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He raised his eyebrows a little. “You assisted Lady Reynolds, my Lady?”
“I did,” she said, her smile widening. “I was the one who wrote out the invitations. I do hope you liked the embossed stationary I selected for the task and that it persuaded you to attend just a little bit, your Grace.” She laughed, tilting her head back.
His green eyes narrowed as he gazed at her. “Indeed. Very pretty stationary.”
There was a suddenly awkward silence. He coughed into his hand, staring out again over the garden in a brooding manner. She took another deep breath. Obviously, she must try a little harder to charm him. What could she talk about next?
“You shall be in London for the season now, your Grace?” she asked. “I do so hope that you will be. I must admit, it has been a little dull.” She paused, smiling archly at him. “All the gentlemen are so similar, prattling on about their horses and hounds. I can sense you would have rather more exciting subjects to talk about, your Grace.”
He didn’t smile. “Would I, my Lady? And how would you discern that?”
Daringly, she stepped a little closer, meeting his eye. “I can just tell,” she said slowly. “You seem a gentleman who has experienced much of life, your Grace.” Her eyes trailed over his face. “A gentleman who has had daring adventures and lived to tell the tale. I find the thought of it rather thrilling, I must say.”
He didn’t answer her. He just kept gazing at her, an almost speculative look on his face. Another gentleman and lady were in the garden now, strolling past, inclining their heads in their direction. They were not alone any longer.
She blushed. Was she being just a little too forward for good taste? But she had to make the most of every opportunity. She didn’t know how long she would have to make an impression on him and show him that she was receptive to attention.
“Would you like to take a turn around the gardens, Lady Patricia?” He stared at her, in a challenging way. Patricia could tell he was half expecting her to refuse him.
“I thought you would never ask,” she said slowly, taking his arm. “Please, lead the way, your Grace.”
He nodded. They started walking, following the other couples at a distance. Other people were stepping out into the garden for some air now. They were certainly not alone, and the rules of chaperonage were being followed, but she had him to herself, almost as if they were floating along in a little bubble.
Her heart tightened in triumph. It was only the first step, but it was necessary.
She glanced at him sideways. From this side, she could not see his scar, and he appeared quite handsome. It was clear to her that hehadbeen a handsome man before his injury. He was staring straight ahead, his face solemn, not eager to talk. He was obviously not a gregarious man at all. She almost wondered why he had asked her to take a turn.
But then, she remembered that he had only just lost his father. Perhaps he was usually more talkative, but grief was simply weighing him down. Who knew?
Her eyes rested upon the scar on his right cheek. How had it happened? But she didn’t want to draw attention to it. Not yet anyway. She wanted him to feel as if she hadn’t noticed it at all, that she was simply swept away by his company. But he was making it difficult, being so taciturn. Drawing out the new Duke of Merriweather was rather a harder task than she had ever imagined.
* * *
Jackson gazed surreptitiously at the young lady on his arm as he led her around the orphanage gardens. He was still smarting from surprise that she had deliberately sought him out.
Lady Patricia Hunter, the eldest daughter of Lord Hunter, the Viscount Chant. A gentleman he knew vaguely from attending the same club on Regent Street, from time to time. As far as he could recall, he was a gentleman of considerable wealth who had two houses, one in the country and one in town. She wasn’t a fortune hunter then, which made her single-minded pursuit of him even more odd.
He studied her. She was very beautiful and very young, probably likely in her early twenties. Her hair was the colour of spun gold, nestling in ringlets along both sides of her heart- shaped face. Her complexion was fair and flawless, almost alabaster. She had large light brown eyes, the colour of honey, accentuated by dark, curling lashes. A most charming figure, as willowy as a reed, with small bones.
His eyes rested upon her bodice for a fleeting moment. A womanly bosom, despite her litheness. His blood ran just a little warmer, even gazing at it.
Yes, Lady Patricia Hunter was a very attractive young lady indeed.
He knew she had noted his scar, but her eyes didn’t linger upon it, nor did she look repulsed when she gazed into his face with her warm honey eyes. It was most curious. He could almost convince himself that she was genuinely interested in him. Almost.
“You have a country estate, your Grace?” she asked now, turning to him expectantly.
He nodded. “I do; Thornbury Manor in Norfolk.” He paused. “I spend most of my time there. I do not come to London very often.” He struggled to continue for a moment. “I am only in residence at the townhouse on St. James because of my recent loss. But I suppose I shall have to spend more time here now on the business of the duchy.”
He drew a deep breath. Even saying it exhausted him.
She looked at him with sympathy. “I can only imagine how hard a time it must be for you at the moment, your Grace,” she said, in a quiet voice. “I think it admirable indeed that you are attending any events at all, even charitable ones. It shows what a deep heart you must have to have come here today to extend your support under the circumstances.”
His heart suddenly lurched. It was the sincerest condolence he had received on the loss of his father, much less from a lady so young and untouched by life. He didn’t think Lady Patricia Hunter had experienced much loss or heartache in her life thus far. She was an intriguing woman, as well as a beautiful and charming one.
“We shall not speak of it,” she said quickly. “I can see how it pains you and I do not wish to add to your grief. Tell me about your country estate in Norfolk. I have never been to that county. Where exactly is it?”
He exhaled slowly. “It is in the northeast of the country, just above Suffolk,” he replied. “A truly wondrous part of the country. Thornbury Manor sits upon a hundred acres of pristine land. It has been in our family for centuries; since prior to Tudor times.”
Her eyes shone. “It sounds rather wonderful,” she said. Her voice lowered. “Perhaps I might have the pleasure of visiting it one day soon. I dosolove the country – I much prefer it to the city; however, much I enjoy its particular charms. Tell me, is your home close to the ocean at all?”
He nodded. “It is, my Lady. The sea is not ten miles away.”
She pouted prettily. “Then I simply must visit. My own home is in Staffordshire, to the west, and is entirely landlocked. It is like a dream come true for me whenever I have the pleasure of visiting the ocean, your Grace. The sound of the waves lapping along the shoreline is spellbinding, wouldn’t you agree?”
He nodded slowly. Although it wasn’t the ocean he thought of as spellbinding. It was this bewitching young lady, with her fair curls and milky skin and golden honey eyes. He felt his loins stir.
“Fisher,” said a male voice, right behind them. “I thought it was you.”
He spun quickly around, staring into the face of a man he hadn’t seen in an age. The face of a man that haunted his dreams, and he hoped he would never encounter again as long as he lived.
