“Goodness,” Elizabeth said with a chuckle. “I don’t think there’s any need to pull that face! If I were you, I would train it into a less desperate expression before you make Daphney run for the hills.”
He released a sigh, knowing that she was right. “When did you become such a knowledgeable young woman?”
Elizabeth’s smile fell. “I’m not a child anymore, Carver. There’s really no need for you to continue to treat me as one.” With a scrape of chair legs across the floor, she stood and left the room.
Carver sat gaping at the door after Elizabeth. What had he done wrong? He had the feeling that he was in two women’s black books and was at a complete loss to understand why. His last few years of avoiding the opposite sex had certainly not done him any favors when it came to navigating his relationships with his sisters and Daphney. With a sigh, he headed out to look for Daphney.
His search was unfruitful until he reached the garden, where a flash of navy caught Carver’s eye around a corner. He had spent two hours after breakfast scouring the house for Daphney, only to reach each room shortly after Miss Bellows had recently left it. Daphney had apparently won the maids over to her side. He worried that if she could remain hidden so easily within a house, how much easier for her to hide in the busy metropolis of London?
The thought of losing Daphney was beginning to tear at him. Before he knew what had happened, his heart was bending toward the woman in a way he never thought it would again. He longed for her. But he needed to know if she returned his regard before he was willing to broach the topic with her.
And now, in the garden, he had found her.
Carver maneuvered quietly around the hedges of the garden and entered through the opposite side. As he had learned from that first night, it was not very wise to sneak up on Daphney. But still he couldn’t help it. There was something freeing about playing and teasing with her.
Walking lightly across the gravel path, Carver slipped down the row behind her. She continued to walk slowly, occasionally holding out her hand to run it across the leaves of a bush. He kept advancing toward her from behind but still kept his distance, not making a sound. Her face was far away in thought. Perfect.
She turned the corner and began to walk down the next row of hedges and trees. None of the flowers were in bloom, but the green shrubs had been well-maintained and created a frustratingly opaque wall. He hurried and took the corner to catch up to her. This time he was planning to pin her arms down when he caught her so that she couldn’t draw her pistol on him.
But when he turned the corner she was gone. He hurried down the path, remaining half bent over as he walked, and made to turn the next corner when he heard the click of a pistol being cocked. He froze and looked sideways at the gun being pressed to his temple.
Blast, she’s good.
“Why are you following me?” asked Daphney. But she didn’t sound playful. Her voice was all authority and distance.
He looked at her from the corner of his eye. There was a tear stain on her cheek but he didn’t dare acknowledge it. Instead he asked, “Why are you avoiding me?”
A pause met his question and then she lowered her pistol. “It’s not very smart to sneak up on a criminal, you know.”
He turned to face her and resisted the desire to reach out and touch the line on her cheek where a tear had dried. “Not very smart, but exceedingly fun,” he said and was glad to see a small smile touch her lips.
Carver noticed something else was not quite right about Daphney. She looked cold, the usual blush to her cheeks absent, her eyes were guarded. This strong desire to wrap his arms around her took him by force. He felt every bit as protective as Robert had looked when showing concern over Mary’s health.
The wind howled around them and Daphney pulled her wool cloak more tightly around her. For once, the weather seemed to match the month, leaving the day bitterly cold and dreary. That gave him a thought. “Come with me,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand. Her gloveless hand. The chill of her fingers prickled through his own gloves to his skin. Did sh
e not own any gloves other than the one pair of dinner gloves he had seen her wear? He paused and dropped her hand. “But first,” he used his teeth to tug off his own gloves. “Take these.”
Her beautiful dark brows drew together, and she looked from his offering back up to his face. “You’re giving me your gloves?” Her voice was thick with emotion.
It wasn’t that big of a gesture, really. He had at least five more pairs in his wardrobe. “Of course. Your hands are cold.” But he could see she was about to cry and wondered if he had done something wrong. “What is it?” he asked placing a hand on her arm.
She shook her head and accepted his gloves like they were a sacred offering. “I’ve been on the streets most of my life, Carver. And you are the first gentleman who has ever offered me his gloves.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Ah, so this is where all of the lovely flowers come from,” said Rose as Carver lead her into a hothouse situated to the back of the manor.
The warmth and humidity of the room pressed around her. It was a welcome relief from the bitter cold day, but she was sure that her hair would suffer the consequences. Her waves had an unfortunate tendency to frizz in excessive humidity. What would Carver think of it? She shook that thought away. She was supposed to be putting this man out of her mind.
They stepped further into the glass house and Rose let go of Carver’s hand. She refused to read anything into the fact that he had held it all the way to the greenhouse. It was probably just for show. They needed to appear to be in love. Too bad she really was.
“Do you like it?” Carver asked. A new sense of pride sparkled in his eyes that Rose had never seen before. For the first time since arriving at Dalton Park, Carver looked proud of his family estate.
She ran her fingers over the stem of an orchid and breathed in its heady scent. “How could I not? It’s beautiful. There are so many different species of flowers in here.” Her eyes bounced joyfully over each of the different hues. She relished the deep fragrances that filled the room. But most of all, her heart raced from the realization that Carver was barely taking his eyes off of her. She could feel his gaze like needles prickling over her skin. “It’s so different from London where there is very little color amidst all the stone and smog.”
He stepped closer. “I can’t believe we’ve both lived in town all this time and never crossed paths until you knocked on my door.”
She laughed and took a step away from him with the excuse of further examining a pretty pink flower. But really, she just didn’t trust herself to be so near him anymore. “How do you know we haven’t crossed paths?”
“I would have recognized you.”