Page 31 of The Lady Knows Best

She tipped her head toward the house. “The conservatory. On the roof.”

“Oh, of course. Much obliged.” And before he could ask her anything further, questions that could not be so easily answered, he bowed and moved to go back, in the direction from whence he’d come, aware of her watching him until he’d disappeared around a bend in the path.

As he made his way through the lower level of the house, toward the stairs, he understood how a salmon might feel, swimming upstream—particularly if all the other salmon had been traveling the opposite direction and had been determined to avoid him. But a floor above that, the crowds cleared. He passed the family apartments, the nursery and schoolroom, without laying eyes on another person. Had he misunderstood Miss Bellis’s directions? Surely any minute someone would call out for him to stop and demand to know where he thought he was going.

He tried very hard not to think of what Alistair had said about the duke’s ability to slip a knife between a man’s ribs without ever making a sound.

At the top of a narrow staircase, he passed through a low door and emerged into another garden, built on the flat portion of the roof at the back of the house, with a small glasshouse that shone like a diamond in the sun.

Out of nowhere appeared a slight, copper-haired boy of about six, who tilted his head, looked Miles up and down, and said, “Who’re you?”

“Deveraux,” he said, when blinking to clear his vision of sunspots didn’t also make the elfin-looking child disappear.

“Oh. They’ve been talking about you,” said the boy, who then scurried away without offering to introduce himself in turn.

Here, the garden was contained in pots and stone-bordered beds, and the only shade came from a simple wooden arbor, where Daphne and a dark-haired woman were seated on a bench. As he approached, another child leaped into his path, this one a little older, with brown hair, carrying a wooden sword. “Password,” he demanded.

Miles considered his options. “Flowers?”

The boy shook his head.

“Shrubbery?”

The sword rose menacingly. “Last try.”

“Rowan Arthur,” scolded the dark-haired woman.

“Aw, Aunt Vivi, you’ve spoiled it,” the boy cried, stepping aside, his weapon drooping at his side.

“I’m much obliged, ma’ am,” Miles said, approaching the bench. Both women stood. “I’m sure I would’ve been run through before I could work it out.”

“It’s password,” Daphne said, sounding vaguely amused.

“The password is password?”

She nodded, a smile threatening to curve her lips. “Lady Viviane Laurens, I’m sure you know Lord Deveraux.”

“By reputation.” The duke’s sister gave a shallow curtsy as Miles bowed.

“And this is my nephew,” Daphne said, laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “the Marquess of Hawes.”

The lad tucked his weapon into his belt and thrust out a hand.

Miles shook hands with him. “An honor, my lord. And I suppose that was your brother I saw a moment ago?”

“Percy,” the boy acknowledged with a grimace. “I might’ve known better than to let him guard the door. Sorry, Aunt Daphne.”

“It’s all right,” Daphne said, still not meeting Miles’s eye. “We knew our sanctuary would be breached eventually. Your mama’s plants are the buried treasure of the garden party.”

The boy gave a somber nod.

“Come,” said Lady Viviane, laying a hand around her nephew’s shoulders, “we should go down. I didn’t realize guests had already begun to arrive.”

“You’ll find quite a crush below,” Miles told her. “I can’t imagine why more of them haven’t sought refuge up here.”

“They require sustenance before making the climb,” explained the boy and then added in a confidential whisper, “That’s a fancy way of saying they all come to drink my papa’s wine cellar dry.”

Daphne made a choked noise. “Rowan! Where did you hear that? Have you been eavesdropping again?”