Chapter 15
Fifteen
The garden buildings at Brentmere Park never failed to impress Ambrose.
The Temple of Venus, though smaller, was a perfect copy of a ruined temple he had visited in Delphi.
More than once he had entertained himself by drawing plans for similar buildings.
Although he enjoyed living in London, a part of him would be happy with a large estate and the leisure to fill it with small architectural splendors.
As they prepared to leave the Temple of Venus, Grace asked Ambrose to assist her and Miss Witworth into the gig. Keen to do his duty, he accompanied them. Miss Witworth took his arm lightly while Grace went before them. They exchanged praises of the temple until they reached the carriage.
Ambrose could not decide what to make of Miss Witworth riding instead of walking. Was she so delicate that a few miles of walking was out of her abilities? That was a point decidedly against her.
Was it possible she rode to give Grace a companion, thus indicating a kind thoughtfulness that should be admired? It was difficult to know her reasons since they were so little acquainted. After Miss Popjoy and Miss Bullocke, he found himself more cautious in assigning virtues.
After aiding them into the gig, Ambrose turned around and was pleasantly surprised. Miss Susanna had not rejoined Henry, nor was she next to William, but had waited for him on the path. It seemed she preferred his company. He felt a little taller as he strode to her.
How strange that he welcomed her presence when he was still confused and annoyed by her behavior.
Last night, she had teased him about needing to improve his skills with women, had even offered herself up for practice.
An outrageous thing to say. He did not think she meant the offer, and even if she did, he would never accept it.
Then, despite his warning, she had sat near William and flirted with him. Though she had declared indifference toward his brother, Ambrose could not shake the feeling that such behavior would only lead to problems.
As he reached her, she smiled broadly.
“You need not have waited,” he said as they began to walk.
“I wanted to wait.” She took his arm in her proprietary manner. Unlike other ladies, she did not merely lay her hand upon his forearm. She seized it and pulled with an energy of spirit that was rare and often provoking. “You are by far the superior companion.” She smiled up at him.
It was her typical thoughtless compliment, but it warmed his insides.
“You do not wish to discuss dog breeds with Mr. Scott and Miss Colley?” He smiled as she wrinkled her nose.
Since their stop at the kennels, the two had been engaged in a lively conversation about dogs.
It was a subject Ambrose had little interest in or knowledge about, though it did display that Miss Colley was able to converse on a variety of topics—a fact he would record in his notebook when he returned to his rooms.
“I would rather discuss almost anything else,” she said. “My aunt writes that she is considering taking on a new kitchen maid.”
“Oh?” Ambrose was unsure about the change in topic.
“You might be surprised that she consults me. Perhaps you assume that I am only her companion, but for many years I have managed the household budget.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
Why did she sound surprised?
“You and Grace are forever talking about prices and accounts.”
“I did not realize you were listening.”
He shrugged. “You are difficult to ignore.”
Instead of replying, she ducked her head. That was an unusual response to his goading. He waited for her witty retort, but she did not speak. Their steps, though muffled on the dirt path, rang in his ears.
He rushed to fill the silence. “What reasons does your aunt give for a new maid?”
She took up the question eagerly and proceeded to give him details.
Though a mundane subject, her delivery of the facts made it enjoyable.
At her request, he gave his opinion on the matter and was pleased to learn they were aligned in thinking a new maid was not necessary.
They had been at odds too often of late.
With the subject of the maid resolved, they moved to a discussion of the garden building architecture. It was clear she recalled what he had taught her, and she seemed genuinely interested in his thoughts and opinions.
In return, he asked after her siblings and was delighted with her recounting of her youngest brother’s latest adventures in the navy. Her fond smile as she spoke of Mark was alluring but sad.
“It sounds as if you envy him,” Ambrose said.
The side of her mouth ticked up. “I suppose I do. Oh, not the terrible rations or cramped quarters. But I would like to see more of the world. I do not need to go to the East Indies; Italy or Greece would suffice.”
Somewhere above them a wood pigeon cooed and house sparrows chittered. A gentle breeze sent her bonnet ribbons dancing. They stepped out of the shadows of the trees and into full sun.
She tipped her head up, as if to soak in the sunshine, and closed her eyes. Her lashes kissed her cheeks, and gold curls slipped out of her bonnet. He took a moment to admire her face unobserved. There was a beauty to her small nose and wide mouth that he had not appreciated before.
Unbidden, the image of her on a Greek beach sprang to his mind. He could easily envision her enjoying a tour of the country. She would exuberantly explore ruins, ask insightful questions, and indulge in new foods. Her adventurous nature ensured she would be a marvelous travel companion.
“Have you asked your aunt about such a trip?” he asked.
She did not open her eyes or turn to look at him. “I have. She and my uncle took a Grand Tour when they married, and she has no wish to repeat the experience.”
“That is a shame. There is much to admire and learn. My own tour was woefully short and I still marvel at all that we experienced.”
“Then why not return?” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “You have no aunt to please, and there are no wars to send you back home.” She pulled at his arm and bumped his shoulder. “You might improve your knowledge of architecture.”
He knew it was a jest, but he could not deny the idea was appealing. He stopped himself from considering the notion. He would not become a member of Parliament by gallivanting off to Greece..
“I am far too busy for such a trip,” he said.
“Yes, of course, too busy.” Her tone was mocking.
He sighed. Their easy, ordinary conversation had been too good to last.
She giggled. “Oh, do not take offense.” She swatted his shoulder.
Ahead of them, the group had come to a stop and gathered near the gig. With each step, the splash and roar of the cascade was growing. They had seen the carefully placed boulders and rocks from below and afar but now they were near and at the top of the manmade waterfall.
As if afraid of being overheard, Susanna lowered her voice. “I put you on notice, I intend to take a Grand Tour for my wedding trip.”
She smiled up at him with both dimples, then dropped his arm and crossed the last few steps to the others.
He held back his frown as he followed. Why had she spoken with that tone and smile? It was as if she were sharing a private jest and expected him to understand. But, as usual when Susanna was involved, he was bewildered.
As Ambrose joined the group, Grace began to describe the building of the waterfall and how it was designed to carry water from the pond by the summerhouse to the large lake at the bottom of the hill.
A simple bridge spanned the cascade, providing a lovely view toward the house.
Grace encouraged them to take their time while she rode ahead to the summerhouse to attend to the lunch preparations.
Grace met Ambrose’s eye. “Will you assist Miss Witworth?” she asked. “She wishes to walk the rest of the way.”
“Certainly,” Ambrose said, ignoring the twinge of disappointment at the change in his partner.
He stepped forward and assisted Miss Witworth down.
“Oh, I do hope you won’t mind me leaning on you, Mr. Hartley,” Miss Witworth said in her soft voice.
“I am glad to be of assistance,” he said automatically.
Henry stepped past them. “I will accompany you and help with the luncheon.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Grace’s smile was full of affection as her husband climbed into the carriage beside her.
Ambrose turned away from the loving couple only to see a different couple. William had stepped beside Miss Susanna and was already leading her toward the bridge. Ambrose held back a frown and turned to Miss Witworth.
Endeavoring to focus on his new companion, he attempted to ask a question.
But the roar of the water made it difficult.
He could not hear her soft voice and did not wish to lean closer to make out her words.
They paused on the bridge and admired the view with the others.
The moment was broken by William’s booming laugh.
What had she said to make him laugh?
Soon they left the bridge and continued toward the summerhouse. The path took them beside the still pond, their reflections mirroring every step. When the sound had abated, Ambrose asked Miss Witworth what she thought of the pleasure grounds. She offered a few mundane observations.
Ahead, Miss Susanna laughed and swatted William’s arm. What was so amusing? She had not laughed like that when they walked together.
“Mr. Hartley?” Miss Witworth’s voice dragged his attention to her.
Feeling foolish, he asked her to repeat her comments and committed himself to paying attention.
He was able to stay focused, but the conversation refused to flow.
It stopped and started like a faucet on an old pump.
Behind them Miss Colley’s and Mr. Scott’s voices never ceased and ahead William and Miss Susanna seemed to be always laughing.
Relief washed through him as they arrived at the summerhouse and climbed the wide stone steps.