“Your Grace,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos surrounding them, “I do hope your nephew’s next romantic gesture proves less… destructive to innocent horticulture.”
Without waiting for his response, she linked her arm through Jane’s and began steering her sister away from the scene. “Come, Jane. I believe we’ve had quite enough entertainment for one afternoon.”
“But Samantha,” Jane protested, looking back over her shoulder, “I should thank Lord Stonehall properly for the rose.”
“I’m certain you can express your gratitude when he’s not chasing livestock through Uncle’s prized roses,” Samantha replied firmly, guiding her sister toward the relative quiet of the library terrace.
Once they were safely away from the crowd, Jane turned to face her with sparkling eyes. “Wasn’t that the most wonderfully romantic thing you’ve ever seen?”
“Romantic?” Samantha stared at her sister in disbelief. “Jane, he arrived on apony. With a servant boy throwing flower petals behind him.”
“Exactly!” Jane clasped the rose to her chest. “When has any gentleman ever made such an effort to win a lady’s attention? Allthe other lords just bow and make polite conversation about the weather. Lord Stonehall wrote me poetry… in Latin!”
“Terriblepoetry,” Samantha pointed out. “InterribleLatin.”
“But it washisterrible poetry, you see,” Jane said dreamily. “Written specifically for me. Don’t you see how special that is?”
Samantha felt a familiar knot of protectiveness tighten in her chest. “Jane, listen to me carefully. Lord Stonehall is clearly a young man given to flights of fancy. Today it’s poetry and ponies, but what happens when the novelty wears off? Men like that are unreliable. They chase after whatever catches their attention in the moment.”
“You don’t know that,” Jane said, her voice taking on a stubborn edge. “He might be exactly what he appears: a romantic soul who believes in grand gestures and true love.”
“Grand gestures fade,” Samantha said firmly. “What matters is steadiness, reliability, the ability to honor one’s commitments. Flighty behavior in courtship suggests flighty behavior in marriage.”
Jane’s expression softened. “I know you’re trying to protect me, but perhaps not every man is like… likehim.”
Samantha didn’t need her sister to say the name. Her former betrothed’s betrayal hung between them like a shadow, coloring every interaction with the opposite sex.
“Perhaps not,” Samantha conceded. “But until you can be certain of Lord Stonehall’s character, I think it would be wise to maintain some distance.”
Jane sighed but then lifted the rose to her nose and inhaled deeply. “It does smell lovely, though.”
“Jane.”
“All right, all right,” Jane said, though her smile suggested she was far from convinced. “I’ll be careful. But I won’t be cruel to him simply because he’s different from other gentlemen.”
Before Samantha could respond, Uncle William appeared beside them, slightly out of breath and looking harried. “Jane, my dear, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Lord Ashworth’s son is visiting from Cambridge, and he’s expressed particular interest in making your acquaintance.”
Jane cast one last longing glance toward the garden, where Stonehall could still be seen attempting to coax his pony away from the remaining flower beds. “Of course, Uncle.”
As they walked away, Samantha remained on the terrace, her thoughts churning. She scanned the garden for the duke but found no trace of him. He had vanished as completely as he had that night six years ago, leaving her with the same bewildering sense of abandonment.
And why, despite everything she’d learned about the unreliability of men, did she find herself wondering where he’d gone?
Three days later, Samantha sat in the sun-drenched drawing room of Lady Witherspoon, their elderly hostess for this session of the Athena Society book club.
“I maintain that women possess an inherent advantage in detailed observation,” their hostess declared. “We are trained from birth to notice subtle changes in expression, behavior, and social dynamics. Why should this skill not extend to natural phenomena?”
Samantha nodded appreciatively. Since moving to the area following her uncle’s acquisition of a nearby estate, she had found unexpected solace in these weekly gatherings. The members treated her with warmth and acceptance, free from the pitying glances and whispered comments that had followed her in London’s more fashionable circles.
“Lady Samantha,” Lady Witherspoon said, turning toward her with twinkling eyes, “as our newest member, you’ve been rather quiet today. What did you think of Dr. Mason’s arguments regarding feminine observation?”
“I found them compelling,” Samantha replied. “Though I suspect many gentlemen would argue that our ‘detailed observation’ is merely gossip dressed in academic language.”
The ladies laughed, and another lady patted her arm affectionately. “My dear, speaking of observation, we simply must discuss the extraordinary events at Lord Norfeld’s garden party. The entire county is buzzing with tales of Lord Stonehall’s… creative approach to courtship.”
Samantha felt her cheeks warm. “I’m afraid I can’t offer insight beyond what you’ve already heard.”
“Oh, but you were there,” Lady Langston, a woman slightly older than her, said eagerly. “Was it truly as romantic as some are claiming? Or as ridiculous as others suggest?”
