Page 72 of The Lady Knows Best

He half expected her to refuse, but she fell into step beside him as he strolled past the blacksmith’s forge toward a grassy patch that sloped down to the riverbank, the area that passed for a village green.

“What do you think of Lyneham?” he asked, apprehensive of her answer.

She was wearing the bonnet she had worn in the rose garden. Walking beside her, he could see nothing of her face but the point of her chin. “It’s prettily situated, certainly,” she said, with a nod toward the sparkling river as it danced past. She turned around to see the village laid out behind her. “Charming, despite its small size. Rather cut off from the world, for being just twenty-three miles from London.”

He couldn’t decide whether she had meant that as a criticism, or merely an observation. Most of the people born in Lyneham would die there, many without ever having seen anything farther from home than the nearest market town.

“A school would improve things, I suppose? Bring the world here?”

“It might,” she agreed.

“Some would say that educating the children of laborers will lead only to trouble and dissatisfaction,” he pointed out.

The bonnet’s brim dipped in a sort of nod—of acknowledgment rather than agreement. “People say many things.”

“Yes.” Miles scanned the water through narrowed eyes. “I ought to have done something in that line sooner, a regrettable omission—”

“But understandable, given your own experiences with schooling. It’s the sort of thing I suspect your mother might have done, had she lived. Or perhaps Mrs. Yearsley, if her husband didn’t hold such narrow views on the matter.”

Or perhaps it’s a task for the future Lady Deveraux? he was tempted to suggest.

Instead, he explained with a quiet laugh, “Mrs. Yearsley has been kept busy with eleven children of her own—she may fancy she’s running a school already.”

The corners of Daphne’s mouth lifted in an answering smile, and then, to his shock, she reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “It’s clear from the condition of the estate and the village you have been busy about other things. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Nothing? he wanted to exclaim.

Perhaps not to his tenants, though even there, it was a matter for some debate.

But as to Daphne, well, he owed her an apology for his presumption, his arrogance, his foolishness, his selfishness....

He’d wanted time to speak with her, but now that the moment was at hand, he realized it would never be enough. If he began his apologies now, he might be through half of them by the time they returned to Lyneham Park. But only if they walked. His curricle would speed them along far too quickly.

Some of his frustration must have communicated itself to her through the tension of his arm, but instead of dropping her hand, she tightened her grip. “I did not expect to like it here. But I do. Very much. The people, as well as the place.”

Steady now, he warned the bubble of hope determined to rise into his chest. She was likely referring to his grandmother.

But wouldn’t even that be a victory, unlooked for just a few days ago?

He laid a hand over hers. So many things he wanted to tell her, but his thoughts were tangled, the words caught in his throat. “You must at least allow me to make amends for my boldness last night, Daphne.”

“And how, exactly, does one make amends for something so thoroughly . . .” Her other hand wove a small circle, as if trying to conjure a suitable word.

“Shocking?” he suggested. “Scandalous?”

“Yes,” she agreed with a dip of her head. “But I was thinking of enjoyable.”

“Oh.” His heart stuttered, perhaps a result of the sudden rush of all his blood farther south. Alistair could say what he liked about Miles’s hidden depths, but in truth, he was a rake to his core. “I suppose in that case,” he retorted with a sly grin, “one offers to do it again.”

Daphne laid a finger at the corner of her mouth, as if considering. “Hmm.” Then tipped back her chin and laughed.

He supposed he ought to be grateful that Stalbridge chose that moment to emerge from the pub and shout a halloo across the green. Otherwise, Miles might have dropped to his knees on the spot and proved his willingness.

As it was, he had to stop and pretend to dig a pebble from the heel of his boot to disguise his flustered and aroused state.

By the time he reached the carriages, Ryland and Stalbridge had already assisted Miles’s grandmother to her seat in the barouche. The older man related how pleased he was by some tidbit about shearing he’d gleaned from an old farmer, and Alistair looked restored by an hour away from Hertfordshire’s deceptively lovely flora.

Lady Stalbridge and Bellis joined them a few moments later. Bell clambered into the barouche and patted the spot next to her. “Come and see the ribbon I found, Daph—just the shade I’ve been looking for!”