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“K it will never fall in love with me.” Mary blinked away the tears pricking her eyelids. She’d wanted to be able to talk about how she felt, but now every nerve was stretched to the breaking point.

After a few moments, Phoebe slowly shook her head. “I do not believe it.”

“Neither do I.” Caro pulled a branch of a lilac bush down, inhaling. “He still looks at you the same way he did before.”

“I agree with Phoebe and Caro,” Anna said. “What makes you think he’s not interested in you?”

“Most of his compliments are on how well I have managed the estate. He has never told me I look pretty or even nice.”

“I realize Kit is reserved, but that is ridiculous,” Phoebe said with disgust.

Anna cast her eyes at the clouds. “What a slow-top.”

“I’m not so sure.” Caro ran her hand over the privet hedge, releasing its fragrance. “By praising you on what you’ve accomplished, rather than your beauty, such as another man might, he probably does think he is being considerate of you.”

“Kit is very proper,” Anna added. “Other than his mother and sisters, I doubt he has told any lady that she looks pretty. He might be waiting for a sign from you.”

“But he hasn’t even tried to kiss me.” There, it was out. What a horrible admission to have to make even to one’s friends. Men were supposed to want to kiss women.

This was too much. Mary plopped down on one of the new benches she’d had built. “I’ve all but thrown myself at him. I don’t know what more to do. ”

Phoebe raised a brow. “Are you saying you have attempted to kiss him, and he has refused?”

“No. Of course not.” Mary hated pouting and that’s exactly what she was doing. “What do I know of kissing, other than being slobbered upon by Gawain or some other man in an attempt to compromise me?”

Anna grinned. “I have a book—”

“ No! ” Phoebe said firmly. “You and Rutherford had done much more than kissing when you started with the book. You would give poor Kit apoplexy.”

Caro’s eyes widened. “Book? Why haven’t I heard about the book?”

“Anna can tell you about it later.” Phoebe’s lips curled up into a smile. “It is very interesting, but this is not the time for it.”

“Very well.” Anna heaved a sigh. “I still think Mary should attempt to seduce Kit.”

“You know,” Caro said thoughtfully, “that is not a bad idea.”

Mary’s face was heating to the point that she knew she was bright red. “Sed . . .” Suddenly her mouth was dry. “Seduce him?”

“Only if you love him.” Phoebe let the words hang in the air for a few moments. “You did say you like him a great deal.”

“Well, I think—just think, mind you—that I may love him a little.” Mary desperately wanted one of her grandmother’s teas with brandy. “Do you truly think he likes me?”

“I believe he’s in love,” Phoebe said.

Anna nodded. “Or very close to it.”

“I agree.” Caro glanced toward the house. “Shall we join the gentlemen?”

Mary couldn’t very well protest when it was clear by the expressions on her friends’ faces they wanted to see their husbands.

If that was love, she wanted it, desperately.

Still, if her friends were right and Kit loved her, that changed everything.

Never let it be said a Tolliver allowed love to slip through her fingers.

Now all she had to do was to figure out how to kiss him, or get him to kiss her.

Then she’d know if they would suit. Though the fact remained, he had to at least give her a sign he would welcome her affection.

Kit looked out the window as Mary and the rest of the ladies returned. Her chin had a mulish cast, and he wished he knew what the others had said to her .

“Have you told her how lovely you think she is?” Marcus asked as he glanced out the window.

Kit dragged his gaze from her. “That would be forward.”

“Good God, man.” Huntley dropped his head into his hands. “Every woman likes to be complimented.”

That wasn’t fair. Kit did flatter her. He sniffed. “I do. I tell her what an excellent job she’s done with Rose Hill.”

“We could just take him out and shoot him now,” Rutherford said to no one in particular. “It would put him out of his misery and ours.”

“It’s a good thing”—Marcus gave a rueful smile—“you have us here to help you.”

Huntley refilled Kit’s glass. “When being courted, a lady wants to be told she is beautiful and desirable, not that she is a good land steward.”

“They also need to be kissed.” Rutherford shook his head in disgust when Kit scowled.

“I think you’re making a mistake. The normal rules of polite behavior do not apply to courting, but if you’re not going to kiss her, then you must figure out some way to be more attentive.

She probably doesn’t realize you’re even interested in her. ”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss Mary.

Her lips drew him like a siren’s call, but he’d made a habit of correct behavior, and his friends’ advice went against everything he considered honorable.

On the other hand, he was becoming desperate, and they could be right.

What if he had given her the wrong idea?

“Very well.” Kit took a swallow of the sherry. “I will do as you suggest. If she slaps me, I’ll blame it on you.”

“Here they come.” Huntley grabbed the tumbler from Kit’s hand. “Now tell her how much the fresh air agrees with her. That she has roses in her cheeks or something like that.”

The door opened and the ladies strolled in, all of them but Mary with broad smiles for their men. Kit moved toward her, took her hand, and gave her his most charming smile. “How lovely you look. The fresh air agrees with you.”

God, he sounded like an idiot.

Her eyes widened, and her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “Thank you.”

Well, perhaps not so much of an idiot. She seemed to enjoy the accolade, and she hadn’t even looked as if she wanted to hit him. This wasn’t so bad after all. “I’m afraid we finished off the tea. Would you care for some more? ”

He curled her fingers around his.

She glanced at the remnants of the tea tray. “I am a bit sharp-set.”

A quarter hour later, another pot of tea arrived accompanied by some sort of grilled cake. “What is this?”

Mary’s eyes danced. “Cook must have thought we were hungry. They are singing hinnies, and this”—she pointed at a slice of cake—“is a spice cake. Cook is famous for it.”

Their friends gathered round for tea and food.

Once Kit had passed cups and plates to everyone he bit into the singing hinny. It tasted of butter, fried scone, and raisins. Could anything be better? “These are wonderful. I’m so glad you encourage Cook to make local foods.” Damn. Now he was complimenting her for her housewifery. “I mean—”

Mary put her hand on his arm, and her voice was soft, as if she wanted only him to hear her. “It’s all right. I know gentlemen love their food.”

Ah, progress. She’d never touched him first before. Who would have believed a compliment could accomplish so much? He’d have to do that more often.

“That is not the only thing we love.” Where in the hell did that come from?

She gazed at him quizzically, but before either of them could respond, Rutherford called out, “These are excellent. We must have this receipt.”

“I shall have Cook write it out for you.” Mary glanced at her watch, and rose. “If we don’t prepare for dinner soon though, we’ll be in her black books.”

Confound it all. The moment was lost. Kit stood as well. “We will be along shortly.” He waited until the last skirt disappeared out the door. “I’d say that went well.”

Marcus raised a brow. “You’d better fix her attention soon.”

“Of course I shall. The quicker we’re married the better this situation will be.”

“I don’t think that is exactly what Marcus is saying.” Huntley rubbed his forehead. “If you cannot convince her being your wife is a better option, your Lady Mary has a plan to avoid the parson’s mousetrap.”

“ Not wed? ” The ramifications were too horrible to contemplate. Not only would she be ruined, he would be as well, and that would affect his sisters, particularly Meg. “That is not possible. My mother is already at work smoothing over any hint of a scandal.”

Rutherford groaned. “Have you told Lady Mary that?”

“Of course not. I saw no need.” And he damn sure wasn’t going to tell her now. She’d consider it part of a trap. “What did she say?”

Huntley explained her idea, and Kit felt the blood draining from his head.

If she ran off he’d have the devil of a time finding her.

Just the thought of her alone in a foreign country chilled him.

Damn it all, they would marry, and soon.

Either that or he’d make his Grand Tour chasing her around Europe.

Mary sipped her sherry. “I just want to go to Paris for the Season.”

After the ladies had bathed and changed, they’d reconvened in her parlor.

“Gossip and other news travels very quickly between Paris and London. With your cousin lying in wait for you, he could easily discover your location,” Phoebe stated firmly. “Being in a foreign country with him would only add to your problems.”

There were times when Phoebe could be annoyingly right, and Mary knew she was acting childishly. Still, it was difficult to give up something she’d had her heart set on for years now: A Season where she could fall in love.

Caro’s brow pleated as she studied Mary. “Does it have to be in Paris?”

Other than London, Paris was the only place she’d ever considered. She took another sip of sherry. “Where else could I go? Vienna? I hear many of the ton like it there.”

“Edinburgh,” Caro said. “Of course the Season is not as large, but it is an option, and not as far as France or Austria.”

Anna moved to the edge of the wide cane-backed chair. “That’s perfect. Your cousin will never find you in Scotland.”

Mary had never even considered Edinburgh. Before Lady Bellamny had offered to take Diana for the Season, the Brownlys had discussed Edinburgh. There were balls and assembly rooms, and who knew what else. Except . . . “I don’t know anyone there. Where would I reside? Who would sponsor me?”