Mrs. Watson praised the gardens. Lord Ingram related his head gardener’s struggle to secure epic quantities of Peruvian bat guano. Mrs. Watson laughed; even Charlotte’s lips twitched a little.
In recent years their private interactions were often silent and tense; sometimes she forgot this other side of him. But he was a man who had no difficulty being charming and amiable in public, who could appear as outwardly perfect as his painstakingly maintained estate.
As they exhausted the more inconsequential subjects, however, his expression turned sober. “Unfortunately, I do have some actual trouble to report.”
“Most vexing!” Mrs. Watson exclaimed, after he had recounted the contents of Lady Avery’s letter and his reply.
“Given that I have, on more than one occasion, consulted their encyclopedic knowledge and been glad of it, I can scarcely be outraged simply because their attention has turned to me,” replied Lord Ingram. “That said, most vexing.”
Charlotte had not expected this particular wrinkle. The meeting in question had taken place months ago, well outside spheres frequented by members of Society. “Is my sister disturbed?”
“Yes.” He glanced at her. “You, on the other hand, aren’t remotely discomfited by this news—not for yourself, in any case.”
“That is the benefit of infamy,” she said with some semblance of modesty. “One of them, at least.”
He shook his head, but his lips curved. “Well, ladies, now that you’ve heard the bad news, may I interest you in a conducted tour?”
The tour wasof only the grounds. Given the minor scandal brewing, the last thing they wanted was for news to spread that Miss Holmes had also been seen in Lord Ingram’s manor.
In truth, Mrs. Watson reflected ruefully, they ought not to have been anywhere near him at all. But since they were already on his property, they might as well enjoy themselves.
Miss Holmes might sniff at Stern Hollow’s sheer perfection, but Mrs. Watson remained thoroughly charmed. The streams teeming with tiny silver fish, darting about in unison; the pretty swing dangling from a gnarly bough; and oh look, a secret alcove behind the waterfall they had seen earlier, accessed via a set of hidden stairs from the Greek folly itself.
The conversation was just as pleasant. She recounted several of the cases Miss Holmes had handled in the weeks before they left London. She also relayed greetings from her niece Penelope, who had resumed her medical education in Paris. “She and her friends are planning to visit the catacombs very soon—the thought makes me shudder, but she declares herself in a state of fervent anticipation.”
“For someone who has already partaken of dissections, a few million grinning skulls crammed together in dark underground tunnels might prove a disappointment,” said Lord Ingram dryly.
“But the part of her letter that had Miss Holmes in a lather was the description of her daily breakfast. She has taken to the French manner and consumes only coffee and one croissant in the morning.”
Lord Ingram glanced at Miss Holmes, a seemingly casual look that was nevertheless potent enough to raise the ambient temperature. “And Miss Holmes is no doubt vexed at Miss Redmayne’s restraint. Why only one croissant when she can have three instead?”
“You know me too well, sir.”
Miss Holmes appeared distracted, as if she were in fact picturing warm, flaky croissants. Oh, that girl. Mrs. Watson was giddy merely from being in the vicinity of the desire that smoldered beneath Lord Ingram’s tweed-clad decorum. Miss Holmes ought to feel a maelstrom of butterflies in her stomach, at the crosscurrent of so much physical attraction.
“You should have married my brother, then,” said Lord Ingram, rather archly. “Bancroft has in his employ my late godfather’s pastry chef, who is said to be a prince among pâtissiers.”
Having been turned down once by Miss Holmes while she was still eligible, Lord Bancroft had done the extraordinary deed of asking for her hand again,afterher fall from grace. To Mrs. Watson’s relief, he had later withdrawn that proposal of marriage. Lord Bancroft had always made her uneasy, and she was a woman who, on the whole, enjoyed the company of men.
“Rest assured my regret is as deep as the sea,” replied Miss Holmes, her tone breezy.
A small silence fell. Mrs. Watson rather fancied that had they been alone—and had Lord Ingram been less in command of himself—Miss Holmes would have been set against the nearest tree and ravished with a kiss.
“How are your children?” asked Miss Holmes. “Have they been well?”
Much of the heated charge in the air dissipated.
Mrs. Watson had avoided asking after his children. Pleasant as their chatter was, no one could be unaware of what had not been mentioned: Lady Ingram’s absence.
Lord Ingram did not answer immediately. Ahead the house came back into view, so exquisite that, like the Taj Mahal, it seemed to float. Mrs. Watson’s heart pitter-pattered.
“The children are well. Enjoying themselves with Remington,” he said at last. “When they return, I would be pleased to bring them to call on you—with your permission, of course.”
“We would be delighted!” exclaimed Mrs. Watson.
She had only ever met them at the park in London, during the Season, when Lord Ingram took them for their Sunday outings.
“I’m not sure we will be here that long,” said Miss Holmes, pouring cold water on fervid plans in that measured way of hers. “The cottage is ours for only another fortnight.”
