“A gardener appeared with a tarpaulin and marched them, one by one, to the terrace as though he were leading a parade. They thanked him as if he had carried them across the Channel.”
Kenworth, pausing mid-pour for Mrs. Bainbridge’s wine, said dryly, “He was the hero of the house for a month. In the village, he never paid for his own drink again.”
“Nor should he,” Barrington said. “That was service above and beyond.”
The footmen exchanged dishes for the next course, the low murmur of their movements blending with the silver’s faint ring. Barrington turned to Leticia. “Speaking of spectacles, how close did the musicians come to losing their place when half the guests lost their partners during the reel?”
“Barely,” Leticia said, smiling over the rim of her glass. “I think the harpist stopped playing altogether just to see who would find their way back first.”
Gabriel’s mouth curved faintly as he reached for the wine, the stem of his glass glinting in the candlelight.
“I once led a line of cousins into a chair during a country dance,” Leticia went on. “My aunt said it was the most orderly collision she had ever seen.”
The table laughed, the sound rolling easily between the place settings.
Gabriel, who had been quiet, set down his fork. “When I first learned to sail, I tied the lines so cleverly the boat circled the same patch of water for an hour. A boy on the pier finally shouted I had made a fine pond.”
Even Mrs. Bainbridge pressed a napkin to her mouth. “And what did you do?”
“I pretended I meant to stay there all along.” His eyes met Leticia’s, and for a heartbeat the laughter dimmed everywhere but between them.
Kenworth arrived with a tart fragrant with sugar and brown butter, setting it at the center of the table. “I’ll return that tower of chrysanthemums tomorrow with a note so neat Mrs. Hale could use it to train her apprentices.”
“If she becomes so good at training, she can have my soldiers,” Barrington said, leaning back in his chair with obvious mischief.
Mrs. Bainbridge shook her head. “And if she sends them back well trained, I’ll send you along so you finally learn how to identify your own boots.”
Laughter rose again, warm and unforced, carrying the table into the softer hum that comes when plates are removed and the wine decanter makes one last round.
When they rose, Leticia set down her napkin. “I should be getting home.”
Gabriel rose at once. “Allow me to see you there.”
She hesitated, nodded. “The wind rises early on the cliff path. A steady arm would be kind.”
“It is my pleasure.”
They said their goodbyes and stepped into the night air, cool with the salt of the North Sea. The cliff path lay pale against the grass, the sea’s patient sound below. They walked without hurry. The quiet was not a lack of words, but something complete in itself, like the hush before a prayer.
At her door, she turned to thank him. He was already close. His hand lifted, not to claim, but to touch her cheek as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The kiss was deliberate, warm, lingering, like a ribbon drawn slowly through the hand, leaving heat and a steadiness that surprised her.
When he drew back, his voice was low, edged with a quiet smile. “Something to think about over the next week.”
He stepped away at once, as if he knew exactly what to give and what to leave. Halfway down the path, he glanced back. The look in his eyes stole her breath so completely she had to steady herself with the latch.
She stood in the doorway for a moment, the sky deepening above the roofline, the faint scent of salt still in the air. Behind her, the house was quiet. Ahead, the week stretched thin and bright. She touched her lips not to hold the kiss, but to promise herself she would not forget how it felt.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Asoft rainhad fallen in the night, leaving the morning air cool and fresh as it drifted through Leticia’s bedchamber. The scent of damp earth and lavender slipped through the muslin curtains. She sat at her dressing table with the small box unlocked before her, the brooch resting on its bed of velvet. The fabric’s nap pressed lightly beneath her fingertips, a whisper of her mother’s touch. Turning it in the light, she caught the faint etching inside the diamond, a raven, sharp as if the stone itself remembered.
Her breath caught the first time she’d seen it. Even now, unease beat against her ribs, quick as a trapped wing. For years, she believed it was only a keepsake from her mother, precious for sentiment alone. Now it was a piece in a game she had only begun to understand. A chill stole through her even as sunlight caught the edge of the mirror, cutting across her reflection.
She fastened it at her throat, just above the lace of her morning gown. In the mirror, the diamond caught the light and threw it back with a pale spark. Her mother would have approved. And yet… wearing it was like stepping beneath a lantern, exposed, as though the walls themselves might watch. She imagined Gabriel’s face if he saw it. He would know at once she had kept it from him. Thinking about it brought heat to her cheeks and a quick sting of shame behind it.
The pin came free. She set the brooch back on the velvet. “Not today,” she murmured, closing the lid and turning the key. The small click sounded too loud, sealing more than metal. The burden in herchest was heavier than the jewel itself. Secrets were poor company, yet she could not let this one go. Not yet.
Downstairs, the household moved with its usual quiet order. Lady Eastbury had ordered fresh flowers for the morning room and tea for ten. By the time the longcase clock chimed the hour, Leticia was by the window, arranging roses, steadying her hands as she resisted the urge to watch the drive. Her fingertips were damp from the dew on the petals. She wiped them absently on her gown, the scent of crushed blooms rising around her.
