“Yet I fear it shall have to do for now.” He leaned off the tree and glanced at the dubious companion, whom he suspected to be a maid of sorts judging by the pinafore poking out from under her cashmere shawl. “Have you any questions for me, miss?”
The girl’s face drained another shade whiter. “Oh no, sir. Not one.”
Despite himself, a laugh trickled out. “Then as we have run out of questions”—he glanced to the lightening sky and lessened rain—“and the storm seems to be abating, I shall be on my way. May I escort you back, or will you continue your walk?”
“No, we shall continue our walk.” As if she were unwilling for him to imagine he had been the sole purpose for their stroll in the first place. “But there is something you might do for me.”
“Oh?”
“I am to have a dinner party this evening, yet the company is at odd numbers. Would you join us and set us to evens?”
“A reward for sharing my tree?”
Amusement crinkled her eyes. “Yes. A reward for sharing your tree.”
“Very well. I shall be there.”
“Wonderful.” Looping her arm with Bridget’s, and twirling her umbrella yet again, Miss Gresham walked into the misty drizzle. “Good day, Mr. Kensley.”
“Good day.”Sister.
Lilias arrived much sooner than the others, but that was no great surprise. Where gentlemen or wine were present, Lilias was almost always first to appear, for she did delight in both.
In her red and lilac gown, with her flaxen hair pulled back in a chignon, the girl exaggerated a frown—though her eyes still gleamed with anticipation. “I have yet to see a more wretched day as this. I could neither take a stroll nor post my letter nor paint on the balcony, for it has either rained or hinted of rain, and with this cold of mine I—”
“Never mind all that.” Isabella seized her hand and whisked the girl upstairs to her bedchamber. She plopped back to her dressing table, where Bridget resumed rubbing pomade on her hair strands, wrapping them with paper, then pressing them with the hot papillote iron. “You must promise to aid me this evening. I am most in need of your help.”
“Do not ask anything strenuous of me.” Lilias sat on the edge of the bed. “Remember my cold.”
“A certain gentleman will be in attendance tonight. One about whom I know very little.”
“Oh?”
“You must be my secret comrade in clever conversation.”
“Conversation meant to entrap him?”
“Into lending us answers, yes.” As Bridget finished the last curl, Isabella patted them closer to her head, the soft and bouncy tresses tickling her jaw and neck. Through the looking glass, she met Bridget’s eyes first. Bridget bit her lip and seemed to plead that Isabella abandon such nonsense.
Lilias, though, communicated no such cautions. From the edge of the bed, she cocked her head and grinned and even wiggled her brows, as if to say that Isabella need not worry.
They would find the answers they were after.
Indeed, Mr. Kensley would not stand a chance.
Uneasiness worked through William as he stood yet again before the Gresham townhouse door. This time, however, he would not be sent away.
He would be invited in.
Although tutors and books had taught him every social propriety, his aunt had never permitted William to accept any invitation extended to him. He’d been instructed to decline every ball, soiree, and dinner party—while Horace attended alone.
Indeed, William had never even been to London until now. Had he ever traveled anywhere beyond Leicestershire?
Not that he’d minded.
He would have remained on Rosenleigh grounds the rest of his life, working alongside Shelton in the garden, riding Ahearn, teasing young Ruth, calming Miss Ettie’s endless worries until she smiled and laughed again. Who would make her smile now? What more did she have to live for but her cold and empty nursery?
With a bitter taste climbing his throat, he lifted the brass ring in the mouth of the lion and tapped it against the door.
