Page 9

B ridget added the last of the hydrangeas and lavender to the arrangements. Lost in thought, she didn’t hear footsteps approaching. As she stepped back to admire her work, she collided with a solid figure.

“I beg your pardon,” she exclaimed, regaining her balance.

“No, the fault is mine entirely,” came a familiar voice.

Bridget looked up, her gaze locking onto a pair of striking blue eyes, ones she had tried and failed to forget.

“You?” they blurted out together.

Bridget’s fingers curled into her skirts. A scowl formed, not from irritation alone, though that was part of it. Recognition struck, clean and immediate. The man from the road. The Baron of Bother, in the very flesh.

She drew a slow breath and smothered the impulse to step back. No , she told herself. Not again.

“What unfortunate twist of fate brought you here?” she asked, her tone edged with irritation.

Grenville arched a brow and smiled… maddeningly slow, as if he savored her displeasure. “Perhaps fate determined you required further instruction in gracious acceptance.”

Bridget huffed, crossing her arms. “And you imagine yourself qualified for the task.”

His smirk deepened. He dipped his head in a manner just polite enough to vex her. “It appears our paths cross once more, Miss…”

“McConnell,” she said, her pulse still catching on recognition. She broadened her smile. “Lady McConnell.”

“Captain Thomas Grenville, Baron of Bother, at your service,” he said with an amused bow.

His playfulness broke through her reserve. Baron of Bother . She gently shook her head. “So, you’re the elusive Captain Grenville everyone’s been anticipating.” She arched an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t aware I was the subject of such discussion.” A mischievous, playful smile tugged at his lips, one he failed to suppress.

“Oh, modesty doesn’t suit you.” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “But it does make for entertaining company.”

He chuckled softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And may I say, it’s a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance, without the hindrance of torrential rain.”

“Agreed. Though the mud did add a certain charm to our initial meeting.” A playful glint touched her eyes.

“A charm I’d rather not repeat,” he replied.

There was a moment of comfortable silence before Bridget gestured to the flowers. “I should return to these arrangements.”

“Of course.” He gave her a nod. “Perhaps we’ll have the opportunity to speak again during the weekend.”

“Perhaps,” she echoed with a slight smile.

He gave a sufficient bow and left the room.

Bridget turned back to the flowers, her hands moving with deliberate precision. He’s just a man , she told herself, just a persistent, infuriatingly composed man with an annoyingly impeccable memory of their last encounter .”

He had steadied her with ease, without assumption, without condescension. That memory lingered, uninvited, unwelcome, yet not entirely unpleasant.

She tugged at a stem harder than necessary. No, not thinking about him at all. This is ridiculous,” she murmured.

“May I assist you, my lady?”

Bridget raised her head quickly and stared at one of the footmen watching her. She drew a steadying breath.

“Thank you, but no. The hydrangeas seem to have a mind of their own today. But I am undaunted. They will bend to my will.”

The young man nodded and left while she turned back to the flowers, which were more than compliant to her demands.

“There you are.” Marjory swept into the room.

She glanced around and then turned to Bridget.

“I just spoke to the footman. Drummond mentioned that the hydrangeas presented a problem, something about not cooperating.” She glanced at the vases on the table.

“You must be a hard taskmaster. You have them standing up and saluting.” Marjory’s eyes twinkled.

“I didn’t know you had spies about.” Bridget focused on primping the flowers, although she was finished with them.

Marjory looked stunned but quickly recovered.

“There are times when I do not know when you are teasing.” She shook her head.

“Now, let’s see,” she continued. “We need to put down the place cards. I thought to seat Lady Worthington to the right of Lord Blackwood. They always have such interesting conversations.” Marjory picked up the place cards and began to arrange them.

Bridget didn’t comment. She continued to tug at the lavender, her mind obviously elsewhere.

Marjory paused and stared at her guest for a moment or two. “We could seat Lady Worthington next to the giraffe,” she mused. “I hear he’s quite the conversationalist.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, that sounds fine.”

“Perfect, and when the elephant arrives with the dessert, we can have him parade through the garden before serving.”

“Of course, that sounds lovely,” Bridget murmured, still lost in thought.

Marjory raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “And perhaps we should invite Mark’s pet tiger to lead the first dance?”

“If you like.” Bridget’s mind remained fixated elsewhere.

Marjory chuckled to herself. “You’re not listening to me, are you, Bridget?”

Bridget blinked, finally pulling her attention back to the present. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Marjory laughed. “Oh, nothing important, just planning a royal circus for our guests.”

Bridget smiled sheepishly. “My mind was elsewhere.”

“On the flowers? Or perhaps on a certain captain who arrived?” Marjory’s tone was teasing.

Bridget met her gaze with feigned innocence. “Surely, you’re imagining things.”

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean,” Marjory said, a glint of mischief in her eye. “I saw you speaking with Captain Grenville a few minutes ago before he left the room almost whistling.”

Bridget gave a dismissive wave. “Mere pleasantries after an unfortunate incident. Nothing to inspire gossip, I assure you.” She busied herself with the nearest vase, pretending the arrangement required more attention than it did.

“Is that so?” Marjory leaned closer. “Because it seemed to me there was a spark of recognition between you two.”

Bridget hesitated, then sighed. “We met briefly on the road yesterday. He assisted me when my carriage was stuck in the mud.”

“In all that rain? And you failed to mention this?” Marjory feigned offense.

“It slipped my mind amidst wanting to get out of my wet clothes,” Bridget said dismissively.

“Hmm, I doubt that.” Marjory tried to suppress her smile but failed miserably. “We’ve done enough here. We have time for tea before we need to get ready. You can tell me all about your brief encounter with Grenville. Mrs. Simmons mentions she’d like us to sample tomorrow’s dessert.”

“You will be sorely disappointed. A wheel got stuck in the mud, we fixed it, and I promptly forgot about it, until now, thanks to you.”

She avoided the mention of his hands on her waist, or the brief, unsettling moment when she felt safe, just for a breath. That was the part she wanted to forget.

“The two of you? You? And the mud?” Marjory grabbed her by the hand and tugged. “Come with me. Now, you must tell me what happened.”