Page 26
Everyone stared at him. He sat and sniffed haughtily.
“How… delightful,” Seraphina said after a few seconds had passed in awkward silence.
Trevor stared at the pink patterning on the cream background of the wallpaper and bit his tongue, absolutely certain that he wasn’t supposed to say what he was thinking.
The stocky man coughed behind his fist. “Would you like to hear about my most recent hunt? I shot a stag. It was a majestic creature. The dogs and I followed it through the forest for hours before finally cornering it and dealing the fatal blow.”
Trevor tugged at his clothes, fighting the urge to tell the man that Seraphina wouldn’t be impressed by his hunting exploits. Trevor himself had hunted on occasion, but Seraphina had always found it barbaric and never refrained from saying as much.
Unless, of course, her perspective on the matter had changed. Would she find tales of his hunting prowess more impressive than his latest published article?
“What a demonstration of persistence,” Seraphina said faintly.
The man beamed. “I appreciate you saying so.”
The tall fellow made a show of checking the time. “I’m afraid I must be off, Miss Dalton. My literary society meets soon.” He bowed stiffly. “I look forward to seeing you next.”
“Good day, sir.”
As soon as he was gone, the golden-haired man claimed his seat, which was closer to her. “I wonder if I might interest you in riding with me tomorrow in Hyde Park?”
Seraphina smiled, but it was all for show. “I’d like that, Mr. Farnsworth.”
He stood. “Shall I collect you at two in the afternoon?”
“Yes, I’m available then.”
Looking smug, Mr. Farnsworth also took his leave. Trevor wasn’t sure what to make of the interaction. On the one hand, he could tell that Seraphina wasn’t truly interested in Mr. Farnsworth, which boded well for him, but on the other hand, there was every possibility she would accept his overtures for the same reason she might accept Trevor’s: desperation.
He was terribly conflicted about the fact that the lack of options was the only reason he might have a real chance with her because, while that was positive, he wanted her to want him back.
The hunter—whose name he still didn’t know—fussed with his pocket square, making sure it was just so. “If I haven’t already said it, you look lovely this morning, Miss Dalton.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tenant. You look handsome too.”
The man preened and puffed out his chest. Once more, Trevor couldn’t help thinking that society courtships were a lot like bird mating dances. Everyone flashed their feathers and hoped to attract the best females.
“That particular shade of pink flatters you,” Mr. Tenant went on, buoyed by her response. “You always have such an eye for fashion. Doesn’t she, Fitzgerald?”
Trevor kept his back straight and didn’t give in to the urge to sink into the furniture. “I must confess that I have no notion of fashion.” He met Seraphina’s gaze and found himself grinning, unable to look away from her beautiful eyes. “But your irises remind me of the forget-me-nots in the eastern part of the garden at Nunhaven.”
From his periphery, he could sense Mr. Tenant staring at him like he had bared his bottom, but Seraphina’s expression softened. His insides fluttered like a kaleidoscope of butterflies had taken flight, and he knew he must be gaping like a lovesick fool, but he couldn’t seem to stop.
“That might be the nicest comparison anyone has ever made,” she said quietly. “The gardens at Nunhaven are beyond compare, and everyone knows that is largely because of you.”
His heart skipped. “I help where I can, but we have an excellent team of gardeners.”
She shook her head, her mouth curved in a secret smile he didn’t know how to interpret. “You never give yourself enough credit.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Tenant cut in. “If Miss Dalton says you are an accomplished gardener, then you must possess a lighter, more graceful touch than most men. One can only admire such a delicate temperament in a gentleman.”
“Plants are remarkably resilient,” Trevor said, certain he had just been insulted, although he didn’t understand how. “I have no doubt they can withstand more than most humans.”
Mr. Tenant laughed. “Potatoes, perhaps. But flowers? I think not.” He looked at Seraphina, and something on her face gave him pause. He stood abruptly. “I have taken up enough of your time. I’ll see you again soon, Miss Dalton.”
The instant he was out the door, Seraphina heaved a massive sigh. “Can you credit that cad trying to claim ‘She Walks in Beauty’ as an original work and honestly thought I was foolish enough to believe him?”
Trevor relaxed, the tension easing from his rigid muscles now that they were alone except for the maid. “Is that what that poem was? I knew it was familiar, but poetry isn’t my area of expertise.”
