Chapter 9
"Promise me you won't glare at every eligible man who glances in my direction," Frances pleaded as she linked arms with Lavinia, tugging her down the sunlit gravel path of Green Park.
"I have never glared," Lavinia said, keeping her gaze straight ahead. "A lady does not glare. She conveys her sentiments through subtlety."
"Your subtleties could peel paint," Frances replied, cheerful as always. "You're doing it now."
It was true. Lavinia had caught sight of a familiar pair of boots pacing just behind them on the path, and every muscle in her shoulders tensed in anticipation of an encounter with one of the so-called 'gentlemen' who populated London.
The boots drew even with them at the next curve. Frances slowed as if by accident, forcing the gentleman to pass or fall in step. Of course, he fell in step.
He wore an impeccable cravat and a coat of bottle-green superfine that, while expertly tailored, was at least two years behind the fashion.
His hair was combed into careful waves, and he managed the trick of bowing in motion.
"Ladies," he said, drawing the word out like taffy. "A fine day, is it not?"
Frances offered a demure smile, but it was Lavinia who spoke. "Quite so sir.”
“Thomas Pettigrew,” he offered with a bow and a grin. “At your service.”
Lavinia inclined her head. It was not everyday that a gentleman introduced himself to a lady without an intermediary, and it was rather refreshing. “Lady Lavina Pembroke,” she introduced herself and glanced at Frances. “And this is my sister, Lady Frances Pembroke.”
“It is an honor to make your acquaintance.” His eyes returned to Lavinia and lingered a fraction too long on the patch where her glove had been mended at the base of the thumb. "My lady, you grace the park as the moon graces a cloudless sky."
A sigh, very nearly audible, escaped her. "How poetic."
"Are you fond of poetry, Lady Lavinia?" He leaned in, very slightly, as if the three of them shared some great secret. "Words have such power, do they not?"
Frances shot Lavinia a look, warning her not to sabotage the entire interaction in a single volley. After all, they did not know what connections he might have that could benefit them.
"Some words have power," Lavinia conceded, "but only when one means them."
He did not catch her tone at all. "Precisely! Would you care to take a turn about the lake, Lady Lavinia? There is a small bench on the north side that—"
Before she could manufacture an excuse, Frances released her arm and, with suspicious speed, darted off toward a clutch of young women at the far side of the path. She offered a fluttering wave and a mouthed 'Good luck!' that did nothing for Lavinia's nerves.
Mr. Pettigrew watched Frances depart, then turned all his focus on Lavinia. "I must confess, I am not much given to walking," he said, slowing his steps. "But in your company, I could wander for an age."
"You would be quite lost, then," Lavinia replied, "as I often forget where I'm going."
He seemed briefly nonplussed, then recovered. "So long as we are lost together."
They walked in a silence that grew steadily more uncomfortable. Lavinia picked at the seam of her glove, wishing she had brought her embroidery to keep her hands occupied. Mr. Pettigrew coughed lightly into his hand.
"Your family is quite well, I trust?" he said.
"As well as can be expected."
"And your father's estate—Pembroke Manor, is it not?—I understand it is considered one of the jewels of the countryside."
"We do our best to keep it shining," Lavinia said. Though not for lack of polishing. "The roof leaks in the east wing and the apple orchard is half dead, but one must make do."
He chortled, expecting a joke, then realized she was serious. "The, ah, apple orchard—"
A sudden hush overtook the park, as if all the birds had agreed to pause their songs for a single moment. Lavinia felt it first as a change in the atmosphere, a coolness that prickled the back of her neck. She glanced up.
At the edge of the path, standing beneath a chestnut tree with the stance of a general observing the battlefield, was the Duke of Evermere.
Tristan Lilacourt did not move. He did not need to. His very presence caused Mr. Pettigrew to falter in step, words dying on his lips. Lavinia's heart gave a tiny, traitorous leap before resuming its usual beat.
"My lady," Mr. Pettigrew said, his voice suddenly half an octave higher, "perhaps we might—"
"Lady Lavinia," came the Duke's voice, sharp as a blade, "may I have a word?"
He was closer than before, though she had not seen him approach. How does he do that? His gaze pinned her in place, as if she were a butterfly under glass. Lavinia nodded once to Mr. Pettigrew and turned to face the Duke.
He did not offer his arm, only inclined his head for her to walk beside him. She matched his stride, perfectly in time, and for a moment it was as though the rest of the park had faded to a blur.
They had barely taken ten steps when the Duke said, "Your companion is unworthy of your time."
"Mr. Pettigrew?" Lavinia kept her voice polite, though every word was loaded. "He seems harmless enough."
"Harmlessness is not a virtue in a man who would court you," the Duke of Evermere replied. "He is a man of little ambition and less discernment."
"You sound like my father," Lavinia said, unable to keep the bite from her voice. "He was fond of dictating whom I should or should not speak to."
"Your father had excellent sense," the Duke replied.
Lavinia stopped walking. "If you summoned me only to disparage my acquaintances, you may return to your brooding and leave me to mine."
A pause. He considered her with an expression she could not interpret. "It is not that simple, Lady Lavinia. There is a matter I must discuss regarding Sophia's instruction."
"Indeed?" she said, her voice flat. "Have you found fault with my methods again?"
He motioned her off the main path, guiding her toward a narrow lane shaded by overgrown lilacs. His hand briefly touched her elbow, and though the pressure was minimal, it left a scorch mark on her skin.
He waited until they were alone before saying, "Lady Sophia has grown too attached to you."
"Too attached," Lavinia repeated. "Is that a crime, Your Grace?"
He ignored the sarcasm. "She is scheduled for a fitting tomorrow. I need her to be presentable, poised, and undistracted by personal affection."
It took her a moment to grasp his meaning. "You would like her to be a statue in a new dress."
"If she cannot comport herself properly in public, all the progress you claim to have made will be undone."
"I see," Lavinia said. She kept her hands folded. "Would you prefer I teach her the art of superficiality? I am adept at masking emotion, if you require a demonstration."
He looked at her directly, and she could see that something inside him was under strain—a rope pulled too tight, about to snap. "You are exceedingly good at it," he said. "Though not so good as you believe."
"Your Grace," she said, "you forget yourself."
He took a breath, the only sign she had rattled him.
"Forgive me. It is only—" He stopped, looking skyward as if for inspiration, then down at the gravel path.
"You are not as invisible as you think. The ton is already discussing your association with my family.
Your name has appeared in three separate gossip columns this week.
I would not wish to see you further compromised. "
"If it is so damaging to your reputation," Lavinia said, "why did you hire me?"
He turned, as if to walk away, then reconsidered. "I do not always act according to reason."
The silence between them stretched. In it, Lavinia realized she was trembling.
He noticed. Of course he did. "Are you cold?"
"No," she said, with more conviction than she felt.
He took one step closer, violating the margin of space that usually buffered interactions between men and women in public. "You should be careful of men like Pettigrew. He is in debt and seeking a woman of status and wealth."
“What do you mean by that?” she snapped.
A muscle worked in his jaw. "He is not a suitable match. You would be wise not to waste your time or expectations on him."
"And if I have no expectations, Your Grace?" Lavinia was somewhat puzzled by the indignation his words were drawing from her, but she would not back down before him. "What then?"
He searched her face as if trying to read words written on her skin. "Then you have my apology," he said softly. "But it is not in my nature to let such things stand, when I can address them."
“What business of yours is it?” she demanded.
He straightened and tugged slightly on his waistcoat. “Good day, Lady Lavinia.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her even more confounded than before. The nerve of him! To interfere in her life in such a manner and refuse to tell her why!
Lavinia touched her elbow, where his fingers had brushed, and found it still warm. But what was more irritating was how her heart would not stop beating, even as she watched his retreating form