“Lady Olivia speaks as though she is a parson, performing a Sunday sermon,” he replied. “She asks questions without awaiting an answer. She offers insight into her daily life that no one has asked for. And trying to escape only urges her to talk more.”
She sniffed. “You seemed rapt enough when you were waltzing. I do not believe I saw you take your eyes off her.”
“I was staring in disbelief, Arabella. Disbelief that, even while exerting herself, she could still chatter away like a jackdaw.”
Beneath the shadowy camouflage, her expression softened slightly. And when the ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips, it carried up to her warm, inviting eyes.
“You should not be so mean about my friend,” she declared.
He grinned back. “Then you should tell your brother not to force her into my path, and I would have no cause to be.”
“It rather makes me wonder what you say about me behind my back.” She raised a challenging eyebrow.
“Nothing I would not say to your face,” he assured. “Indeed, I would start by saying how radiant you look tonight. I miss the plum-colored carbuncle, that goes without saying, but this shade suits you far better.”
She wore an exquisite gown of coral silk, overlaid with gauzy, blush-toned muslin. Tiny, golden flowers were embroidered along the neckline and cuffed sleeves, before sprouting a thin spray of pinkish lace. A gold ribbon beneath the bust accentuated her silhouette, while the small jewels in her hair dazzled the eye.
“Why are you being kind?” The smile faded from her lips.
He hesitated, not understanding the slight glimmer of sadness in her eyes. “Would you prefer it if I lied? Would that make our situation more comfortable for you?”
“The books, Henry. Why did you leave those books for me?”
Concern prompted him to sit back, his bottom skimming the murky pool. Feeling the water seep through his trousers, he grimaced and lurched forward again. “To make amends,” he explained, hoping the water would dry before he went back inside. “I owed them to you.”
“You did not give them to me because my brother told you to be kind?” There was a hint of accusation in her voice.
“I never do anything your brother tells me to do, not if I desire to stay out of the way of the Bow Street Runners.” He grinned, misjudging the mood. “In seriousness, Arabella, I gave them to you because I wanted to. I thought you might like to have the endings to those stories… unless they were poorly written? Does someone die in the end?”
She rolled her eyes. “I do not believe youcanbe serious, Henry.”
About you I can. Trust me, it is a recent discovery.
Indeed, he was curious to know why she was so bothered, not just about the meaning behind the books, but about his dancing with Lady Olivia. There had almost certainly been a bite of jealousy in her voice before, but he did not dare to hope that he was right.
“With gifts, I am always serious.” He swallowed thickly. “Were the books not to your liking? Is that why I received no note?”
She jolted as if she had been jabbed in the ribs. “I sent a note. I sent it the day after you left the gift. You may speak with the butler if you do not believe me—he promised he would put it directly in to the hand of the postal rider.”
“You did?” Henry blinked, realizing he had fretted over her silence for nothing.
She nodded. “It was somewhat saccharine, in truth, so perhaps it is best it never reached you. But I did send my heartfelt thanks. I have been upon this Earth for twenty years, and I have never received such a thoughtful gift. I could even overlook the fact that you were merely repairing the damage you caused.”
No! Where is it? I must read it!
The idea of there being a letter that he would never see was a peculiar kind of torment. He wished to read her words, as they had been intended. He wished to soak in the sentiment, no matter how saccharine. It was not often he received notes of thanks, or thanks at all.
“I assumed you thought it was another terrible joke and did not wish to dignify it with a response.”
She shook her head. “You made it very clear that it was not.”
He was about to ask what she had written in the letter, when a sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.
“Arabella, what in heaven’s name are you doing out here alone?!” The Duchess of Bowles stormed out of the French doors and yanked her daughter up off the bench. She cast a disapproving glower at Henry. “You ought to know better, Lord Haskett! Have you not shamed my daughter enough this night by dancing with… with… strumpets?!”
Henry blinked. “I thought it best that Arabella had company, instead of being here entirely alone.”
“Shame on you!” the Duchess tutted. “And to think, she was so excited to see you. She will have an ache in her neck, come tomorrow morning, from all the eager searching she did. But I would not have brought her if I had known you would distress her.”
