returned. The sun warmed her shoulders, and the scent of crushed petals rose from the basket in his hand.

“Julian?” He became attentive at once, turning toward her, his eyes bright and watchful. “About tonight.”

He waited, holding the basket between them, perfectly still.

“I am looking forward to it,” she said.

The words were simple enough, but saying them made her keep her gaze on his face, and her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. “So am I,” he said quietly.

She drew a breath and steadied herself. “I thought I ought to tell you.”

“I am very glad you did.”

His voice had softened, warm as the sunlight. Elizabeth looked down at the flower in her hand, smiling despite herself as quiet, glowing happiness filled her chest.

She had not settled every uncertainty. Midnight still seemed both too distant and alarmingly near. But as they began walking toward the house, side by side, the basket swinging gently from his hand. She no longer felt alone as she waited.

Seven

Julian reached the garden gate before midnight and immediately wished he had come later. There was nothing left to arrange. He had checked the summerhouse twice, carried out the basket himself. Then returned to make certain the candles would last. He snuffed a wick that burned too tall and trimmed another. Now he could only wait, his hands tucked behind his back to keep from fidgeting. He listened for footsteps. Had the little supper been a foolish idea?

He had wanted to give Elizabeth something more than another stolen conversation. She had spent the morning helping choose flowers for their hostess. She’d been beautiful with her cheeks pink and her fingers stained green. That afternoon, he thought she might enjoy finding a few things chosen expressly for her. With no one but him to arrange them…

He looked down the path toward the summerhouse. The climbing plants mostly concealed its light. However, a warm gleam showed between the leaves, small and golden against the dark. He hoped she would like it. The hope sat in his chest, bright and a little painful.

A door closed softly near the house. Julian turned, his pulse leaping. Elizabeth appeared at the top of the terrace steps. One hand gathered her skirt, the other holding her shawl close. She paused, looking across the garden. She was a pale figure against the house's dark bulk. When she saw him, her hand loosened at her throat, and he saw her shoulders ease.

He went to meet her, nearly hurrying. “You came.”

Her mouth curved, a soft, shy smile. “You sound surprised.”

“No,” he said. Julian shook his head. “I am Relieved.”

“Did you think I would forget?” she asked.

“I began to worry that something had kept you,” he said, a little sheepishly.

Elizabeth reached the bottom step and looked up at him. She wore the purple gown again. Beneath her shawl, the silk looked almost blue in the moonlight, and a few loose curls softened her carefully arranged hair as the faint breeze stirred them. His breath caught, and he reminded himself to speak.