“She is enjoying herself.” “A little.”
Nathaniel read it twice.
“She is enjoying herself.”
“A little.”
“She has concealed it better than usual.”
“I asked her to.”
That brought the corner of his mouth up.
Nathaniel folded the note. “Where am I?”
“Within sight and comfortably out of hearing.”
“No.”
Selina raised her brows.
“No,” he repeated. “I am aware that I shall probably arrive at yes, but I should like the dignity of resisting for another moment.”
Selina waited.
“I dislike the entire arrangement,” he continued.
“I dislike allowing Rowland near you. I dislike the fact that he must believe himself beyond interruption if he is to become careless. And I particularly dislike being assigned to stand upon a lawn while my wife encourages a blackmailer to threaten her.”
“I know.”
That was all she said.
Nathaniel looked at her. Some of the resistance went out of him.
“You will not be alone.”
“No. Lady Marwood and Lady Carbery will be close. There will be two hundred people on the lawn. And you will be near enough to reach me if the conversation ceases to be merely a conversation.”
“How near?”
“Near enough for your peace. Far enough for mine.”
“That is not a unit of measurement.”
“It is the one available.”
He tapped one finger against Lady Marwood’s note.
“And if he says nothing?”
“Then we have lost an afternoon, and Lady Marwood has gained an entertainment.”
“If he suspects the trap?”
“I shall leave him wondering whether there ever was one.”
“And if he threatens you?”
“He has done that before.”
Nathaniel’s expression changed.
Selina reached across the table and put her hand over his.
“I shall not be alone. And I am not asking you to surrender your judgement. I am asking you to trust mine long enough to let me conduct the conversation.”
He looked down at her hand. “You make the distinction sound very simple.”
“It is simple. That does not make it easy.”
His eyes came back to hers. “I have heard that somewhere.”
She smiled slightly. “Yes. From a man who knows a great deal about horses and rather less about wives.”
“He is improving.” He turned his hand beneath hers and briefly closed his fingers around it. “Very well.”
Selina’s brows rose. “That was almost graceful.”
“Do not force me to reconsider.”
“I would not dream of it.”
He released her hand and reached at last for his coffee.
***
Lady Marwood’s outdoor breakfast began late enough in the afternoon that the name had become largely ceremonial.
Her villa and gardens were crowded beneath striped awnings, with tables laid along the terrace and musicians stationed where they could be heard without interfering with conversation.
Servants moved steadily between the groups gathered on the lawn, replacing glasses and carrying away plates that had long since ceased to resemble breakfast. Beyond the awnings, the old trees gave patches of shade in which guests had arranged themselves according to preference, intimacy and the degree to which they wished their conversations overheard.
It was precisely the sort of gathering at which two people might speak privately without ever appearing to have sought privacy.
Selina wore pale grey-lavender.
At a distance the gown appeared almost grey.
Only when the light caught it did the lavender show.
She had rejected Lady Marwood’s more dramatic suggestion that she dress herself to look fragile.
Rowland was accustomed to seeing her in grey, and she preferred a deception built from familiar materials.
Too great a transformation would invite inspection.
She wanted him to believe he had found the same woman, only more tired than when he had last seen her.
Nathaniel noticed the distinction.
“You do not look frightened,” he murmured as they entered the garden.
“I am not meant to look frightened yet.”
“I see.”
“You are staring.”
“I am married to you. I am permitted a limited amount of staring.”
“Limited.”
“I shall consult Petherick about the precise allowance.”
She almost laughed, which she suspected had been his intention. She kept the sound back and looked instead towards the lawn.
The gathering had already divided into its smaller constellations.
Gentlemen stood with their hats beneath their arms near the terrace steps.
Two elderly ladies had secured the deepest patch of shade and showed no intention of surrendering it.
Somewhere beyond the nearest awning a burst of laughter rose above the music and disappeared again.
Across the lawn Georgiana had already been claimed by two young ladies of her acquaintance. She looked back once.
Selina inclined her head.
Georgiana understood and went with them. Within moments the three young women had been absorbed into another group, and no one watching them would have had reason to suppose the glance had meant anything.
Mrs Ottley arrived shortly before four.
Rowland came with her.
Selina saw him before he saw her and had the advantage of several seconds in which to study him without being studied in return.
He looked much as he always did: well dressed enough to disguise the expense of being well dressed, his ease calculated to suggest that every lawn in England expected him.
He accepted a greeting from one gentleman, smiled at something Mrs Ottley said and took a glass from a passing servant without once appearing to look about him for anyone.
Nothing in his manner betrayed the quarrel at the Wexford Arms.
That, Selina thought, was useful in its way. A man determined to appear untroubled had already committed himself to a performance.
She felt Nathaniel grow still beside her.
“Go,” she said.
“I have not done anything.”
“You have begun doing it with your jaw.”
He exhaled through his nose.
“Where?”
Selina kept her attention upon the lawn rather than upon Rowland.
“Lord Fairburn has been trying to attract your attention for five minutes. Go and discuss something expensive with him.”
“I shall discuss drainage. It will punish us both.”
“Nathaniel.”
The humour left his face.
His gaze met hers.
“Be careful.”
“I shall.”
For another moment he remained where he was. Then he crossed the lawn towards Lord Fairburn, who received him with every appearance of relief and immediately began speaking. Nathaniel did not look back.
Selina was grateful for that.
She waited another quarter of an hour.
Waiting was important. To approach Rowland would suggest purpose; to be found by him required only patience.
She spoke to an acquaintance when spoken to, accepted a second glass she did not want and let the afternoon continue around her. Twice she saw Rowland at the edge of another group. Neither time did she allow her gaze to remain upon him.
Lady Marwood had arranged the garden precisely as promised.
Beside the fountain, a shallow arbour had been cut into the old yew walk.
Its two recesses were divided by an ornamental trellis thick with climbing rose.
From one side, the other appeared to be merely part of the planting; voices, Lady Marwood had demonstrated earlier, travelled through it remarkably well.
The arrangement looked entirely innocent. That was its chief recommendation.
Lady Marwood and Lady Carbery withdrew into the adjoining recess before Selina approached the fountain.
Neither woman was crouching behind shrubbery. Selina had been firm upon that point.
Lady Marwood had received the instruction with the expression of a woman unused to being told where she might or might not crouch in her own garden. Lady Carbery had wisely said nothing.
Selina took a glass of lemonade from a servant and stood where Rowland could see her.
Then there was nothing to do but wait again.
The fountain itself was unremarkable, a stone boy holding a fish from whose mouth the water emerged with insufficient force.
Selina watched it for several minutes while the party shifted behind her.
The thin stream caught the afternoon light before falling into the basin.
A breeze disturbed the surface and moved the leaves overhead.
Behind her came the ordinary sounds of a fashionable gathering: conversation, glass against glass, the distant musicians beginning another piece.
She did not turn to discover whether Rowland had noticed her.
If he had not, she would remain where she was.
If he had, he would come.
Rowland came before the lemonade had grown warm.
“Your Grace.”
Selina allowed a moment before turning.
“I had wondered whether Berkshire might persuade you to remain there.”
His smile was pleasant. His eyes were not.
“We considered it.”
“Did you?” Rowland lifted his glass. “And yet here you are. London is difficult to abandon once one has acquired a reason to remain in it.”
“Or a reason to return.”
Something in her voice caught his attention.
Until then he had been enjoying himself. Now he began to examine her.
He came a little nearer. “You look tired.”
“I have not slept particularly well.”
For the first time, his smile became genuine.
Selina lowered her eyes to the lemonade.
“I had thought distance would improve matters.”
“Distance from what?”
She hesitated just long enough.
“You.”
She allowed the admission to cost her.
Rowland watched.
Selina did not hurry to fill the silence. Letting him observe the effect he believed he had produced was part of giving him what he wanted.
“You followed us into the country,” she continued. “You let yourself be seen within a mile of the house. I understand now that you do not intend to tire of this.”
“No.”
The single word was almost gentle.
Selina tightened her fingers around the glass.
“I know about the letters. I know copies were made.”
His expression altered by the smallest degree.
“My husband has employed people, Mr Rowland. You must have expected it.”
“A duke generally employs people rather than exerting himself.”
Selina ignored the provocation.
“He also knows about the debt between you and Giles.”
That struck nearer. Rowland’s smile remained, but the hand holding his glass ceased to move.
The pause was brief. It was enough.