Page 32 of The Lady Knows Best

“Downstairs,” insisted Lady Viviane. “They’re your guests, too, Lord Hawes. And yours, Lord Percival,” she added in a slightly louder voice, but the other boy did not emerge from his hiding place.

“Isn’t Aunt Daphne coming?” asked the elder boy.

Lady Viviane and Daphne exchanged what could only be described as a series of speaking glances, accompanied by furtive hand movements. Miles could not make heads or tails of what they were attempting to communicate, and perhaps Daphne faced a similar struggle, for in the end, Lady Viviane heaved a resigned sigh and said, “I’m sure she’ll be down soon.”

Daphne nodded. “In a few moments.”

With only one backward, chiding glance for Daphne, Lady Viviane led young Lord Hawes away. Near the door, they were joined by his younger brother, whose red hair was now sticking up on end and whose cheeks appeared to be streaked with blood.

“That’ll be the juice of some berry he’s found. Cook hides the shrubs up here, hoping to protect them long enough to bake a tart,” Daphne explained with a shake of her head, watching Lady Viviane shepherd them through the door. “I would say I hope that the child Erica is expecting is a girl, but given the sorts of things Bell and I got into at that age, I fear it wouldn’t be much of a reprieve.”

Miles chuckled. “Now, why am I not surprised to learn you were a mischief-maker?”

“At least I outgrew the habit.”

He ushered her back to the shaded bench. “I’m not so sure.”

“And just what is that remark supposed to mean?” she demanded, rounding on him.

“If you had sworn off mischief entirely, you wouldn’t be the favorite aunt,” he said, sitting down in defiance of good manners and patting the space beside him. “You wouldn’t be involved with Goode’s Guide to Misconduct. And you wouldn’t have stayed up here with me.”

Despite looking affronted, she did sit down, though farther away than he’d hoped.

When a long silent moment passed, he asked, “Are you afraid that if we converse, you might discover something likeable about me? That you might find me amiable, amusing, attractive?”

Her lips twitched. “Not in the slightest.”

“Then I wonder why you insisted upon a courtship at all. If it distresses you, we could just go ahead and get married without it.” He slid closer and lightly covered her hand with his. “I can have a special license in hand first thing tomorrow.”

She jerked free of his touch. If it were not made of stone, the bench would have swayed with the force of her movement. “You needn’t keep reminding me of your power over me, my lord.”

Miles disguised his own uncertainty by gripping the edge of the bench.

“I suppose that’s why you sent me those quills—to mock me, as you did with that song.”

“Mock you?” he echoed, genuinely astonished. “Is it not a custom of proper courtship for a gentleman to send a token of his esteem?”

“Gentlemen send flowers.” The governess-y tone was back, a sort of exaggerated patience, as if she were delivering a lesson in etiquette to an unruly boy. “Bellis gets them by the cartload. Daisies, usually.”

If he hadn’t been watching, he would have missed the slight wobble of her chin as she spoke those words.

He didn’t think she begrudged her sister those gifts. Not exactly, anyway. But with every bouquet of flowers, every reminder of her talented and famous elder siblings, she swallowed a pang of something like jealousy. Often enough that it had become little more than a reflexive tickle in her throat.

And he had unwittingly made that irritation worse.

“I’m quite aware gentlemen send flowers.” He forced a lightness into his tone. “And setting aside any debate over whether that dubious distinction applies to me, I did in fact speak with the clerk at the florist’s shop, who explained to me the botanical meaning of your lovely name.” It was a source of some amusement in certain circles that all the Burke siblings were named after plants. “But a few branches from a shrub laden with poisonous berries didn’t seem quite the thing.”

That made her snicker. Reluctantly, to be sure. Just the tiniest hint of a laugh.

Nevertheless, his chest swelled with pride; he always enjoyed pleasing women. “I thought quills would be at least as apt as Bellis’s daisies. Something befitting the woman you really are. Sharp, yes, but soft too. Strong, but delicate.”

Like most women, in one way or another, he supposed. But they’d seemed to him a particularly perfect gift for Daphne.

“I pictured you writing your column with them,” he finished simply.

She would start out with a straight spine and a spotless page. But as she went on, warming toward her subject, her quill would fly. Gradually, as if pouring a bit of herself into her words, she would bend her head closer to the paper.

He’d imagined pressing his lips to the soft skin that peeked between the collar of her dress and the few stray wisps of hair that tickled the back of her neck.