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“Were you looking for us, My Lord?” Emma’s voice held a quick, perhaps too enthusiastic tone, which George noted with a slight tightening in his chest.

“You disappeared rather unexpectedly back there, I must say,” Alexander chuckled.

George reflected silently on his decision to seize the moment to capture Emma’s full attention, a choice he did not regret despite the interruption. “Perhaps his Grace is quite the magician then,” Miss Clorette quipped, her light chuckle echoing Alexander’s amusement.

“Seymore cannot do magic to save his life,” Alexander laughed heartily, and the ladies joined in with equal mirth.

“Just like how you cannot hold a paintbrush to save your life, Firman?” George retorted, his words filled with humor as he returned the playful jab.

“Or tell the differences between your ridiculous color combinations,” Alex chimed in, turning to the ladies with an amused smirk. “You see, Seymore here would hand you two identical swatches of colors and challenge you to distinguish them. Preposterous!” He burst into laughter, which quickly spread to the surrounding company.

“They’re different shades, Firman. Different shades. Far from identical,” George protested, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, which only elicited more laughter from the ladies.

“Oh, Firman. There you are!” The conversation was suddenly punctuated by a new voice, drawing the group’s attention.

“Lord Devonshire has been looking for you all evening,” Jane chimed in, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of urgency.

“I’m afraid I must excuse myself now,” Alex said, his reluctance clear in his voice, which George thought bordered on rueful. Was it because of Emma? Did he regret leaving her company? George felt a twinge of satisfaction at the thought, though he couldn’t quite quell the stir of unease that accompanied it.

“I should like an introduction to Lord Devonshire too, My Lord,” Miss Clorette lady interjected, her eyes gleaming with a mix of ambition and anticipation.

“I can take care of that,” Alex assured her, offering his arm which she accepted with a pleased smile. They descended the short stairs back into the gardens, Jane following close behind, leaving George to his private musings.

Relief washed over George as he found himself alone with Emma once again. However, when he turned to her, he noticed a change in her demeanor. Her expression was thoughtful, her gaze distant, as if she were pondering something profound or troubling.

“I think the differences, like our strengths and weaknesses, add to the uniqueness and intrigue of life, don’t you think?” Emma’svoice broke the silence, her words carrying the weight of their earlier conversation.

George nodded, recognizing her continued reflection on the topic. “Indeed, where you see the treasure in colors and wield them excellently to communicate to our senses and imagination, the Earl’s strengths lie in plants and animals like horses, appealing instead to our fancy of nature and thrill for sports…”

“These little differences we tend to overlook set us individually apart,” George affirmed, his voice carrying a tone of agreement that resonated with the soft ambiance of the garden.

“Strengths and weaknesses… Sounds like a field of contrasts Rembrandt would have loved to exploit,” Emma mused, her gaze drifting to the scattering of lights around them.

“A battlefield of opposites,” George echoed thoughtfully.

“I would consider it more of a dance,” she suggested, her eyes lighting up with the analogy.

“A dance of opposites…” He tested the words, finding them fitting perfectly into their dialogue. “Spoken like a true art lover,” he chuckled, his admiration for her perspective evident in his tone.

“I would take that as a compliment then,” she beamed, her smile infectious.

“Enjoy it while it lasts. I don’t give those out often, Miss Lovell,” he chortled, his playful banter drawing a light laugh from her.

“They wouldn’t be as special if you did,” she agreed, her voice soft yet sincere.

She glanced back behind them, a subtle shift in her demeanor catching George’s attention before she suddenly said, “I should check on the Baroness.”

She avoided his gaze as she spoke, and George sensed the distance she tried to impose. He couldn’t dismiss the feeling that it was just an excuse—an excuse to leave him, perhaps even to find Alexander. A suspicious voice in his head suggested as much.

This irritation gnawed at him, kindling an odd anger within George at himself for caring too deeply about her actions and intentions. Surely it ought not to be his concern. Yet, somehow, he had made it precisely that.

Never mind that his ostensible mission here was to shield his friend from what he suspected might be a cleverly laid trap.

Before he could gather his thoughts to stop her from leaving, Emma turned and descended the stairs. However, at their base, she paused, casting a glance back over her shoulder at George. Her expression was almost conflicted, and in her eyes, there shimmered something curiously akin to longing. It was a look that tugged at his senses.

Then, without another word, she turned away, her figure blending into the shadows of the garden. George stood there, his thoughts a tempest, as he tried to decipher the silent message held in that last, lingering look.

CHAPTER 12