Chapter 8 #3
“Incredible. Can you do this with all plants?”
“Certainly not.”
His bright laugh joined hers.
A pointed cough from her mother interrupted them. Eliza turned to find their chaperones seeming to lose patience. Sinclair offered her his arm. As she took it, her heart skipped before righting itself, still racing, as they set off down the path beneath the trees once more.
“Earlier, you said you liked flowers…”
“I did.”
“You meant growing them? Or receiving them?”
“Both. I meant both. Mama and Papa leave much of the garden to my charge.”
He nodded, a thoughtful crease developing between his brows. “I am beginning to fear that my bouquet was woefully inadequate given the—”
“No!” she half shouted.
“Lizzie?” her mother called.
“I’m fine, Mama.” Eliza turned back to her companion. In a more sedate tone, she added, “No. It was beautiful.”
Sinclair’s laugh was hearty and full-bodied. There was nothing mocking in it—though she would have deserved it—it was all genuine delight.
“It’s time to turn back now, Lizzie,” her mother insisted.
“Yes, Mama,” she said, trying to keep the disappointed note from her voice.
“Your mother is interested in horticulture?” she asked.
“Gardening, in truth. I doubt she would have claimed so formal a term.”
Eliza’s stomach sank. “Would have?”
Sinclair’s throat bobbed. “She passed when Bella was born.”
“I am so sorry! I should not have—”
“Do not apologize. I do not even know why I mentioned her; her interests are irrelevant.”
“What was she like?” Eliza asked. A moment later, her mind caught up with her mouth. “Forgive me, I should not have asked.”
“I was young when she passed. I barely remember. She was pretty—her hair was darker, closer to mine than Bella’s.
I loved the freckles that dotted her nose.
And her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, which wasn’t as often as I wished.
And she enjoyed flowers. I used to bring her flowers when I found them outside.
Little more than pretty weeds. But she always smiled so brightly when I gave them to her—treated them like the very finest of hothouse flowers.
She would put them in this crystal vase she received as a wedding gift…
” he trailed off, longing etched in the lines of his face.
“How could she do anything but smile? I’m certain you were a gallant gentleman with your offering.”
Sinclair released a sharp breath. But the soft smile curving over his lips belied the denial. “I had forgotten that entirely.”
“It seems a lovely memory of a lovely woman.”
With a shake of his head, Sinclair declared, “I must insist, Miss Wayland, that we stray toward less melancholy topics. I am not at my most charming when the subject trends toward the macabre.”
Eliza rather disagreed with that assessment—Sinclair was at his most appealing when he spoke with genuine feeling. But she could not deny him such a reasonable request.
“Very well, I am at your leisure.”
His hum settled into her chest, buzzing there like the bees’ wings. “Bella has done an admirable job distracting your mother. But we must both have perfectly respectable conversations to report at the end of our walk. I won’t enjoy Bella’s ire if I do not.”
“What?”
“Oh yes, my sister is rather fond of you. Or hopeful of something more.”
“But… you hardly know me. And I’ve spoken to her but once.”
“Is that not the purpose of a promenade? To get to know someone?”
“I suppose it is.”
“This is what you make of it, Miss Eliza. Whatever you want to know, I’ll answer.”
“Truly?”
“Of course.”
The sheer number of possibilities threatened to overwhelm Eliza. She settled on, “Where are you from?”
“The family estate is in Cornwall. I’ve spent most of my life there.”
“The sea… I’ve never seen the sea,” she said, wistful.
“It’s not on the sea, but it’s not far. Blackwood Grange—the estate—is on the moors, not five miles outside of Bodmin.”
“I’ve not traveled much. Our country home is in western Kent. I have an uncle near Edinburgh, but I’ve only been there once.”
“It’s different—not like Kent. But it is my ancestral home. And I’m convinced Bodmin has the most beautiful sunrise in the entire country.”
“It must be lovely then.”
“I’m an excellent judge of beauty,” he insisted, with significance.
He was all affected charm again. And it was quite effective.
Was it possible to die of a flush? Surely it was not healthful for all that blood to remain in her cheeks.
But even as the blush spread across Eliza’s cheeks, she found herself longing for the boy plucking weeds for his mother.
She brushed aside his implied compliment. “And what do you do—there?”
“Besides gaining a reputation as a rake?” he asked. “I do… whatever is necessary for the comfort and improvement of my family and our home.”
Eliza nodded as though she took his meaning, even though the careful wording left her a touch puzzled.
“And your father?”
His gaze flicked toward her and back ahead again. “My father, our relationship, is… complicated. He has exacting expectations of me—duty, honor. But he’s taught me the most important things.” His tone went flat on the word duty, a shift she couldn’t identify.
“Such as?”
“Learning from past mistakes. Looking forward, preparing for the future.”
The way he spoke of his father, so very different from his mother, left Eliza with a strange, disquieting sense.
Sinclair’s childhood and his family were so different from her own.
Much as her family drove her to fits, Eliza was grateful for each of them.
It seemed Sinclair had experienced no such irritation or love; that was too great a loss to consider.
When she turned to face forward, she found the bench they’d begun their walk at, and her heart sank in disappointment.
“It’s nearly time for me to leave you to your afternoon, Miss Wayland. But I hope to see you again very soon.”
“Me too—I hope to see you again.”
A knot threatened to overtake Eliza’s throat as she stared at him. Their chaperones arrived at the bench a second later. Eliza ripped her eyes from his face to greet her mother and Lady Arabella.
Sinclair took her gloved hand in both of his, bowing over it with a whispered, “Goodbye for now, Miss Wayland.”
“Lord Sinclair,” she croaked along with a weak-kneed curtsy.
He backed one, two, three steps still facing her before he turned and offered his arm to Lady Arabella as they set off.
“Well, Lizzie?” her mother asked.
“He’s…” Eliza pressed her lips together, helpless to describe it.
“Oh dear,” her mother murmured. “That wonderful?”
Eliza nodded, cheeks aching with the force of her smile.