“Umm. Now, I hear. I believe it’s a—” She stopped. “Magpie?”
He cast a frown over his shoulder. “Didn’t you say you’d grown up in the country?”
“Magpies can sound like any bird they wish.”
“So they can.” He frowned. Magpies and blackbirds. Yet another strange parallel. “That, however, is a blackbird.” He pointed to the bird in the tree. “See?”
She came to stand beside him and, together, they stared up into the branches.
The feathered creature sang, paused, and then sang again.
“The blackbird’s song is distinctive. Deep tones. Short phrases.”
“Have you made a study of birdsong?”
“Not intentionally.” How extraordinarily odd he must appear to her. How odd he appeared to himself. “I was left alone quite frequently as a child.”
She laid a sympathetic hand on his arm.
He could have kicked himself for that little revelation. On the other hand, he did not regret her touch, or her presence at his side.
He cleared his throat. “Early for a blackbird.”
She lifted her shoulders and shivered. “Early for a picnic, too.”
Without thinking, he removed his coat—just as he would have done for Emily or Caroline. Only after he’d hung it around her shoulders, then looked down into her enquiring face did he realize how presumptuous his actions had been.
How intimate…
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Much better, now.”
How small she looked, with his coat hanging off her shoulders. Even as the cold seeped into his bones, he wondered if his residual warmth was keeping her comfortable.
Caroline’s warning replayed in his mind. Miss Wainwright is young, impressionable, and innocent. No matter how spirited, Miss Wainwrightwas notthe Blackbird.
He’d been too forward. “Shall we go back?”
“Yes.”
She placed her hand against his arm and, together, they headed back.
“I haven’t explored as much of London as I would like,” she said conversationally. “I’m very much looking forward to going to the Royal Academy with you tomorrow.”
Another delightful zing of satisfaction. “Are you?”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
She glanced at him. Her shy smile lodged like a dagger between his ribs.
“I like you, Lord Redver.”
“I’m glad.” He hesitated. “I like you, too.”
His voice had come out just a tad hoarse. But her smile broadened. And, Adrian discovered, he no longer needed his coat to feel pleasantly warm.
The next day,Lady Asquith developed a touch ofcatarrh—consisting of a stuffy nose and a low fever and declined to join the expedition to the Royal Academy. Eliza had fretted, believing that they, too, must cancel. But Lady Asquith insisted she and Cassandra go, saying that, given the exigent circumstances, the two of them could serve as the other’s chaperone.
Eliza wasn’t sure that was wise.
