Never Gamble Your Heart (The Secret Society of Governess Spies #2)

Chapter 33

T he party walked down a vibrant, sloping lawn to an expertly curated flower garden that was more along the size of a field. A crushed white seashell path wound through the blooms, offering stone benches every fifteen yards for the ladies to stop and rest their feet. Water fountains and birdbaths glittered with sunlight, and the constant sound of running water was as soothing as the soft hum of lazy bees floating from one blossom to the next.

The group naturally separated, with Cecelia steaming ahead to explore, and Lord Devon falling into step beside Frankie. Behind Frankie, Jasper walked with Miss Mary Harlan and Lady Charlotte, and behind them trailed her mother and the three dandies swinging their canes.

Lord Devon stood half a head taller than Frankie, and he walked in that lazy, unhurried way only men of leisure could. As they traversed the first pathway, he insisted on helping her over a flower stalk that had fallen across the seashells, which was so absurd that in her disbelief she allowed it. Once he had her hand in the crook of his elbow, he did not release it.

“How did you find your travels?” he asked, jumping forward to bat an offending bloom out of the way so that it would not touch her. Did he think her fashioned of brittle glass?

“It was not wholly pleasant,” she answered, “although I believe a woman could design a carriage with shade for more than two people.”

A secret knowing touched his eyes. “I have heard of your clever mind, Miss Turner. I admit I am far more familiar with poetry, music, and art, but I would be eternally in your debt if you would enlighten me on the subject of mathematics.”

Frankie hesitated. “Truly?”

“Truly. I fear I am a disgrace to the Devon name, as I can hardly multiply two numbers together. There will be parlor games tonight. Perhaps while the others make fools of themselves, you and I could retreat to a quiet corner and you could school me.”

Her heart was pounding out of proportion to the light exertion. There was very little Lord Devon could do while they were in the sitting room in full view of the others. Would he try to coax her out of the room in some way? Would this be her opportunity to get some answers?

Before she could formulate a response, there was an earsplitting shriek, followed by another scream. The women with Jasper were jumping about as if their feet were on fire. Lady Charlotte went pale and swooned, and Jasper barely caught her before her head hit the ground.

The other men dashed forward to help while Cecelia doubled back to see what all the fuss was about.

“Likely a toad or a snake,” Lord Devon said before Frankie could respond to his proposal.

“Do you really suppose so?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “That seems an awfully silly thing to faint over.”

He laughed, and she was struck by how donkey-like he sounded. He wore a beige frock coat over tight gray breeches, and his fashionable muttonchops and mustache were shiny with perspiration. “You are a refreshing addition to society, Miss Turner. The women are so often silly, especially when a handsome and wealthy bachelor is in residence.”

Frankie frowned at the thought of Jasper being the wealthy and handsome bachelor he referenced. Devon took advantage of her distraction by picking a purple violet from the ground and tucking it behind her ear. She was astonished by the liberty he’d taken. “Has anyone ever told you how similar your eyes are to sunstruck sapphires? Leave it to Mr. Jones to have mined a gem in the rough.”

Frankie was thoroughly exhausted of being compared to geological deposits. Why was everyone insisting on calling her a gem, a jewel, a ruby? She cared even less for the inelegant snort her mother barely concealed with a cough as she approached them. Frankie knew her mother thought her a lump of coal.

She was fighting the two-pronged discomfort of being caught between Devon and her mother, when she felt the smooth glide of a leather glove over her bare skin, and a hand curved around her upper arm. Frankie did not have to look over her shoulder to know the hand belonged to Jasper; she recognized him by the telltale scent of his shaving cream and by the tension and heat he emanated. Her unease evaporated. With Jasper she always felt safe.

Jasper plucked the flower from her hair and twirled it in long, clever fingers. “Lord Devon is mistaken if he believes there is any chance of me parting with this gem. ” He met Lord Devon’s gaze head-on. “She is mine .”