Page 44 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

They gathered Lord Ravenswood and Arabella a short time later, leaving the bright noise of the village green behind them.

Chapter 16

The air in the Ashwell woods smelled sharply of damp earth, crushed fern, and old bark. It was a grounding, ancient scent that effectively stripped away the cloying, perfumed memory of London drawing rooms. Thomas Briggs led the way, navigating the winding, overgrown paths through towering oak and ash.

Edmund walked a few paces behind Thomas, keeping his steps measured. Up ahead, Julian and Arabella were climbing a slight incline, their voices carrying back in bursts of bright conversation. Directly beside Edmund walked Corinna.

She wore a practical walking dress of deep navy, the hem already dusted with dry earth and a few stubborn burrs. She did not complain about the uneven ground, the low-hanging branches, or the distinct lack of paved walkways. Instead, she moved through the forest with a vibrant energy, her gray eyes taking in the shifting canopy above them.

“You navigate these woods as if you laid the paths yourself, Mr. Briggs,” Julian called out, turning to offer his hand to help Arabella over a moss-covered log. Julian was wearing a fine burgundy riding coat that was entirely inappropriate for a hike, and he was taking great pains to avoid a patch of mud.

“I spent most of my childhood running through them, my lord,” Thomas replied, not missing a single beat as he stepped over a tangled root. “If you know where the roots are, you rarely stumble.”

Edmund watched the exchange, his jaw tightening briefly. Thomas Briggs was entirely too perceptive. The man had spent the morning offering polite, perfectly acceptable answers, yet his dark eyes constantly swept over Edmund, assessing the rigid line of his shoulders and the cheap wool of his brown coat.

“It is entirely peaceful here,” Arabella said, breathless but smiling as she released Julian’s hand. She looked around the dense woodland, her gentle brown eyes wide. “London feels as though it exists in another world.”

“London is a theater,” Julian agreed easily, falling into step beside her. “This is reality. Though I must confess, reality is doing terrible things to my boots.”

“You should have worn thicker leather, my lord,” Corinna noted, casting a wry glance at Julian’s expensive, polished footwear. “The country does not care about fashion.”

“A tragic flaw in the landscape,” Julian sighed dramatically, making Arabella laugh.

They walked for another hour as the morning stretched lazily into the afternoon. The land opened and closed around them, dense thickets giving way to sudden, sun-drenched clearings. There was no performance required here. Edmund felt the constant, exhausting vigilance that had gripped him since the beginning of the Season slowly begin to bleed away. He could just be a man walking in the woods.

Eventually, Thomas led them into a grassy clearing bordered by ancient, twisting oaks.

“We can rest here,” he announced, dropping a small woven satchel of provisions onto a flat boulder. “The house is still an hour’s walk back, and the sun is at its highest.”

They arranged themselves comfortably in the clearing. Julian sat on a fallen log beside Arabella, while Edmund remained standing, rolling his stiff shoulders. Corinna took a seat on the edge of the large boulder, accepting a slice of bread and cheese from Thomas.

“You mentioned earlier that you had traveled extensively, my lord,” Corinna said, turning her attention to Julian. “Did you find the European forests as agreeable as ours?”

Julian leaned back, balancing a piece of bread on his knee. “The forests, yes. The cities, however, were an entirely different matter. They were beautiful, but full of… complications.”

“Complications?” Arabella echoed, tilting her head.

Julian glanced at Edmund, a brief, silent question passing between them. Edmund gave a barely perceptible shrug. He was entirely exhausted by the constant lying, and a fraction of the truth felt like a necessary release.

“I met Mr. Marsh in Naples,” Julian said quietly. His usual boisterous charm faded into something much more grounded. “He was… well, he was young, and he had managed to involve himself with a rather unsavory crowd. He owed a substantial debt to a man who did not accept apologies instead of coin.”

Edmund stiffened. His hands curled into fists at his sides. Julian was telling the absolute truth of their meeting, merely swapping their roles to maintain the masquerade. But being forced to play the part of the helpless, indebted fool chafed against every aristocratic instinct Edmund possessed.

“I was foolish, my lord,” Edmund interrupted gruffly, staring intently at the grass. “It is not a tale for polite company.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Marsh. It shows character,” Julian countered smoothly, though a flicker of dark amusement danced in his eyes. “I found him cornered in a rather grim alleyway behind a tavern. Three men were intent on breaking several of his bones to settle the ledger.”

Arabella gasped softly, her hands resting over her heart as she watched Julian’s face.

“I did not hesitate, of course,” Julian continued, playing the noble earl to absolute perfection. “I stepped between Mr. Marsh and those armed thugs. I paid the debt without a single question, and I pulled him out of the dirt.”

Edmund gritted his teeth. He felt an uncomfortable flush rising to the back of his neck. It was agonizing to stand there and listen to his own rescue being narrated back to him as a charity case. He was a man who approached everything with clinical detachment and duty. He hated appearing weak.

“It was a practical calculation on your lordship’s part, I am sure,” Edmund muttered, refusing to look up. “The thugs were entirely disorganized. I could have managed them.”

“You were bleeding from the eyebrow and entirely out of coin, my friend,” Julian corrected gently. “But you have served me faithfully ever since.”

Corinna did not look at Julian. She kept her gaze fixed entirely on Edmund. He could feel the sheer weight of her stare. She was watching his discomfort at being painted as the rescued dependent.