“How delightful. I hope you are planning to bring order to this wild place,” he said, approaching the bench where her sketches lay. “It is quite daunting in its unruliness.”
Charlotte smiled, disarmed by his admiration for her garden. “In fact, I do plan on bringing some sense of order, yes. This garden has been unloved for quite some time.”
“Are those sketches?” he asked, pointing to the papers.
Reaching for the papers, Charlotte lifted them and clutched them close to her chest. Embarrassed by the poor quality of her rushed drawings and notes, she nodded silently.
“May I see them?” the viscount asked, his tone curious and encouraging. “Shall we sit? I would love to see your drawings while we wait for the earl to return.”
Though she resented the interruption, Charlotte sat next to him, the reassuring feel of the stone beneath her a reminder that she was protected. She was home. This was her safe place.
“Of course,” she answered. Charlotte peeled the papers from her chest, heedless of the traces of charcoal left on the simple buttercup yellow day dress she wore. All her time in the country had made her grossly unaware of her day-to-day appearance. She winced at the state of her dress and vowed to do better. Appearing more countess-like would be one of her future goals.
“This one is lovely, I can see your vision,” the viscount praised, running his finger as he looked at the images, comparing them to the current state. “The images seemed to lift right off the page. You are a talented artist.”
“Thank you,” she answered dumbly. “They are but quick drawings.”
Resting the paper on his thighs, the viscount turned his face up to the sky and inhaled deeply. “This place is truly lovely. I can see why you love it here.”
Looking down at her hands in her lap, Charlotte fiddled with her skirt and avoided his gaze. There was something about his closeness, his assault on her solitude that raised her hackles.
“What is that sound?” he asked, tilting his ear in the direction of the river.
“The birds, perhaps? Or the river? Our property ends at the River Fleet.”
His mouth curved into a grin, the smile never quite reachinghis eyes. Charlotte had never noticed how cold his gaze could be. At the ball, he seemed so friendly.
“Shall we go see it? Oh, how I would love to have a house by the river.”
Eager to be surrounded by more people, Charlotte jumped at the chance to explore the world beyond her isolated space. To be reminded she was not alone and her guards were somewhere nearby. She had left them behind to watch over Aurelia, since she would be in the company of the gardeners. Suddenly, she regretted her decision.
The viscount pushed the creaky gate open with a grunt, and they moved through the slight opening, out onto the main path of the gardens. Casting a gaze to the surrounding area, her stomach sank when Charlotte perceived no gardeners close by. Perhaps they were off in some other corner of the property. With a dread-filled swallow, Charlotte led her guest toward the river, mesmerizing with its gentle flow. Lily pads drifted along the surface, near the edges, as they approached the hip-height stone wall that demarcated the edge of the property and kept anyone from wandering too close to the water. Bracing her hands on the top of the stone fence, Charlotte exhaled as she admired the unspoiled trees and bushes that crowded along the banks of the river, reflecting their lush appearance into the surface of the river. The long strands of willow trees danced amongst the lily pads and cattails. It was a breathtaking sight.
“Oh my, it is lovely,” the viscount exclaimed next to her.
Charlotte startled, having almost forgotten about his presence there. “Indeed. Should we go into the house and see if the earl has returned?” she asked hopefully. “I can make you more comfortable and provide you some refreshments, my lord.”
The viscount shook his head, his fingers playing with the wooden gate latch.
“In a moment, I would like to see more. Can you take me closer…to the river? I would so love to see the beauty up close.”
Swallowing a sharp breath, Charlotte nodded. A visceral reaction tore through her at the idea of going any further with the viscount. She dismissed her irrational thoughts, telling herself she was being silly. This was a safe place, after all.
Without further delay, she followed the viscount through the gate.
Chapter Fifty-Two
“There’s a good lad. That’s it,” a gravelly voice cajoled. “Come on now, my lord. We need to get out of here.”
Perry’s eyes refused to open, pain lancing through his head as it rolled from side to side. His thoughts were a muddle of memories and horrific scenes that couldn’t possibly be real.
A rough, callused palm gently slapped against his cheek, steering Perry from his daze. A sharp, pungent smell drifted beneath his nose. His eyes shot open, and he blinked rapidly, willing his body to come out of the fog in which he seemed trapped.
What happened?
He remembered sitting with the viscount, hearing the man’s mad confession and…nothing. His head ached like a team of horses had run over it. How much time had passed?
And who was this man?
