Chapter 17
“Doesn’t tuppence for a bag of breadcrumbs strike you as criminal price-gouging?”
Luna laughed brightly as Nigel returned from the little kiosk from which he’d made his purchase and placed a paper bag labeled “Duck Food” into her hands.
“They aren’t breadcrumbs, Mr. Grimm,” she said and opened the top of the bag to reveal the contents.
“See? They’re nutritious protein pellets.
Much healthier. Breadcrumbs aren’t good for ducks. ”
“Any ducks?” Nigel inquired, falling into pace beside her as they strode toward the water. “Or just these rare and majestic Bally Park specimens?”
“Any ducks,” she answered firmly. “Though no doubt the Bally Park ducks are fed a diet of special magnificence. Which is why it costs tuppence for the honor of feeding them.”
The large and lopsided central lake of Bally Park sparkled before them.
Paths looped its banks, trailing along shaded walkways, and a pretty little bridge spanned one narrow neck.
There were people strolling about, enjoying the Fool’s Spring weather, but it wasn’t crowded in the middle of a Monday afternoon.
Nigel was glad. He didn’t particularly want to share the beautiful day with anyone but Luna.
Granted, the delights of Bally Park were nothing compared to Garden’s glory.
They might have just as easily passed their day wandering the flowering paths on the other side of the boiler room door.
But for some reason, Luna had been so keen to drag him out of the shop and away from everything.
He wasn’t going to question it. He was simply glad to be here.
Luna led the way to the bridge, a darling little thing, all white and curlicues. Ducks swarmed beneath it, quacking noisily. To Nigel’s untrained eye, they looked like . . . ducks. White ones. Brown ones. Those kind of flashy-looking fellows with the green heads. But still just ducks.
Luna opened her bag of duck feed and dropped a handful of pellets into the water. The ducks put on a great fuss of excitement. Nigel watched his companion’s lovely mouth burst into a smile, and he thought, Yeah. Feeding the ducks. This is pretty great, actually.
“You know,” Luna said after a moment, “Garden has ducks.”
Nigel nodded, resting his elbows on the bridge rail beside her. “This is true.”
“I’m just saying, you could get some duck feed of your own.”
His brow wrinkled as he considered this. “The ducks of Garden aren’t tame ducks, you know. My father never liked birds, so while he was alive, he had wards set up to keep them out.”
“Oh, so they’re a recent addition?” Luna asked curiously, scattering another handful to the waterfowl below.
“They migrated in on their own, a year or so after his passing. And started breeding and propagating, and now there’s no getting rid of them.”
She smiled softly. “You must have nurtured a welcoming atmosphere, Mr. Grimm.”
He flushed, unreasonably pleased by the compliment. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do. Ducks don’t settle unless they feel safe.
You’ve done something right if ducks chose to move in and start raising families.
And if you started feeding them?” Luna raised the little bag of pellets and rattled it temptingly.
“Think of it! You could enjoy this very thrill in your own back yard!”
“Yes, but it won’t be these life-changing ducks.”
She giggled and scattered more pellets. “Do you know what I used to love? Cormorants. They would stop in the Crimble Mountain lakes on their migration path. They’re such odd-looking creatures and would stand up on the shore rocks, spreading their wings to the sun and looking quite ominous, like they were performing a summoning or something!
But I always loved the sight of them. Their arrival meant spring was at hand.
Whenever the cormorants showed up, the bluebonnets weren’t far behind. ”
“Bluebonnets?” Nigel queried. He let his gaze slide sideways, studying the subtle play of reflected sunlight off the lake against her pale skin. Her cheeks were pinked by the breeze, and it made each freckle stand out delightfully.
“My favorite flower,” she said, sprinkling another handful of pellets. “Though the aunties would despair to hear me say it! Bluebonnet tea is bland as paper and has no useful properties whatsoever. But the blossoms are so very pretty!”
Nigel made a mental note to ask Garden to produce these blossoms at the first possible opportunity. How pleased would Luna be to step through the boiler room door and find herself greeted by swaths of her favorites?
“I don’t suppose cormorants would be very happy in Garden,” she continued, gripping the bridge rail and leaning in an arch to stretch out her back.
Even bundled up in her green coat as she was, it was a surprisingly lithe, sensual sort of maneuver.
Nigel quickly looked away, concentrating his attention on the feathery bottoms upturned below him.
“They’re ocean birds,” she finished. “Maybe swans though? Someday?”
“Swans,” Nigel agreed, his voice a bit thick. “Yes. Swans would be nice.”
She turned to him then, holding up the bag of duck feed. “Your turn, Mr. Grimm.”
“Oh, that’s quite all right.”
“You can’t have come all this way not to fulfill this moment of life’s peak enjoyment!” Luna tossed him a cheeky grin. “It is such a pleasure!”
“No, really. My pleasure is in helping you achieve your pleasure, Miss Talbot.”
He heard the words only after they were spoken. They hadn’t sounded like that in his head. But now they were out there, suspended in a sudden silence, while he and his employee stared out at the lake and the ducks and the clouds and the Fool’s Spring. The air was suddenly very full of quacking.
And Nigel thought to himself: She didn’t take it that way.
Did she?
Surely not.
She wouldn’t.
She’s too innocent.
But somehow he knew. She’d heard it. And she’d taken it exactly that way.
His ears burned.
Abruptly, Luna shoved the bag at him. “Just feed the ducks, Mr. Grimm.”
“Right.” He silently held out his hand, and she plunked the bag into it. It was mostly empty, so he simply upturned it over the water and watched the last of the pellets spatter below. Ducks swarmed in feathery mass, churning the water.
After a few more silent moments, Luna pushed away from the bridge rail and started walking again.
Nigel remained where he was, regathering his composure.
Then, lengthening his stride, he hastened to catch up to her, just as she reached the path on the far side, which looped around the lake in a slow, lazy, meandering fashion.
They walked for some while, not speaking, and Nigel couldn’t decide if the silence was tense or natural.
His own heart kept thumping oddly. But then, that was his standard state-of-being when sharing proximity with this woman. He was almost used to it by now.
“So, what did you think?” Luna asked at last. “Was the duck-feeding experience worth it? Do you feel your very soul elevated to new heights of being?”
He opened his mouth, prepared to meet her nonsense with equal nonsense.
Some ridiculous quip to keep the shared joke between them alive.
But the words tripped on his tongue, and he stopped.
Pivoting on heel, he cast his gaze out over the lake.
Hands deep in his pockets, he bobbed on his toes then back on his heels and emitted a long, slow sigh.
“Do you know, Miss Talbot,” he said quietly, “I cannot remember a time I’ve been happier in my life than I am in this specific moment. ”
Another silence followed. And really, as inappropriate as his previous faux pas may have been, this statement was far worse.
Far more vulnerable. Because what he’d said was the absolute truth.
Every chance he had to be with her was better than the one before, each moment building on the beauty of the last. Yes, there was pain in those moments, but if anything the pain only added to the exquisiteness of the overall feeling.
Still, that didn’t mean it was right for him to say it. Indeed, he wouldn’t be surprised in the least if his companion were rendered uncomfortable enough by his forthrightness to call an abrupt end to their excursion.
But the words were spoken now. He could do nothing but wait in terrible suspense for her response. Would she come back with more of her hyperbolic teasing, keep their repartee alive? Would she simply retreat into herself, leaving him to wallow in embarrassment and regret?
Nigel stared out at the sparkling water and the ducks swarming after the last few pellets.
His gaze tracked the progress of three cyclists on the far side of the lake, oddly fixated on their movements.
Anything to keep his gaze averted from her.
The solitary standing turret of Bally Castle dominated the scene, reflected in the water below, and he lifted his eyes to its heights, watched a bird flit through the sky overhead, and . . .
. . . and all the while, he felt Luna’s gaze on the side of his face.
Finally, unable to stand the silence a moment more, he turned.
Looked at her. Her lips were lightly parted, but when he caught her eye, she pursed them quickly into a little line, which then curved up in an odd sort of smile, like she was trying to repress it.
She faced away from him, curls bouncing on her shoulder, and studied the lake herself now, still silent. Leaving him in pitiable suspense.
Then, very softly she murmured, “Me too, Mr. Grimm.”
Nigel felt all the breath leave his lungs in a single gust. His gaze fixated on her mouth, and he felt in memory the softness of her lower lip beneath his thumb.
She hadn’t recoiled from his touch. Not right away, at least. He couldn’t say where the audacity had come from, driving him to make a move like that, and he’d feared in the moment that the whole day would be spoiled.
How many times now had he done something that ought to have spoiled the day?
And yet the day remained unspoiled. Was it possible that it simply couldn’t be spoiled?
Because what was happening between them was simply too right to be spoiled?
Even as this thought crossed his mind, it was followed swiftly by the vivid mental image of Ward the Wardsman swallowing Luna’s face in an enormous kiss earlier that very day.
But, another part of his brain whispered back defiantly, she turned him down. For you.
Luna suddenly shrugged her shoulders up to her ears.
“Shall we get back and finish up at the shop?” she asked in a bright, easy tone of voice.
“We can probably get there in plenty of time for the four o’clock rush.
And more of those commissions for the Governor’s Ball might come in as well. They’ve been quite steady all morning.”
Nigel nodded slowly, considering his next move carefully. Then he tilted his body toward her, hands still in his pockets as he angled his elbow.
Luna blinked and looked at him. “What?”
“My arm, Miss Talbot,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Take it.”
She hesitated for a count of three breaths before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow.
He performed a nimble about-face and set out walking back the way they’d come, pulling her along with him over the duck bridge.
But when they reached the far side, he didn’t turn back toward the park exit.
Instead, he took the opposite way. “Where are we going?” Luna asked, surprised.
“You did say you wanted to see the Old Bally Castle, didn’t you?”
“Yes . . .”
“No time like the present, don’t you think?”
She was silent for a few paces before querying, “Are you sure you want to risk becoming ‘part of the history,’ Mr. Grimm?”
He turned a grin down at her. “I’m game if you are.”
She took a few more paces. Then he felt her hand squeeze his elbow a little tighter, and his heart positively soared. “I’m always game,” she said.