Page 60 of The Lady Knows Best

That single word sent her springing to her feet, startling into flight the bird that had been hidden in the shrubbery behind them. Almost as if Daphne were the one who was frightened—as if, as he’d once accused her, she feared liking him too well.

“Because you’re not worried about what I might find?” She twisted her fingers before her. “Or because, whatever I find, nothing will change? I’ll still be expected to marry you at the end of the week, or have my own secrets revealed.”

He stood, too, and crossed his arms behind his back, but did not speak. Whatever reassurance he could make would sound hollow. He had to concentrate his efforts on proving to her that his winning a wager did not mean she had lost everything.

“Do you wish to explore more of the garden? Or return to the house?” He tipped his head, the better to see beneath the shadow of her bonnet’s brim. “Grandmama wasn’t joking about the jam cake. We’ll be reduced to bread and butter if we wait much longer.”

She didn’t smile again, but some of the panic left her eyes. “I don’t mind. I prefer bread and butter, to be honest. But I . . . I’m not really hungry right now. I think I’d rather walk a bit longer.”

“Alone?”

Strange how one person’s greatest fear could be another’s deepest craving. Time to herself was a concession he could hardly afford to make, a precious half hour carved from the few days he had left to make things right.

But if she needed it, he would give it to her.

She lifted one shoulder, her lack of certainty both genuine and reassuring—he’d half expected her to shout Of course, you dolt! and order him from the garden like a petite Irish archangel, minus the flaming sword.

Instead, she turned toward a path they had not yet wandered, casting an uncertain glance over her shoulder. He took it for an invitation to follow.

“What are you most eager for me to see?” she asked after a moment.

He answered with a question of his own. “What do you most want to know?”

“Your favorite spot at Lyneham Park.”

“Oh, that’s very tricky. It changes, you see, depending on the season and the weather and . . . well, my mood, I suppose.”

That wasn’t quite true. There was a spot . . . one spot. But surely Daphne had meant something a bit more . . . ? Or perhaps a bit less . . . ? Well.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

“Can you ride?” he asked.

“A little. Tristan insisted that if we were going to spend any time at Hawesdale Chase, both Bell and I had to learn how. It’s very remote. But I think . . .” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I think I prefer walking. Or rather, I think every horse I’ve ever ridden would rather I had chosen to walk instead.” They strode a few steps farther, side by side. “I suppose—” She glanced up at him. “I suppose you’re a smashing rider?”

He was.

“We’ll manage,” he assured her. Humble though it might be, he found he genuinely wanted to share with her the spot he’d never shown another soul, not even Alistair. “There’s always the dog cart.”

That earned him the Miss Busy B. expression that amused him so.

She had paused in front of a statue of a winged cherub—thankfully more clothed than those in Ryland’s room. Cupid, he supposed, given the bow clutched in the figure’s dimpled hands. The arrows were still in the quiver; Miles tried not to see it as an omen.

“What about your least favorite spot?”

“The schoolroom,” he answered without hesitation.

He heard her gasp of dismay, though she’d tried to contain it. “I used to dream of being a teacher.”

Of course she had.

“We never had a proper schoolroom, though,” she went on. “And I daresay the lessons weren’t all that conventional either. Entertaining, to be sure—and we still seem to have learned a lot, in spite of the messes and the laughter.”

“I might have enjoyed school with a bit more of either,” he said with a rueful chuckle, rubbing his hands together at the memory. “It’s a wonder I’m not arthritic from all the rapped knuckles.”

“How awful. We won’t go there, then,” she declared.

“I imagine it’s in a dreadful, dusty state. But I shouldn’t mind seeing it again,” he insisted. “Not after all these years. Not with you beside me.”