ma’am,” Maxwell suggested smoothly. “I understand Mallowan has quite an interesting maze.”
Lucien could have cheered. But his effort to steer Gavin to Chloe’s side went awry when Isabel claimed their cousin instead. Maxwell offered his arm to Emily, leaving Lucien with no option but to escort Chloe.
But that, too, might work out better in the end, he assured himself. If the duke’s heir had walked off with Miss Fletcher, Chiswick might have been stirred to jealousy and come along. As it was, the earl agreed with their hostess that a long ride was quite enough exercise for a morning, and he settled next to her on the settee to chat while the young people wandered about.
Though the manor house was nothing special, Maxwell was right; Mallowan’s gardens were remarkable. Mostly, Lucien thought, because it would be possible to get lost in them, even without venturing into the maze—where well-maintained old boxwoods had been allowed to grow more than head-high. But the rest of the garden offered private little nooks as well, full of flowers and sculptures and here and there a fountain, with rows of neatly trimmed shrubs screening off each section. What a boon that would be to lovers!
Deliberately, Lucien let their pace lag a little, until they were far enough behind Gavin and Isabel that they could not be overheard. “He’ll be looking for a wife soon. Athstone, I mean.”
Chloe sucked in a tiny breath that almost sounded like a gasp.
She’s startled that I was so direct. But there was no time to delay; once Chiswick concluded his marriage negotiations, no one could back out of the arrangement and it would be too late for them all.
Despite her momentary surprise, Chloe spoke calmly. “Lord Athstone’s plan to marry is a matter that is entirely immaterial to me.”
“Indeed? I wonder if you’ve set your heart on a countess’s coronet or if—even with all your confidence—you think that’s the highest you dare aspire. Is it all arranged, then?”
She did not look up at him, and her voice was wooden. “The matter is far from decided. It would be immodest of me to talk of—or even to know about—what arrangements my father is contemplating for my future.”
Lucien started to laugh. “Now there’s the biggest fara-diddle I’ve heard in all my days! Females always know—at least my sisters did. And they had a few things to say about the choices, too.”
Chloe shot a look up at him, her eyes suddenly shimmering with irritation. “And how well that turned out for Lady Emily!”
So the girl had a spark of spirit, did she? Lucien looked at her with new interest. “It makes no sense for you to cling to the notion of being a countess when there’s a duke to be had—especially one who’s not so well-placed that he can demand a bride of his own rank. Still, there’s nothing wrong with Gavin that an ambitious wife couldn’t fix.” And you would be the most ambitious wife in England, he almost added.
“Then I hope for his sake that he does not wed an ambitious wife—for I cannot think it would be pleasant for him to be fixed .”
Lucien pursed his lips in a soundless whistle and wondered if his father had ever been allowed to see this side of Chloe Fletcher. Doubtful, for she seemed well able to control herself. And a pity it was if she had shown herself only as meek and mild, for this spark of defiance might have given Chiswick second thoughts before it was too late to change his mind.
She added, in dulcet tones, “Lord Hartford, would you like to admire this particularly fine young senecio jacobaea ?”
“Can’t say that I would. Not that it isn’t a very good example of its breed,” he added hastily, “but I’m not much of a gardener.”
“Nothing could be clearer than that, since what I have just pointed out is common ragwort—a weed that has unaccountably escaped my mother’s notice.” Chloe let go of his arm, wrapped both hands around the offending plant, and tugged it out
Lucien could have cheered. But his effort to steer Gavin to Chloe’s side went awry when Isabel claimed their cousin instead. Maxwell offered his arm to Emily, leaving Lucien with no option but to escort Chloe.
But that, too, might work out better in the end, he assured himself. If the duke’s heir had walked off with Miss Fletcher, Chiswick might have been stirred to jealousy and come along. As it was, the earl agreed with their hostess that a long ride was quite enough exercise for a morning, and he settled next to her on the settee to chat while the young people wandered about.
Though the manor house was nothing special, Maxwell was right; Mallowan’s gardens were remarkable. Mostly, Lucien thought, because it would be possible to get lost in them, even without venturing into the maze—where well-maintained old boxwoods had been allowed to grow more than head-high. But the rest of the garden offered private little nooks as well, full of flowers and sculptures and here and there a fountain, with rows of neatly trimmed shrubs screening off each section. What a boon that would be to lovers!
Deliberately, Lucien let their pace lag a little, until they were far enough behind Gavin and Isabel that they could not be overheard. “He’ll be looking for a wife soon. Athstone, I mean.”
Chloe sucked in a tiny breath that almost sounded like a gasp.
She’s startled that I was so direct. But there was no time to delay; once Chiswick concluded his marriage negotiations, no one could back out of the arrangement and it would be too late for them all.
Despite her momentary surprise, Chloe spoke calmly. “Lord Athstone’s plan to marry is a matter that is entirely immaterial to me.”
“Indeed? I wonder if you’ve set your heart on a countess’s coronet or if—even with all your confidence—you think that’s the highest you dare aspire. Is it all arranged, then?”
She did not look up at him, and her voice was wooden. “The matter is far from decided. It would be immodest of me to talk of—or even to know about—what arrangements my father is contemplating for my future.”
Lucien started to laugh. “Now there’s the biggest fara-diddle I’ve heard in all my days! Females always know—at least my sisters did. And they had a few things to say about the choices, too.”
Chloe shot a look up at him, her eyes suddenly shimmering with irritation. “And how well that turned out for Lady Emily!”
So the girl had a spark of spirit, did she? Lucien looked at her with new interest. “It makes no sense for you to cling to the notion of being a countess when there’s a duke to be had—especially one who’s not so well-placed that he can demand a bride of his own rank. Still, there’s nothing wrong with Gavin that an ambitious wife couldn’t fix.” And you would be the most ambitious wife in England, he almost added.
“Then I hope for his sake that he does not wed an ambitious wife—for I cannot think it would be pleasant for him to be fixed .”
Lucien pursed his lips in a soundless whistle and wondered if his father had ever been allowed to see this side of Chloe Fletcher. Doubtful, for she seemed well able to control herself. And a pity it was if she had shown herself only as meek and mild, for this spark of defiance might have given Chiswick second thoughts before it was too late to change his mind.
She added, in dulcet tones, “Lord Hartford, would you like to admire this particularly fine young senecio jacobaea ?”
“Can’t say that I would. Not that it isn’t a very good example of its breed,” he added hastily, “but I’m not much of a gardener.”
“Nothing could be clearer than that, since what I have just pointed out is common ragwort—a weed that has unaccountably escaped my mother’s notice.” Chloe let go of his arm, wrapped both hands around the offending plant, and tugged it out
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