Page 8 of The Lady Who Said No to the Duke

Wheelbarrows and gardening tools stood around and trays of young shrubs were set beside the beds, waiting to be set in place, but there were no gardeners to be seen. Nor were there any workmen on the scaffolding surrounding what looked like an orangery at the end of the new garden.

‘Strange how there is this return to formality now. The knot gardens of our ancestors were swept away by the creation of landscaped parks with little temples scattered in bosky groves and winding, informal lakes and waterways. And now here we are, back to creating the artificial. I do not believe that Godmama would find this appealing.’ He shook his head as he studied the bare earth.

‘And then there’s all the cost of raising hundreds of bedding plants each season. ’

‘Quite. I certainly do not think she’d like it,’ Thea said, turning Nero’s head away from the new garden. ‘Nor do I. I like mystery and romance in a garden, and all this shows is how much money its owner has to create it and maintain it.’

‘Then let us find a mysterious grove—hopefully one not infested with earwigs and irritable badgers—and see what is in these bulging saddlebags.’

Irritable badgers?

The man had a diverting sense of humour, Thea decided, as she followed Hal.

Or perhaps he was reacting defensively to the word romance , which was more likely, now she came to think about it.

Most men seemed to consider that romance was the preserve of silly girls, or a weapon for luring the foolish into a compromising situation.

What they found was not a grove but a gently sloping grassy bank beside a large pond, or perhaps a very small lake.

‘The grass seems dry, even after yesterday’s shower,’ Hal said, dismounting and crouching to feel the ground. ‘I can’t believe how the weather is holding so well. It will all be rain and mist and damp falling leaves before long.’

‘And there are no signs of badgers,’ Thea said, deciding to take that observation as a joke. ‘I refuse to hunt for earwigs.’

She kicked her foot out of the stirrup and slid down before he had a chance to come and help her and led Nero to the pond to drink.

Hal flapped open a rug that had been rolled up behind his saddle and unstrapped the bags of provisions before taking Juno to the water. They loosened the girths and tied the horses so they could graze and sat down side by side to see what Cook had given them for luncheon.

‘Two slices of chicken and ham pie; two cheese scones, buttered; two apples and two fruit buns, also buttered,’ Thea announced, laying it all out on the red-and-white-checked cloth it had been wrapped in. ‘What do you have?’

‘Two bottles.’ Hal removed corks and sniffed. ‘Cold tea in one and lemonade in the other. A knife, two horn beakers and two napkins. All very efficient. What would you like to drink?’

‘Lemonade, please.’ Thea laid out the two napkins between them and divided the food. ‘This is just right after a morning’s ride. I am famished, despite that breakfast.’

They ate almost in silence, gazing out over the pond, occasionally exchanging comments when a kingfisher flew past in a flash of cerulean blue, or a deer appeared on the far side, nervously scenting the air before drinking.

It was companionable, and Thea felt no pressure to make conversation.

It seemed that Hal did not either. She found it relaxing after the social pressures of London, where silences were awkward and one was expected to chatter on, even if all that escaped your lips was banalities.

Which were then answered by even more trite observations or opinions.

When they had finished, Hal gathered up the napkins, flapped the crumbs over the water for the fish and came back to where she sat, leaning back on braced arms, her face tilted up to catch the precious autumn sunlight. He joined her, settling down in much the same position.

One of the bottles tilted and he moved to catch it and set it upright. As he sat back, his hand touched hers on the rug between them, fingertip to fingertip. He went very still.

Thea froze too, a wash of heat passing over her.

What was it? They had been touching casually all day—he had helped her to mount, they had passed food and drink back and forth—this had no more significance than those fleeting contacts.

And yet he was utterly still and so, she realised, was she, holding her breath, her eyes fixed on a rowing boat tied up on the far side of the pond.

Then Hal shifted position, just a little, the faint pressure was gone and she could breathe again.

Ridiculous. What was that about? He is a perfectly nice man, nothing more. A friend. That touch was completely accidental and yet…

They had both reacted in a most peculiar manner, so it was not only she who had sensed something. Now what should she do?

Behave as though nothing has happened, of course , the rather tart voice of common sense informed her.

Because nothing had happened.

Oh, yes, it has , a little inner voice contradicted.

Thea shivered.

‘You are becoming chilled. There’s very little heat in this sunshine.’ Hal was on his feet, packing the remains of their picnic away in the saddlebags, before she could protest that she was not at all cold. In fact, she felt thoroughly—

‘Yes, you are right, we should be getting back.’ Thea stood up while Hal had both his hands full and could not offer one to assist her.

She rolled up the rug while he dealt with the saddlebags and led Nero to a convenient tree stump so she could mount unaided while his attention was distracted.

‘I would have helped you,’ he said, turning to see her already in the saddle.

‘I like to do it myself now and again,’ Thea said lightly. ‘It pays to keep in practice in case I am ever out alone and have a fall, or want to dismount for some reason.’

* * *

Hal swung up into the saddle without comment. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, but on the other hand…

What the devil had happened just then?

Their fingers had touched, that was all. And yet he had felt nothing like it since he had attended a lecture at the Royal Society by Humphry Davy and had been invited to touch the apparatus. That tingling sensation… Not painful, exactly, but shocking.

He had read more on the subject, amused himself by rubbing a piece of picture glass with a silk cloth and then watching it make pieces of torn paper dance. Electricity, they called it and, according to what he had read, it seemed to be part of living creatures as well as lightning in the sky.

Was that all it had been? The kind of shock one got from touching a cat’s fur in a thunderstorm, or the energy that made those paper scraps dance?

He glanced across at Thea’s profile. She seemed completely composed, although not, apparently, inclined for conversation. But she had felt it too, he was certain. She had gone very still and quiet until he had heard a sharp little breath when he had moved.

Hal did not understand it and he suspected that neither did Thea.

She had clearly trusted him enough to ride out without even a groom in attendance, and she had shown no reluctance to be helped on and off her horse.

And then his touch, respectful as it had been, had involved grasping her waist, infinitely more intimate than a casual touch of the fingertips.

‘Thea—’

‘Let’s gallop,’ she said, saving him from what he knew would have been a thoroughly awkward conversation.

She was right: ignore it. He urged Juno into a canter, then gave the mare her head. By the time they reached the crest of the hill and had to slow to negotiate the narrow strip of woodland, Thea was laughing.

‘Oh, there is nothing like a fast gallop to clear the mind and put me in a good temper,’ she said.

‘Were you in such a bad one? I thought you had been enjoying the day.’

‘Oh, yes, I have been, very much. No, I was so angry with Mama and Papa, but I am coming to see they really do think they are acting for the best, even if I cannot agree with them. No,’ she added ruefully, ‘I just have to conquer my feeling about the Duke and my disposition will be perfectly sunny again.’

There was an edge to the last remark that had him looking at here more closely. ‘And your feelings for Leamington are what, exactly?’

‘They are not such that can be expressed with any honesty by a lady,’ Thea said though what sounded like gritted teeth.

Every male instinct was screaming at him to leave well alone, that blundering attempts to comprehend were likely to result in her wrath being turned on his head.

Hal told himself not to be a coward. He owed it to Thea, his new friend, to understand, even if he was offering up his head for a washing.