Chapter Three
“Mother, I refuse to use my feminine wiles on a man simply because he accepts the reality of ghosts. That is hardly a basis for pursuing a courtship.”
Mother offered Enid a look of dry doubt. “You know perfectly well that if you had any feminine wiles, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
Predicament, of course, meaning Enid’s fast-approaching spinsterhood.
An unattached lady did not, after all, reach the horridly old age of nineteen without coming to a very real sense of her impending doom.
In quiet moments when no one was looking, Enid indulged in an inordinate amount of sounds and expressions of vexation over the entire thing.
She didn’t feel old. But what Society declared to be true, Society believed.
And Society had declared her decrepitly aged.
“I wish Trev were here,” Enid sighed. “He would convince you to abandon the schemes I can practically hear swirling about in your mind.”
“This is your opportunity, Enid. I will not allow it to be wasted.”
Enid pulled on her gloves, knowing full well that her objections wouldn’t be heard. “Would you like me to tie Mr. Kennard to the stone bench whilst you fetch the vicar?”
Mother didn’t smile or laugh or swat playfully at the jest. She actually appeared to be pondering the idea.
“‘You must not take what is not yours,’” she reminded her well-intentioned but sometimes scattered mother. “Mr. Kennard doesn’t belong to us.”
“But he could, Enid. With a bit of effort, he could.”
This was not going well. “What if I don’t want him?”
“Then you will be the next ghost to call our garden home.” Enough of a laugh touched Mother’s tone to take any real threat from the declaration. “At least be willing to consider the possibility, dearest.”
“I will.” For all the good it will do. Any gentleman whom she had found the least bit intriguing had beaten a hasty retreat after only the briefest acquaintance. She couldn’t imagine this one would prove any more interested than the others.
Still, he had proven himself a good conversationalist, and he was inarguably handsome. An afternoon in the garden with him wouldn’t be the worst thing that had happened to her lately.
Mr. Kennard poked his head into the sitting room. “Your father has declared that the rain will hold off for the next hour. If we are to go speak with your garden ghost, we had best do so now.”
“Ghosts likely aren’t bothered by the rain,” Enid pointed out, not bothering to hide her amusement.
“But I’d wager your slippers are.”
She pointed her foot forward, revealing the tip of her ankle boots.
“Very sensible footwear.” He clearly approved.
“The Welsh are nothing if not sensible.” Her serious expression didn’t remain in place long under the influence of his doubtful gaze. She smiled. So did he. Enid had always had a weakness for a gorgeous smile.
“We’d best go see if Dafydd Gam will grace us with his presence,” she said.
Mr. Kennard offered his arm, which she gladly accepted. She caught sight of her mother’s hopeful expression. Perhaps a hasty retreat was best. Enid did her utmost to speed their departure without actually dragging her companion down the corridor.
She saw the confusion in his face in the instant before he assumed the perfectly contented look that gentlemen were taught to wear in a lady’s company.
His manner of dress and address had already convinced her he belonged to the gentry at the very least, but from which of England’s families did he hail?
And from which corner of the kingdom? She knew he wasn’t Scottish. He most certainly wasn’t Welsh.
“You have grown very contemplative, Miss Pryce. I hope you are not displeased with our outing.”
“I am not at all displeased. I enjoy searching for Dafydd Gam. In fact, I was undertaking precisely that errand when you arrived this afternoon.”
“Ah.” The noise was one of understanding, but he still appeared confused. “What was it, then, if I may ask, that had you looking so ponderous a moment ago?”
Enid never had mastered the art of feigning sheepishness. Any person who spent more than a few minutes in her company quickly realized she was overly talkative and prone to speaking her mind, so there seemed little point pretending to be anything other than herself. “I was pondering you, sir.”
His eyes pulled wide, and she swore his mouth even hung the tiniest bit open. Her laughing response was as unavoidable as it was unforgivable.
“Am I such a mystery?”
Was he attempting a jest? She couldn’t be entirely certain. Still, that seemed the most likely interpretation. “A scholar with the speech and bearing of a gentleman, who rides about the countryside searching for ghosts? What could possibly be mysterious in that?”
Oh, that smile of his! Not only was it quite, quite handsome, but it was also a far preferable response than the expressions of horrified disapproval her boldness usually elicited.
They stepped out into the damp gardens. The heavy sky cast doubt on Father’s prediction of an hour of dryness.
Mr. Kennard’s gaze had turned to the sky as well. “I am not at all confident the heavens are smiling upon our endeavor, Miss Pryce.”
How easy he was to speak with. Too many of the gentlemen she’d known in Bath had been unbearably pompous. She found herself wishing she knew more about him, that she could count him as an acquaintance rather than merely a step above a stranger.
“From which part of the country do you hail?” she asked.
If he was surprised by the abruptness of her inquiry, he didn’t allow it to show. “My family resides in Cheshire, though I currently call Cambridge home.”
“Has your family been in Cheshire long?”
He nodded, something in the gesture almost heavy. “As my father is fond of saying, ‘Since time immemorial.’ Most of the Kennards are convinced Cheshire would simply cease to exist if not for our residency there.”
“And yet, here you are in Wales. Have you inquired after the continued existence of Cheshire while you’re away? One would hate for its demise to go insufficiently mourned.”
His shoulders shook with a silent laugh. “I am certain my grandfather would have announced it on the floor of the House of Lords if something had happened to the family seat.”
The House of Lords? Does he hail from the aristocracy, then? The possibility set her mind spinning. The Pryces had only the barest claim to the gentry. Was she truly walking about in her garden with the grandson of a lord?
“Mind the puddle, Miss Pryce.” He indicated a few paces ahead where a puddle spread nearly the entire width of the path.
She slipped her hand from his arm and tiptoed around the edge of the water. “What does your family think of your interest in Wales?”
Mr. Kennard managed to navigate the puddle as well.
“My father is very much like his sire. He disapproves of anything not considered a common pursuit for a gentleman of leisure. He has no comprehension of the misery I would feel spending my days at cards or billiards. Even a bruising ride can only do so much to break the monotony.”
She could appreciate his struggle but doubted he realized hers. “Imagine how that boredom is compounded when one’s choices are limited to either needlepoint or gazing serenely out of windows.”
“Under such dire circumstances, one would, no doubt, flee to the gardens and threaten to steal things.”
He remembered that part, then.
They reached the innermost circle of the garden where a statue of Hermes stood guard over the expanse.
“I have to steal things,” she said.
“And why is that?”
She turned up the collar of her spencer jacket against the quickly stiffening wind. “Because doing so is the one thing that regularly summons Dafydd Gam.”
“Stealing things from the garden?”
Enid nodded. “We aren’t at all certain why he dislikes our pilfering so much. And, admittedly, it doesn’t always bring him around.”
“Oh.” He pulled the single syllable out long. “That is the reason for his rule about taking things that aren’t one’s own.”
“Precisely.” Enid glanced around. “What shall we steal?”
“What is most likely to earn his ire?”
“Daffodils.” She didn’t even have to ponder the answer. “But they aren’t in season just now. I’m afraid anything else is not at all guaranteed to be effective.”
Mr. Kennard took whatever disappointment he felt in stride. He held his arm out to her once more. “I am in no hurry. Let us enjoy the momentary good weather and simply wait to see what happens.”
He didn’t have to issue the invitation twice.