Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
In Miss Alice Singleton’s estimation, quiet was the first requirement for any space that aspired to be pleasant.
The conservatory boasted an agreeable silence and also bore the delightful aromas of healthy plants, rich soil, and blooming flowers.
Best of all, Alice’s favorite part of the Hall was usually deserted by noon.
The gardeners worked their indoor magic in the early morning, while the dew was still on the grass, and then the conservatory became a haven for a lady seeking solitude, repose, or a fresh bouquet.
When the new baron troubled himself to look in on the Hall, Alice’s flower-poaching would be suspended, but so far, his lordship had remained far to the south. He was expected at the Hall in the general sense, but Alice hadn’t heard any particulars.
Not yet. If the celestial powers were merciful, his lordship would remain in London, and there he would bide until—
One moment, Alice was deciding whether to risk a few sprigs of lavender among her carefully chosen red roses, and the next, she and her posies were knocked top over tail to the bricks of the walkway.
The following instant, a substantial weight came down atop her, knocking the breath from her lungs.
“Jumping Jerusalem!” She thrashed and kicked and shoved, but the human boulder above her refused to move. “Please take your infernally heavy self—”
“For pity’s sake, stop…” The weight was male and, in predictable fashion, giving orders.
Alice retaliated with a mighty heave. “Get off me,” she panted. “Get up, you oaf. Get up now.” She was tempted to clout him on the side of the head for good measure, but wanted him gone more than she wanted to pummel him, which was saying a great deal.
“Hold still, you blasted creature. We’re caught.”
He’d levered up on all fours a few inches above her, a horribly intimate posture, but at least Alice could breathe.
“Well, uncatch yourself this instant.” As she took a very shallow breath, she realized what prevented an immediate disentanglement. The chain of her locket had become snagged on the pin buried in the folds of his cravat.
“Please don’t break it,” she said, even as the thought flitted through her head that footmen did not wear gold cravat pins. “The locket belonged to my mother.”
“I know. If you hold still, I can try to undo the fastening on the chain.”
His words made no… A memory tickled the back of Alice’s mind, of Cam Huxley home from university, his voice deeper, his shoulders broader, his restlessness more palpable. The man above Alice was motionless, and yet, he’d come thundering into the conservatory with the momentum of a charging bull.
Of all the mortifications. “I shall be immobile,” Alice said, “if you can be quick.”
“Lift your head a bit.”
Alice did not move.
“Please, would you mind lifting your head, Miss Singleton, so that I can extricate us from this awkward situation?”
She’d never been Miss Singleton to him before, but beneath his exasperation, she heard humor. And he’d said please. She raised her head and felt warm, blunt fingers brushing against her nape.
“The catch is delicate,” Alice said. “Go carefully.”
“I am the soul of patience when it comes to delicate negotiations.”
Camden Huxley had also become the soul of distracting fragrances, despite the roses scattered about. This close, Alice caught notes of orange blossoms and ginger, a perfect blend of heady sweetness and exotic spice, and doubtless created exclusively for him.
They’d heard he’d done well. Of course he had. Such a head for numbers and a determination beyond all bounds.
His touch was careful, brushing her hair away from the chain, using two hands to ply the clasp.
Alice studied the ceiling of the conservatory above his shoulders—which were broader still than she recalled—and tried not to think or feel.
“Got it.” He angled up until he was kneeling over her, her locket and chain dangling from his cravat pin.
His dismount was swift and careful. Alice bolted to sitting and flipped her skirts over her ankles. She still felt unaccountably out of breath, also bruised in a location a lady did not mention.
“My apologies.” Cam rose to an impressive height and offered Alice his ungloved hand.
She allowed him to assist her to her feet, which was rather like allowing a horse to bolt.
One moment, she was on her backside, legs inelegantly extended before her as she considered strategies for regaining an upright posture that would offer minimal further insult to her dignity.
The next, she was on her feet, two large male hands steadying her by the biceps.
He’d boosted her up as if she weighed no more than a bouquet of dried lavender.
“You’re home.” She brushed one rose petal from his hair and another from his shoulder.
“I am back,” he countered, “for a short stay only. You’ll want your locket.” He considered the entangled jewelry.
“Allow me.” Alice slipped her fingers beneath the folds of his cravat. The linen was pristine, though he had to have been traveling all day. The warmth from his person was just as palpable to her fingers as it had been to the rest of her.
She unpinned the golden dragon rampant and took possession of both items. “The links are so small. I really ought not to wear such a delicate piece, but today would have been Mama’s birthday.
” She moved closer to the glass wall in search of better light.
The temptation to bat at the back of her skirt was nigh overwhelming.
Cam—his lordship, rather—swatted at his knees and brushed at his elbows, then set about collecting roses and sprigs of lavender.
“You still miss her?”
“I still feel her absence.” Not quite the same thing.
The little gold links were hopelessly knotted around the neck of the dragon.
Alice resorted to a tactic Grandpapa had shown her years ago and gently rolled the chain between her fingertips.
“You can leave the flowers. I’ll tidy up later. What had you in such a hurry?”
His lordship took out a knife and began trimming stems. “I tend to move quickly, and I wasn’t expecting anybody to be in here. Wellington’s entire army was assembled on the drive to inspect me, though I didn’t see your grandfather.”
The purpose of the all-hands muster had doubtless been to give him a chance to inspect his staff. The reality of Cam Huxley’s situation made Alice a bit sad. He’d never wanted to be the baron. Whatever had been true about him as a younger fellow, he’d not coveted his brother’s birthright.
The chain loosened, which was a start. Alice unfastened her watch from her sleeve and used the point of the pin to coax the chain out of its knots. Slow going, which suited her.
“Harvest has started,” she said. “Grandpapa decided to stay on the job rather than spend an afternoon idling about at the Hall. The wheat must be brought in when it’s ready—what wheat we grow.”
“You should be growing more barley and hops.” His lordship gathered up the trimmed blooms into a bouquet, the lavender sticking out higgledy-piggledy, and wrapped the stems in a plain white handkerchief. “I hope this will do?”
The roses were somewhat the worse for their ordeal, but salvageable. The combined bouquet was an interesting combination.
“Your dragon, my lord.”
He accepted his cravat pin, she her locket, all without so much as brushing fingers.
Alice set the locket on a potting table and put the flowers in a watering can by the door to the side garden.
The last piece of business before making some sort of exit was to fold up his handkerchief and return it to him.
A spot of blood marred one corner. “My lord has been bitten by a thorn, methinks.”
“I will survive. My knees are likely to protest their abrupt acquaintance with the cobbles, though. You?”
His voice had always had a slight rasp, but at some point, that rasp had deepened, such that every utterance had the quality of a confidence, an admission wrested from silence.
“I am prepared to forget this unfortunate little contretemps ever happened.” She smiled serenely over the dull throbbing of her right hip.
“You have a bargain, Miss Singleton, provided you and your grandfather will accept my invitation to supper tomorrow night.”
He smiled with equal self-possession, though Alice did not recall him having such an abundance of straight, white teeth.
Questions sprang to Alice’s mind. Why invite the steward and his spinster granddaughter to supper when so many neighbors of higher standing would doubtless covet such an invitation? Why so soon? Why not recover from a long and taxing journey up from London? What was the rush?
Common sense set the questions aside. Grandpapa would work himself to death if she permitted it. An invitation to dine with the new baron at the Hall could not be ignored, and Grandpapa would delight in bending his lordship’s ear at length on all matters agrarian.
“What time, my lord?”
His smile slipped. “I don’t know. Whatever dinnertime the household usually observes at this season.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t let the past dictate how you go on. If you are accustomed to Town hours, then the household can accommodate your schedule. That’s what you pay them for, and if you give them a reason to grumble, they will be doubly delighted to have you in residence.”
She’d spoken more sharply than she’d meant to, but he ought to know better.
“Very well, then, we’ll dine at seven.”
The perfect hour. Still plenty of light, but Grandpapa would have put in a long enough day to enjoy a respite at the end of it.
“Do we dress?”
“Alice… it’s just me. We do not dress for supper.”
A relief, that. She had only the one truly formal ensemble left. “Until tomorrow, then.” Also a relief to be escaping the whole encounter.