Chapter 16
Willow paused beneath the branches of a maple tree, glancing up at the light piercing through the canopy of leaves. It was the perfect spot to meet with Poppy, and the fresh air was marvelous. She missed this, missed spending time with her sisters. And it didn’t hurt that Gunter’s was one of the most fashionable haunts in London. It would go a long way for society to see her happy, out and about.
“I will never understand why they’d mold something as delicious as this ice into a lamb chop,” Poppy groused, stepping over a large root. “I prefer my ices in a simpler style.”
Willow glanced down at her lavender-flavored ice cream, mounded up in a cone-shaped glass.
“I agree,” Willow murmured, studying her purple creation.
“I still cannot believe your husband agreed to let you come for ices,” her sister said. “I had begun to believe he had you locked away in a tower somewhere.”
Willow shrugged, her gaze lazily following one of the waiters dashing from a carriage back into Gunter’s. “I’m not a prisoner, Poppy; you really ought to come for tea.”
“Is he still set on his diabolical plan to wed our sister off?”
“Probably, but have you heard? Lord Jonathan has always been in town. And I saw him yesterday and he is nothing as I imagined. The complete opposite from his brother.”
“So he will not follow through with his brother’s wishes? Or have you threatened the young buck with his life?”
Willow laughed. “No, I haven’t gotten to that part yet.”
“Just as well, threatening Lord Jonathan was Belle’s idea. I vote for locking him away until the duke comes to his senses.”
“Which might never happen,” Willow muttered, thinking about her husband’s stubborn nature, and then decided not to think further on it. “What do the gossips say?”
“Oh, the gossips have quite turned the tide.” Poppy’s eyes sparkled. “Apparently anyone who is anyone is gushing about a certain duke and duchess kissing at the Gallery and then fleeing the scene of vandalism.”
“Vandalism!”
“Apparently.”
Dear Lord.
“How is father faring with Holly’s absence?” Willow cleared her throat. “He must be beside himself with worry.”
Poppy’s tongue darted out to lick her ice. “Oh, I told him she is well taken care of and waiting for the dust to settle.”
“And he did not demand her whereabouts?” Willow asked, shocked.
“He did.” Poppy winked. “I haven’t cracked.”
“And he said nothing else?”
Poppy shook her head, enjoying another lick of ice cream.
Willow sighed.
The fact was Willow felt a pinch of guilt at coming for ices since it was so clear Ambrose was worried she’d become ill from the cold. She could have spared him that worry, had she not been so furious at being told she could not meet up with her sister at Gunter’s.
In truth, she didn’t think Ambrose a tyrant—she thought him a man left too long alone with his pain. A man who had lost his sister, terrified of losing anyone again.
Moment by moment, Willow began to understand what drove Ambrose’s need to live by such strict rules. The question was how to coax him back to the boy who dreamed of being an artist. It seemed to Willow she just needed to convince her husband that he could trust her, beyond any fear, beyond any doubt, to take care of herself.
“Father has always been surprisingly supportive. As for Ambrose, he is . . .”An obsession.
“Misunderstood?” Poppy offered, a hint of sarcasm coloring her tone.
Willow shot her sister a glare.
