Chapter Twenty-One
LORD DEVERELL PANTED AS HE dragged their boat onto the bank. “Well, Miss Beau, I hope taking third place did not lower your opinion of me.”
Muriel smiled at him and grasped his hand, leaping to shore. “On the contrary, a man who can gracefully accept defeat is to be admired.”
“Spoken like a person who lost,” Vivienne teased. Under Erik’s expert rowing, her vessel tied for first with Lord Sullivan and Elena.
Tess lugged her boat to shore, glaring at Traneford, not caring that her hem dragged in the water. “We would have won if someone had not been so prideful in not allowing a lady to row until we were stuck in the reeds.”
Elena threaded her arm through Muriel’s. “This outing with Lord Sullivan has proven to be most confusing. He is attentive but doesn’t seem as genuine as Lord Traneford.”
“Knowing Traneford, I think that would be true. I do not know Sullivan as well. It might be unfair for me to judge him before I have properly ascertained his character,” Muriel replied. “But I do think you are better matched with Viscount Traneford.” At Tess’s and Vivienne’s concerned glances, Muriel sent them a smile and allowed Elena to lead her to the tent hosting the next event. “Don’t you agree?”
“I may. Viscount Sullivan has a dangerous air about him that I find most pleasing.” She whipped out her fan, lifting her delicate locks with the frantic flapping. “I am most eager to partner with him in the flower arrangement competition, but will you vow to stay near us? It would hardly be proper for us to be caught too far from the group in search of the perfect blossom for our arrangement … no matter how much I may secretly desire to be alone with him. You know better than most about the high cost of breeching etiquette.”
Muriel bit her lip at how the rules of polite society hadn’t even crossed her mind when she was baking with Erik and when he tended to her wound with her in his arms, her head resting against his broad chest. She vividly recalled the brush of his fingertips as he handled her cut with such care. “I do. I’ll stay near you both.”
“Perfect. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to my beaus,” she whispered and whisked away to where the lords stood conversing.
Muriel wove through the stations in the tent, ensuring each had a crystal vase and a pair of scissors for the arranging contest in which the ladies would be allowed only to verbally instruct the men on their placement of the blooms.
“How did you manage to get on her good side?” Vivienne whispered as she and Tess met Muriel in the tent, tugging on her silk ribbons to reform the perfect bow beneath her chin.
“Did you put something in her drink to weaken her defenses?” Tess teased and popped a tart into her mouth.
Muriel realigned a pair of scissors atop the cloth and filled them in on the good deed that had launched her tumultuous friendship with Elena. She had just finished the tale when Erik clapped his hands.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please find your partners from the drive. We will have a quarter of an hour to select the perfect blooms, and then the gentlemen will begin arranging. For those who do not have gentlemen partners, I’m afraid you will have to abstain from this event.”
Widow Whelan lifted her plate of treats. “Which is no trial, my dear lord. Please, enjoy without any concern for those of us watching.”
Lord Deverell joined Muriel, bearing the scissors and offering her his hand. “My lady, shall we?”
She accepted his hand. It still felt strange to be near him again, to feel this companionship between them. The rest of the party spread over the nearby hills, gathering wildflowers as Muriel guided Deverell behind Elena and Sullivan along the riverside.
She tore a handful of tiny yellow wildflowers at their base. “I must confess, Osmund, I do not have much experience with flower arranging—besides the edible ones on my cakes.”
“As you may recall, I am most proficient in collecting wildflowers,” Deverell returned, his voice low as he snipped a cluster of yellow daffodils growing near the bank.
Her heart skipped in remembering that first bouquet of white snowdrops he had collected for her on their first ride home from Dover in his attempt to cheer her up. “I do. You were very kind when I needed it most. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t happened upon me.”
He bent and cut away a sprig of violet-colored blooms. “I pray you will think on that instead of the way we parted.” He stayed on bended knee, lifting the flowers to her. “It is my deepest wish we remember what we were before the misunderstanding that led to our parting. I have missed our conversations.”
Muriel accepted the blossoms, his fingers caressing hers. “I have as well, Osmund.”
“Then let’s put the matter behind us and be friends once more?”
She tugged him to standing with a smile. “I would like nothing more.” At Elena’s squealing over a flower, she shielded her eyes from the sun and pointed down the bank to where Elena was kneeling. “You best collect whatever she found, lest we are put out of the running for first!”
“Your wish is my command, my lady.” With a grin, he trotted over to claim one for their vase.
Muriel spied a sprig of pink blossoms a few paces away that sparked her memory. She rubbed her chin, trying to recall if this particular wildflower was edible. After several stomach aches, she knew better than to test it on herself. Sighing, she added the bloom to the bouquet. Muriel nearly jumped at the brush of a gentleman’s hand on hers.
“Viscount Sullivan!” She sidestepped away, thinking it was merely an accident. Viscount Sullivan relocated with her, his gaze locking on hers. She glanced to Elena and Deverell, who had moved farther away in pursuit of another cluster of flowers. “Is there something you needed? Or perhaps Miss Whelan requires?”
“There is something you may help me with.”
“Oh?” She attempted to keep relief from her voice as she took another stride away from him, lest Elena mistake their interlude for something more than it was—an awkward exchange.
He selected a purple flower that she knew for certain was edible. “I heard tell that you are quite a wealthy woman.”
“Yes?”
“I thought you were merely a poor relation of the Ingrams.” He twirled the stem of the bloom. “But when I received the earl’s invitation, I inquired of our mutual friends and found I have you to thank for it … which led to my discovery of your fortune.”
“I believe it is actually Sir Alexander and Lady Ingram whom you have to thank,” she murmured. Does he think I managed to secure an invitation for him in order to have him court me?
“Of course.” He grinned, offering the flower for Muriel’s bouquet. “That is the way of polite society.”
“To accept it would be cheating, my lord. We may only use the blossoms from our team.”
“There is no need to play the coy, innocent maid, Miss Beau, not when I heard from my valet that you were seen in the kitchen the other night in the earl’s arms.”
She gasped. “It was nothing like that, I assure you. I was merely giving him a lesson on baking, and I cut my finger and was in a faint—”
He gently took her injured hand in his, pressing a kiss atop the bandage before she jerked her hand away. “Well, if you do not wish for Miss Whelan’s reputation as well as your own to be tainted by gossip, I suggest you give me a private lesson like you gave the earl.”
“How dare you?” She straightened to her full height. “Remember yourself, Viscount.”
“Miss Beau?” Deverell strode across the field toward them, his gaze flashing from the viscount’s expression to her flushed cheeks. “Is something amiss?”
Sullivan grinned at her as if daring her to speak out against him.
Elena called out to the viscount, her eyes narrowing on Muriel in a fashion she knew all too well. By the look on her face, their truce was on dangerous ground. But at the moment, Muriel was too vexed to care. How dare that cad insult me? Her fingers itched for something to strike him with, and for the first time she understood why Tess carried a weapon. She despised this feeling of helplessness.
She turned a smile up to Deverell. “Would you mind escorting me back to the tent? I believe we have enough for our arrangement.”
Deverell glared at the smirking Sullivan, the baron’s fists curling inward. But at her gentle touch, he allowed her to lead him away.
“What did the man say to you?” Deverell demanded, his voice growing huskier with each word. “Did he harm you? Insult you?”
She shook her head. She could never admit to being alone with Erik, no matter how innocent it had been. “Let’s just say that he is not a gentleman, and I shall be warning Elena against the man’s wanting character.”
“I’ll thrash him.” Deverell turned on his heel, ready to confront the man.
“Please. I can handle it.” Muriel rested a staying hand on his chest, drawing the eyes of returning guests with their bundles of flowers. She sensed rather than saw Erik’s confusion. She kept her gaze on Deverell, praying he would release the matter, lest he make matters worse.
He frowned. “Very well. However, if he bothers you again, I will not stand down a second time.”
Guy Mayfield rang a silver bell, calling out, “Ladies and gentlemen, return to your stations and let the arranging begin!”