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“Is that censure I detect?”
“Perhaps.”
A fleeting smile touched his lips. “I would deserve any recriminations heaped on my head. It was their great misfortune to lose their mother at such young ages, and worse, in battling my grief I neglected my girls. There is no greater crime I could have committed.”
Acting on instinct, she gripped his hand and tried to lace their fingers together. His riding glove made it awkward and her breath caught when he released her hand, tugged off his gloves, and pressed their palms together. He stared at their joint skin for a bit, as if fascinated by the contact.
Her heart was beating too fast, too hard. Somehow the simple touch seemed a greater intimacy than his kisses. Her fingers curled through his, and they continued strolling side by side, their hands clasped.
“What happened?” she asked softly, remembering his cold order never to ask about his wife, but she chose to ignore it for his shield seemed diminished.
“For weeks I buried my sorrow in liquor, and the false sense of peace it provided.”
“My father… My father also took my mother’s death horribly. It was sudden. She was in the gardens, tending to her roses when she collapsed. She was just there…and then gone the next. He had loved her most ardently; their union was a rare love match. It seemed he was soused until he met Lady Margaret.” Adel glanced at Edmond. “You must have loved your wife very much.”
His fingers tightened briefly on hers. “I did.”
Adel admired him more for loving his wife, but the knowledge left a peculiar ache in her heart. Their attachment had been so great Edmond had sworn never to love another…even her father seemed like he adored Lady Margaret.
A gust of wind tried to steal the bonnet from Adel’s head, and she placed a hand on top of her head, holding it firm. The girls still ran in the far distance, and she fancied she could hear their chortling.
“The girls told me you’ve never been to the theater or opera,” he a
bruptly said.
She frowned. “Why, yes that is true.”
“Nor on a picnic with a suitor.”
Adel blinked. “I…yes.”
“Lady Gladstone had indicated you had several seasons, why did you not partake in all London had to offer?”
Adel shrugged quite inelegantly. “My only suitor was Mr. Atwood, and my father strongly objected to his courtship. I daresay Mr. Atwood was unable to afford many of the finer aspects of high society, and that included renting a box.”
“I see.”
What exactly did Edmond see? That she was not as polished as many other young ladies? They came upon a gazebo with flowers covering the entire structure. There was a stone bench, and he led her to it. They sat, and he angled his body so that he faced her.
“Do you wish to be in London, enjoying the rest of the season?”
Adel laughed. “No, I assure you, I am very contented here at Rosette Park.”
Rosa careened around the corner, panting, a wide smile of her face. She faltered when she spied her father.
“Good day, Father,” she said politely.
“Rosa.”
She glanced at Adel searchingly, then back to her father. It then occurred to Adel this would be the first time his children were seeing them together since their initial introduction.
“I’d intended to ask Lady Adeline if she would like to join us by the lake,” Rosa said tentatively.
An air of wariness clung to her. Did he not see it? Adel’s throat tightened and on impulse she said, “Would you like to join us instead, Rosalie? You and Sarah.”
Rosa glanced to her father, clearly waiting for his invitation. The daft man remained silent.
“No,” she said with a curious smile, and then bent and picked up the ball. She glanced at her father. “Good day, Papa.”
