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But if Mr. Ambrose was scandalized by her brazenness, she couldn’t tell it by looking at him. He didn’t appear scandalized or even displeased. Far from it. He was beaming at her, those full, handsome lips curved in a grin that made her belly do somersaults.
Somersaults, for pity’s sake, when it had never once somersaulted before.
What was happening to her? Had her wits finally deserted her?
“Shall we begin here in the conservatory, Miss Harley? I know I promised to take you to the formal gardens, but it’s rather cold this evening. Perhaps we can see them tomorrow morning, instead?”
It wasn’t likely she’d be able to escape Phillippa again so soon, but it hardly mattered to her where they went. When you’d been nowhere, everywhere was an adventure. “Oh, yes. I’ve never seen anything like it before, and I should like to see the rest of it.”
“Wonderful.” He held out his arm. “Shall we, then?”
“Yes, indeed, only I, ah … well, you see, I brought something for you,” she blurted, and then instantly wanted to sink into the floor. It was bad enough she’d brought a man she hardly knew a gift, but for pity’s sake, did she have to appear so eager about it?
“Did you, indeed? I’m intrigued, Miss Harley. What is it?”
“Nothing terribly exciting, I’m afraid, but I hope you might get some use out of it.” She tugged the beekeeping veil from her pocket and unceremoniously pushed it into his hands. “There you are. Shall we go?”
She whirled around, turning her back on him before her face had a chance to erupt in actual flames, but he caught her elbow and turned her gently around to face him again. “Wait, Miss Harley. You can’t go until you’ve told me about this gift.” He unfolded the piece of netting and stared down at it. “What is it, exactly?”
“It’s a face covering, for when you’re working with your bees. A beekeeping veil, of sorts.” She nodded at the bit of netting. “It looked as if that woven face covering was difficult to see through. I thought this might be better.”
He didn’t reply at once but stood there staring at the netting spread over his hand.
She shifted from one foot to the other as the silence went on.
And on, and on, stretching into seeming infinity.
This had been a mistake, a most grievous mistake. “I daresay it was silly of me. I know nothing about beekeeping, after all.”
Had anything ever been as mortifying as this? She began to edge toward the door, all thoughts of touring the conservatory vanishing.
“Wait, Miss Harley. A moment, if you would.” Finally, he looked up, his gaze meeting hers. “You made this … for me?”
“It’s nothing at all, I assure you. I already had the netting. I’m quite handy with a needle. It didn’t take any time at all.”
He weighed the netting in his palm. “But this is wonderful!”
“Do you really think so?” Her heart skipped a beat at the warmth in his expression. “Will it make a proper face covering, then?”
“I don’t see why not. It’s sheer enough to be transparent, but thick enough to protect my face from a sting. How does it work? Do I wear it over my head?”
“No, I designed it to be sewn into the hood, so as not to encumber the beekeeper with so much fabric.” She took the netting from him and ran her finger over the thick band of cotton she’d sewed along one edge. “A few stitches here, and it should be sturdy enough.”
“Remarkable,” he murmured, then added quietly, “How kind you are, Miss Harley.”
They stood there for a silent moment, each awkwardly avoiding the other’s eyes, but then he drew in a deep breath. “Shall we try it, then? I mean, if you have time tomorrow morning, of course. I don’t wish to disturb the bees now.”
She didn’t have time. There was no one in the world more vicious than Phillippa when she was obliged to wait for anything at all, yet somehow she couldn’t make a refusal leave her lips.
Surely, a short meeting would be all right. Phillippa and her stepsisters never rose before the fashionable hour. She awoke far earlier than they did. She could meet Mr. Ambrose then.
Her eagerness had nothing to do with him, of course. Not at all. She simply wanted to see if her idea would work.
She gave him a shy glance. “I daresay I can spare a moment or two tomorrow morning.”
“Wonderful!” Without another word he plopped the face net over his head and peered at her through it, his thick, full eyelashes catching on the rough fabric. “Perfect visibility! Well done, Miss Harley.”
She bit her lip, trying her best not to swell with pride, but she wasn’t accustomed to such effusive praise—or any praise, since her father had died—and it was more difficult than it should be. “I’m glad of it, Mr. Ambrose, but perhaps we should wait and see if you get stung before we celebrate.”
