She stared down at her hand, grazing over the feathery tops of Gran’s lavender. “Because what I truly wanted to ask you was what it was like, being away at war. But I can never manage to say anything straight when I can rather say it sideways.”
That had made his mouth quirk. “Can’t you?”
No, not really. Plain speaking wasn’t one of her talents, especially not on a week when her family was gathered together and every word felt like a cartridge waiting to explode. Yet with him, she had the strange urge to try.
“I suppose if we started with something simpler?”
“All right. Then solve a mystery for me—whatisthat?” He gestured to the froth of lace at her hem.
Charlotte looked down at her skirt in surprise. “It’s Brussels lace, my lord. Surely you know it? I’m starting a fashion for it, because so many of the lace-makers had to leave the lowlands during the war and establish themselves here.”
“Admirable. I’m familiar with Brussels lace, of course, but I’ve never seen a pattern of…” He peered closer. “Are the petals on those flowers made ofbayonets?”
That brought her head up. Even Gran hadn’t noticed.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to wearordinaryBrussels lace.”
“No.” His mouth curved, and she felt absurdly pleased. “Of course not.”
Lord Wolfgang offered his arm and Charlotte curled her hand around the crook of it. Even his forearm was large and hard as oak, which she discovered when she rested her fingertips lightly on it. A strange thrill ran through her, strong enough to part her lips on a silent inhale.
“Lord Wolfgang, could it be that you are in dire need of nonsense in your life, while I could do with practice at being serious?”
“I amthirstingfor nonsense.” He had said it like a jest, but there was an ache in his voice he couldn’t disguise. Come to think of it, there was something odd about his laughter as well. He offered it up readily enough but it sounded stiff, almost creaky.
“Shall we start with this, Lady Charlotte—how was your Season?”
“Nonsense indeed! I set off to conquer the ton, but I found it much too easy. Can there be pleasure in winning without a fight?”
“A great deal of pleasure, and I say that as a military man. Perhaps Wellington should have put you on the battlefield and me in the ballroom?”
“I do often think—” She broke off because she did often think, but only rarely did she offer her true thoughts up to others. Yet God, she was tempted to try.
“You do often think?” he prompted.
“If you must know, I adore the ballroom but often think I’m wasted in it. So many women are. My grandmother is one of En-gland’s foremost horticulturalists, yet people never give her credit for it.”
“I see. And it’s your ambition to change all that?”
“Yes, but I’m no horticulturalist.” She took a deep breath—the telling of truth seemed to require a great deal of air. “To be honest, my main interest is clothing.”
Charlotte steeled herself against his judgment, but Lord Wolfgang only nodded. “I see. Like your bayonet lace—thought and style together as one?”
She blinked up at him. “You don’t want to mock me? Or tell me either how frivolous an interest in clothing is, or how charming you find it when young ladies fuss with their ribbons?”
The curve of his mouth deepened. “I value my head, or at least my pillowcase. Besides, Lady Charlotte, I suspect even your ribbons are formidable.”
It was such a pleasing thing for him to say that Charlotte knew it would linger. Later, Charlotte wondered if that was when the idea for the silk mill was born.
Just ahead, the trail split to follow the river.
“Oh good heavens, have we arrived already?” The time had passed so quickly. “Julian should be fishing just upriver.”
Lord Wolfgang had planted his feet at the fork in the path. “I’ve discovered a new ambition of my own.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“I’d like to walk a little longer, alone with you.”
