‘I like it.’ She smiled exactly as she did when she was up to no good. ‘I like that new waistcoat too. It’s very smart. If it wasn’t for your customary dishevelled hair and scruffy beard, I’d barely recognise you. You have become quite the dashing gentleman.’ She stared at his head and frowned. ‘As you are a marquess now, haven’t you considered getting it cut?’
‘No.’
Of course he hadn’t and nor would he even though she always nagged him about it. The wayward hair had always annoyed his father, then later his brother, and in a world where the younger version of himself had had so little control over anything in his life, for years, that one minuscule bit of rebellion had been the only thing he could do.
She sighed. ‘I didn’t think you would have but I suppose some ladies like the craggy, rough-and-ready look in a man.’ He offered her his best teasing smile as confirmation, expecting her to roll her eyes and tell him off for being vulgar like she always did. Instead she grinned and raised her eyebrows as the carriage slowed at the gates of the park. ‘I suspect Miss Hope Brookes is one of those women, isn’t she? Just as I suspect that she is the reason why you purchased cologne.’
While he carefully considered how to respond to that, Clowance patted his leg in sympathy. ‘I told you you’d regret bringing her here. She has a bee in her bonnet about you settling down, young man, and I fear she’ll be insufferable until she gets her way.’
With perfect timing, Augustus Brookes’s grinning face appeared at their window and nipped the awkward conversation firmly in the bud. ‘In a miracle of biblical proportions, the Writtles have secured us all a supper box which is practically on top of the bandstand so we shall have the very best view of all the entertainments tonight. However, I am told the crowds on the Grand Walk are already horrendous, so if we all get separated among the thronging masses, aim for the Turkish Saloon.’
As they alighted, Hope was mere feet away and looking so lovely she fair took his breath away, but he didn’t dare leave his mother who was holding on to his arm far more tightly than a woman who was completely relaxed in such boisterous surroundings ever would. But she managed the long stroll to the supper box without any issue, and even managed to coo and sigh at all the thousands of pretty coloured lights which twinkled in the trees and illuminated the pathways.
Once seated, and separated from all the chaos around them by three sturdy walls, she settled down quickly and threw herself into conversation with the other matrons in their party—Roberta, the delightful Countess of Writtle, mother-in-law to the eldest Brookes daughter Faith who he still hadn’t met, and a very pleasant lady called Mrs Philpot who was apparently the family’s oldest and dearest friend as well as the mother of Charity’s wide-eyed best friend Dorothy. A young lady who seemed to have a great deal of trouble not staring at him and giggled and blushed like a beetroot whenever he spoke to her. As was expected at such gatherings, Luke placed himself among the gentlemen where Augustus typically held court. The Earl of Writtle proved to be good company and Mr Philpot, Dorothy’s jolly father, seemed to have a never-ending supply of jokes to keep everyone entertained. His serious son Griffith, however, seemed to find the whole thing a chore and had appointed himself his sister’s chaperon instead, which was likely a very good thing considering she was constantly being waylaid by Charity.
However, in all the jollity, and for the entire duration of the meal and while the orchestra played, it proved to be impossible to have any sort of meaningful conversation with Hope. All they managed were a few shared looks across the vast expanse of the table. Finally, as the palpable buzz of excitement signalled the fireworks were about to begin and he resigned himself to being thwarted from speaking to her properly yet again, Charity piped up.
‘Surely we are not staying here to watch them?’
‘Of course we are, dear.’ Full of ham and too much tart, Roberta had clearly taken root for the night and was horrified by the suggestion. ‘If we leave this box we shall lose it and have to stand with all the hundreds of people who couldn’t find a supper box for the orchestra’s final performance.’ She shuddered as if such a thing were, not so much an inconvenience, but entirely unacceptable. ‘Which would make us all a target for P-I-C-K-P-O-C-K-E-T-S.’
‘But the best views are at the other end of the gardens, nearest the firework tower.’ Charity pouted. ‘I should like to see them in all their glory without any obstructions.’
Her mother pointed up to clear night sky. ‘As the only obstructions are clouds and there aren’t any, why suffer the long walk when we only have to come back this way afterwards?’
‘Can Dorothy and I at least go? There is so much light here that it spoils the brilliance of the display. It’s less bright at the opposite end.’
‘By that she means it’s pitch black at the other end,’ muttered Griffith beside him through gritted teeth. ‘The Dark Walk is a notorious place for trysts and assignations.’
Which all sounded utterly perfect to Luke’s ears. ‘I would be happy to escort all the young ladies if the rest of you prefer to stay here.’ His gaze flicked to Hope’s briefly in case he had inadvertently announced his intentions to the entire party.
The younger Mr Philpot glared at him. ‘As would I.’ Although it was patently obvious he would much rather boil his own head than accompany him and was only doing so in case Luke had any designs on his little sister’s virtue.
‘Then it’s settled.’ In case it wasn’t, he stood and made sure to solicitously help both Charity and the giggling Miss Philpot to stand before he held out his hand to Hope who had yet to show any inclination to do so. ‘Will you be joining us?’
‘If I must.’ Her fingers touched his, awakening every single one of his nerve endings all in one go.
They set off in one close bundle, all three of the ladies in the middle and the two gentlemen flanking them at either end, but had hardly gone more than a hundred yards when Charity declared that the main route through the arches was too busy to manoeuvre swiftly and decided they should take the quieter Lover’s Walk instead. The name felt significant, and as Charity rushed ahead, dragging Giggling Dorothy and by default Grouchy Griffith as well, he and Hope trailed behind.
She seemed in no hurry to compete with the others, but if the several feet she put between them was any gauge, she was also in no hurry to be more intimate.
‘How is your mother?’
‘Surprisingly well, all things considered, and apparently determined to grab life by the horns.’
‘That’s good.’
‘It is.’
As there weren’t usually silences between them, this one hung heavy. Almost as if they were both suddenly timid of one another and awkwardly feeling their way on decidedly unchartered ground. Their eyes met, and ridiculously they both instantly looked away and his toes curled inside his boots as he racked his brains for a way to start the conversation he had been desperate to have since at least the last week.
‘Thank you for the roses.’
‘You are very welcome.’ Apparently his legendary gift of the gab and scintillating Duff charm had deserted him, and Hope now seemed determined not to look his way at all and was staring resolutely at the path ahead as if her life depended on it.
‘What did they mean?’
‘Nothing...’Coward!‘At least, beyond a friendly farewell.’ And now he was mirroring her dismissive words from their last night on the balcony, when he didn’t mean them at all.
