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She hesitated, then looked at him and tilted her head. “Watching it, you mean?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“I did,” she said. “Lady Markham was a very entertaining companion.”

He nodded. “She seemed to know exactly what each couple should have been doing.”

“She remembered dancing with the gentlemen’s fathers. It gave her considerable confidence in correcting their sons,” she said, her eyes dancing.

Julian laughed, the sound low in the quiet air. Lady Andover’s eyes warmed, and he realized she had enjoyed remembering it too, the pleasure lighting her face from within. “I should have remained to hear her observations.”

“She was careful to speak quietly,” Lady Andover said.

“How disappointing,” he replied. “I might have benefited from them.”

She looked at him more directly, her gray eyes steady. “Do you require much correction?”

The question appeared to surprise her as soon as she had asked it. Her fingers tightened upon the shawl, and she lowered her eyes, color rising in her cheeks. Julian answered before she could retreat, his voice gentle. “A regrettable amount. Though I generally prefer to receive it from someone who will allow me the opportunity to improve.”

Her shoulders eased, and she let out a small breath. “That seems reasonable.”

“I have attempted to explain it to my aunt,” he told her. “She remains unconvinced.”

Lady Andover gave a quiet laugh. He liked its softness, the way it appeared before she had decided whether to permit it, like something slipping past a guard. He would have liked to move nearer, but there was no need to improve on a conversation she had begun to enjoy, so he stayed where he was. For a while, they stood beside the gate while the sounds from the house faded into an indistinct murmur. Somewhere beyond the wall, a bird moved among the branches, a soft rustle in the dark. The lantern flames wavered, casting shifting light across her face.

Lady Andover touched a rose leaf, her fingertip tracing its edge. “Lady Wetherby said the gardener was concerned about these.”

Julian watched her fingertip trace the leaf’s edge, slow and absent, as though she had forgotten he was there. The lantern light caught the soft line of her cheek. He realized he was waiting for her to speak again, and the wait didn't bother him at all.

“Do you know much about roses?” he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to break the quiet.

“Very little.” She glanced at the blooms, a faint, self-conscious smile touching her mouth. “I thought he might tell us tomorrow.”

“Then you intend to join the morning expedition?” He leaned one shoulder against the stone pillar, trying to look more casual than he felt.

“Yes. Lady Sylvan asked me.” She plucked a stray petal from the leaf and turned it between her fingers, her eyes on it rather than on him.

He nodded, and his heart gave an unexpected knock, so sudden that he nearly lost his careful tone. He straightened, and the words came out before he could soften them with a jest. “May I join you?”

Her hand stilled upon the leaf, the petal caught between her fingers. For a long moment, she did not move. Julian saw the small rise and fall of her breath beneath her shawl, and the faint, startled flicker in her face before she mastered it.

“I cannot imagine Lady Wetherby would object,” she said carefully, lifting her gaze only to his cravat.

He kept his expression gentle, though something warm and eager unfurled in his chest. She had given him the safe, polite answer, the one that asked her nothing. He wanted a different one.

“I was asking whether you would,” he said quietly. She turned toward him, her gray eyes searching his face. Julian held her gaze, steady and open, giving her time to decide how plainly he meant the request. He meant it very plainly. “I should like to continue our conversation,” he added quietly.

Her lips parted slightly. For a moment she looked as though she had prepared an answer to a different question, and a faint, bewildered pleasure crossed her face.

Then she nodded. “Yes. I should like that.”

The pleasure he felt was stronger than the occasion warranted, warm and bright in his chest. It was a walk in a garden, with other people present. He had received invitations requiring far more effort to secure. None had made him quite so glad of the following morning. “Then I shall be ready,” he said.

She smiled, but glanced toward the house, tugging her shawl closer. “I ought to return. I told Lady Sylvan I would only be outside for a little while.”

“May I escort you?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”