Mr. Cosgrove bobbed his head in approval. “I am happy to hear that.”
“I do wish to thank you for the flowers you sent over this morning,” Ellie said. “They are exceptionally beautiful.”
“I’m afraid they pale in comparison to your beauty,” Mr. Cosgrove remarked.
Ellie blushed at his bold compliment. “Thank you kindly for saying so,” she murmured.
“Would you care for some tea, Mr. Cosgrove?” Harriet asked.
“I would,” he replied.
Harriet gave Ellie a pointed look. “Would you care to pour, Miss Bentley?”
“I would be happy to,” Ellie acknowledged as she moved to the edge of her seat. She poured tea for Mr. Cosgrove, Harriet, and herself, as Emma still had a cup.
“Miss Bentley is quite an accomplished young woman,” Harriet said as she accepted the cup and saucer extended to her.
“Is that so?” Mr. Cosgrove asked as he brought his cup to his lips.
Harriet nodded. “She can play the pianoforte, the harp, and the guitar,” she listed. “Furthermore, I have heard her sing, and she has the voice of an angel.”
“You flatter me,” Ellie said as she watched Emma smile over the rim of her teacup, “but I do not presume to think I sing as well as you claim.”
“Nonsense,” Harriet responded with a wave of her hand. “Furthermore, Miss Bentley is well versed in a wide assortment of subjects.”
Mr. Cosgrove lowered the teacup to his lap with an amused look on his face. “I would love to hear more about that on a ride through Hyde Park,” he said, meeting Ellie’s gaze. “I assume you ride.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but Harriet answered first. “She rides superbly.”
“I am pleased to hear that,” Mr. Cosgrove responded. “I go riding through Hyde Park nearly every day.”
“I would prefer to go before the fashionable hour,” Ellie said, pleased that she had finally spoken for herself. “I do not like to ride with crowds.”
“We are in agreement on that,” Mr. Cosgrove remarked.
“Would you care to listen to Miss Bentley play the pianoforte?” Harriet asked.
Mr. Cosgrove nodded. “I would be honored to.”
“You are in for a treat,” Harriet said.
With a shy smile at Mr. Cosgrove, Ellie put her teacup down and walked over to the shiny, black pianoforte in the corner. She sat on the bench and sorted through the sheet music before selecting a piece.
Her father had loved hearing her play the pianoforte, and she grew nostalgic at the thought. As her fingers began to dance over the keys, she felt herself relaxing and imagined her father was listening to her play.
And for a brief moment, nothing else mattered.
9
Roswell satin the coach as it traveled to Lady Persephone’s townhouse. He couldn’t quite fully process his earlier conversation with Miss Bentley. After everything he did to her, she still readily forgave him. It baffled him. He had never met someone who offered forgiveness so freely.
He had been wrong about Miss Bentley. She was so much more than what he had first perceived, hardly the country bumpkin he’d thought she was. Her trials had been much worse than he had ever imagined, and yet, she still smiled. How was that possible?
Perhaps it was just him who was destined for a life of unhappiness; for he was truly miserable, and alone. He couldn’t seem to reconcile his past, and he was struggling to even continue on. But he knew he must. A stiff upper lip was required in his family, as his father had always reminded him.
Roswell watched street urchins run along as men and women attempted to hawk their goods to people walking by. He used to be happy, he thought, as the sound of the children’s laughter drifted into the coach. But that had all changed when he’d killed that man.
The coach jerked to a stop in front of a whitewashed townhouse, jolting him from his thoughts, and he exited the coach without waiting for a footman. He stepped up to the main door and knocked, removing a calling card from the pocket of his waistcoat as he waited.
