“That is Daniel, yes,” he replied.
Olivia nodded and began to walk away, following the border of fuchsias. Some had not yet unfurled into the bright blooms they would soon become, still hiding in their ballooning buds.
“Where are you going?” Evan called, running to catch up to her.
Olivia cast him a sideways glance. “To explore.”
The chaperone, Mrs. Parker, had already sat on a bench beneath a willow tree and seemed to be asleep. A perfect opportunity for exploration.
“But you should not walk away from the Earl of Westyork,” Evan spluttered, grasping her by the hand. “He will be eager to meet you, and it has been an age since I have seen him, too.”
Olivia kept walking. “I can be introduced later, after he and Caro have had a proper greeting. I do not profess to know your cousin well, but I can see how saddened she has been by her brother’s absence. I would give them a moment before intruding, and something smells divine—I simply must find out what it is.”
She did so, a few minutes later, as she happened upon the most quaint, perfect kitchen garden she had ever seen. It looked so neat and smelled so fragrant that it almost did not seem real, but it was the sweet aroma of the pie that cooled on a small table outside that had truly captured her attention.
An older woman sat beside the pie; she froze as she locked eyes with Olivia, as if she had been caught doing something she should not be. “I’m just watching it, so the birds don’t peck at it!” she hurried to explain, jumping up.
Olivia smiled. “Do not mind me. I was drawn by that delicious scent. Truly, it ought to be protected from the birds with the full force of your arsenal!” she insisted. “Fetch a wooden spoon, so you will be adequately armed. At my own residence, there is a stubborn crow that simply will not listen to reason when there is a pie or a fresh loaf of bread to be had. The poor cook got a very nasty peck last year and has wielded a spoon ever since.”
The older woman cracked a smile of her own and sat back down. “I’ll have to remember that, Miss.” She jumped back up as Evan came into view. “M’Lord, goodness. I was just telling the young Miss that I’m keeping the pie safe from the birds, but I really ought to get one of the maids to do it. Apologies, M’Lord.”
“I was telling her about a similar predicament,” Olivia explained, waving a hand at the woman. “You must sit and guard your delicacies. If anyone argues, I shall champion you.”
Evan frowned. “She is the cook, Olivia, and my cousin will be expecting breakfast soon. Not to mention there is a party to cook for tomorrow.”
“So, she does not deserve to rest in the sunlight on this beautiful morning?” Olivia challenged. “I say, let all of the guests eat bread and jam and nothing else. No one will mind; they will think it is exceedingly novel and crow about it for weeks. ‘Ingenious,’ they will call us, wishing they had thought of it themselves.”
The cook looked astonished while Evan’s lips curved into one of his brightest, most butterfly-conjuring grins.
“I cannot say my aunt will agree,” he murmured. “She will not be satisfied unless every one of our guests is stuffed like the very geese and pheasants and hams that will be served.”
Olivia offered an apologetic look to the cook. “I am so very sorry for the bother that I have caused you,” she said. “If it were up to me, the guestswouldbe having jam and bread, but I have not had any say in anything, so… forgive me. Why, I have not even had a choice of groom!”
“Uh… there’s nothing to forgive, Miss,” the cook replied awkwardly as if she did not know whether to laugh or retreat inside. “It’s my honor to make preparations for this party, and there aren’t so many guests. It’s not like the old days, when I used to cook for a hundred or more.”
Evan raised an eyebrow. “Careful, Mrs. Richards, or we might decide to start having balls at Westyork again.”
“We certainly will not,” Olivia replied, forgetting once more that her betrothal to Evan was not supposed to progress beyond the notion of a union. Indeed, for a fleeting minute, she imagined herself quarreling playfully with him over the gatherings and dinner parties they would be expected to hold when he inherited his dukedom.
And Evan, too, seemed inclined to indulge in the charade. “But how will we be the most famously extravagant couple in society if we do not cram as many people into the halls of our residence as possible? What grand things will they write about us if we do not serve a feast fit for an ancient, greedy king? Indeed, Mrs. Richards, you ought to start learning how to cook swan, for I am determined to request it for our wedding breakfast.”
“Evan!” Olivia batted him in the arm, laughing until the butterflies transformed into a molten warmth that spread through her like sunshine, ensnaring her in that fantasy of a charmed future for a short while longer.
By the kitchen door, even the cook was laughing, tinged by the same warmth that Olivia felt in her chest. Perhaps, Olivia might have enjoyed the moment if she had not caught a strange look in the older woman’s eyes; the sort of expression that Olivia kept seeing upon her mother’s and Amelia’s faces—a glimpse of fond hope, as if they were watching something beautiful blossom.
It rattled Olivia.
“Well, we shall not keep you from fighting the birds,” she said hurriedly. “I look forward to tasting anything similar to that pie at the party.”
She did not wait for a response, turning on her heel and walking back the way she had come, past the sprawling gardens that never seemed to end. There were high walls with wrought iron gates beyond the first section of ornamental gardens and rose gardens and wildflower gardens—every kind of garden imaginable—but through those gates, Olivia could see even more gardens, so mysterious and inviting that she almost veered toward them.
“Did you forget that we are without a chaperone?” Evan asked, appearing at her side. “Much as I would relish stealing the rest of the morning alone with you, getting lost in these gardens, I do think we ought to return to where Caro and Daniel can see us.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, struggling to swallow her secret desire to do just that with him, wandering for hours by themselves, exploring. “Where do you think I am headed? Does it seem like I wish to run off or spend the morning alone with you? It would not serve me well to find myself in a scandal before our wedding, now, would it?”
“No one would say a word,” he replied, and she almost lost her footing.
He caught her around the waist, and, for a second longer than she had ever anticipated, she found herself pressed against his chest. Her palms braced against him, her chin snapping up in alarm, narrowly avoiding headbutting him in the face. Yet, she did not push away, not at first.
