Mr Dariell inclined his head. A warm and genuine smile brightened his olive complexion. He possessed such a pleasant countenance that even Ada’s lips curled up a fraction.
“You may call me Dariell,” he said in a smooth French accent.
“You’re Lord Greystone’s friend,” Lydia clarified.
“Oui. That is correct.” His dark, inquisitive eyes considered Ada. The girl stiffened and held her breath until her cheeks puffed and turned berry red. “Lord Greystone, he was in such a hurry to reach London that he failed to inform me of your connection.”
Their connection? Having been caught with her skirt hiked up past her knees what was she supposed to say to that? And must the man remind her that her seductive skills had forced Greystone to put forty miles between them?
“I am Miss Lovell. My brother’s estate runs adjacent to the Greystone Estate.”
Dariell remained silent for a moment as he studied her with a perception she found highly unnerving. “You have—oh, what do you say—a good energy, madame. A vibrant spirit. You bring life where there is none, no?”
“Why, thank you.” When his penetrating gaze moved to Ada, Lydia felt inclined to say, “And this is my maid, Ada. We came to see the progress his lordship is making with the cottages.” She cast Ada a sidelong glance and whispered, “Breathe.”
Dariell’s attention settled on Ada. “Ah, listen. Do you hear that?” The Frenchman stood statue still.
Both Lydia and Ada cocked their heads to listen. It would be rude not to.
“Tell me. Tell me, what do you hear?” Dariell said in a soft, dulcet tone.
Lydia was about to say the horrid banging behind, but then the wind whistled past her ear, and the birds chirped sweetly as they foraged in the hedgerow.
“I hear the trees talking,” Ada suddenly said. “I hear the birds singing a pretty song.”
“Oui.” Dariell raised a brow. “When you are listening, you are not thinking. Your mind is at peace, n’est-ce pas?”
With a look of wonder, Ada simply nodded.
“Next time, when the head is loud with noise and the heart is full of fear, all you need do is listen.” He swept a graceful bow. “Now, I shall leave you to walk while the sun is shining. Bonne journée.” And with that, he sauntered past.
“Well,” Ada said when Dariell moved out of earshot. “Well …” The poor girl couldn’t find her words.
“Mr Dariell is a rather unusual fellow.”
“Well, yes. But he’s kind and gentle-spoken and … and I like that.”
Lydia recalled Greystone’s threat to set Dariell on his brother. The lout had turned white with terror. But what had he to fear? That Dariell might make him listen to something other than the sound of his own arrogant voice?
“Where to now, miss?” Ada said when they reached the lane.
“Do you know, I think we’ll head home.” The tenants were busy working and overseeing the necessary repairs. What use had they for a few bread rolls when Greystone was quite capable of taking care of their needs?
A hollow feeling settled in her chest.
Upon reflection, it had nothing to do with the tenants and everything to do with her sudden desire to speak to the gentleman in question. All those years she’d spent despising him, and yet she found she craved his company. Kissing Lord Greystone had thrilled her like nothing else before. And the way he looked at her—oh—her body turned to liquid fire at the thought.
In the past, when troubled by Arabella or when struck with bouts of boredom, Mrs Guthrie’s ramblings about her vegetable plot, or Mr Roberts’ tales of his errant boys kept her occupied. Now, when she needed a distraction from all thoughts of Lord Greystone, there wasn’t a place she could go to escape him.
“But what about the bread rolls, miss?” Ada shook her basket, the motion dragging Lydia from her reverie.
“What … did you say something?”
Ada frowned. “Miss Lovell, are you all right? You were muttering and mumbling a moment ago.”
“Was I?”
Lydia mentally shook herself. She was not a silly girl anymore. She was an heiress, soon to be in command of her own destiny. What need had she for flights of fancy and passionate encounters in the forest? The flutter in her stomach begged to differ.