But then, who would want to marry into a potential scandal? Certainly not a well-bred society miss. No doubt the woman was just taking the opportunity for some private time with her thoughts—that was certainly something he could understand.
She turned at the sound of his approach, recognition dawning in her eyes. He recognized her as Miss Fairchild. He had scarcely exchanged more than pleasantries with her before today, and that only during their walk into town.
He bowed, hiding a sigh of frustration. Her unexpected presence could cause the messenger to cancel the meeting if they spotted her.
“You are quite far from the house, Miss Fairchild,” he remarked, forcing a light tone. “I had assumed everyone would be taking a well-earned rest before dinner.”
She offered a small laugh, tucking a loose golden curl behind her ear and batting her eyelashes as she looked up at him. “My parents insisted I take some air. They said I looked peaked.”
Henry frowned. “With no chaperone? Surely they did not suggest you wander around the grounds unaccompanied?”
“Oh!” Miss Fairchild flushed, and her eyes slid away from his.
Was she lying? Perhaps she had a rendezvous planned with one of the other gentlemen?
“Yes, I intended to bring my friend, but she is busy, and I do feel so unwell,” Miss Fairchild said in a rush.
He studied her for a moment. Her skin was pink with a healthy glow, and she showed no sign of either fever or fatigue. “You appear perfectly well to me,” he said bluntly, hoping his rudeness would cause her to make excuses and leave.
She giggled at that and moved a step closer. “That is kind of you to say, Your Grace.”
Henry bit back another sigh. This was the last thing he needed. His every nerve was stretched taut from awaiting his unknown blackmailer, and yet here he was, trapped in idle conversation and a flirtation he most certainly did not welcome.
Charlotte would never be so brash,he thought and then chided himself for the comparison. It wasn’t fair to either woman.
“Would you not be more comfortable enjoying the sun from one of the drawing rooms?” he suggested, doing his best to remain patient. “I believe the west sitting room is particularly fine at this hour.”
Miss Fairchild hesitated, as if weighing his words, before fluttering her lashes once again in what she no doubt thought was a fetching manner. “But the gardens are ever so lovely at this time of day, are they not? I adore the scent of the roses.”
As though to prove her point, she rose to smell a bloom on the nearby trellis, angling her decolletage at him. He quickly looked away.
Struggling to maintain his composure, Henry resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder toward the grotto. Every passing second increased his risk of missing the meeting and finding out who his blackmailer was and what they wanted. It seemed he would simply have to directly request that Miss Fairchild leave the garden. Scandalously rude, but effective. His mother would be horrified at such treatment of a guest, but what choice did he have?
Before he could do so, however, a rustling of skirts and low murmurs reached his ears. The arrival of a chaperone for Miss Fairchild, perhaps? He turned, plastering on a polite smile, accepting with a sinking of his stomach that he was not going to meet his mysterious correspondent this evening.
A group of women were approaching along the garden path leading to the grotto, obviously having decided on an early evening walk. They were mothers, mostly, though there were a few young ladies among them.
Including Charlotte.
Henry’s stomach dropped as he caught the flicker of surprise and disappointment in her gaze, as she looked from him to Miss Fairchild and back again. There was a question in her eyes, and he realized what this must look like. Especially as Miss Fairchild discreetly took a step closer toward him.
He had done nothing wrong, and yet he felt inexplicably guilty under Charlotte’s scrutiny. As though he had betrayed something unspoken between them.
Miss Fairchild’s mother was among the group, and the moment she laid eyes upon them, she let out a sharp gasp. “Harriet!” she exclaimed, unnecessarily loudly. “What are you doing out here alone?”
“We were merely conversing, Mother,” Miss Fairchild replied, a tinge of color in her cheeks.
She didn’t sound at all convincing, and Henry started to wonder if the entire thing had been staged. Miss Fairchild could have seen him leaving by the side door and cut him off near the grotto.
Lady Fairchild cast a swift glance between them, her expression shifting from shock to something more calculating as her eyes rested on Henry.
“Oh, Your Grace,” she gasped, a bejeweled hand flying to her ample bosom, “I do hope this is not a… compromising situation.”
Henry stiffened. “Certainly not, madam. I was out for a walk and came across Miss Fairchild quite unexpectedly. She says she feels unwell. I was just advising her that it is unseemly for her to be here without a chaperone. She said it wasyouridea for her to take a walk. Alone.”
Some of the other mothers exchanged knowing looks. It was clear that for Lady Fairchild, this was an opportunity rather than a true scandal. If she could claim her daughter had been alone with the duke, even for a moment, then there was a hint of impropriety. And with just a shadow of doubt, she might well push for a match. Refusing would make Henry look like the worst kind of rake.
He looked pleadingly at Charlotte, silently praying that she could see what was happening here. But she was avoiding his eyes, her complexion pale.
