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‘In what way?’ she asked. It would not do to let him off the hook so easily. And, of course, he might be the veteran of goodness knew how many botched proposals, although that did seem rather unlikely.
‘I began with shocking suggestions about making love to you and then followed that up with an exceedingly prosaic proposal.’ Giles sounded gloomy enough to have been thinking carefully about the matter.
‘True. Both shocking and prosaic, a most peculiar mixture.’
‘May I try again?’
‘To make love or to propose?’
‘I suspect that reversing the order might be advisable this time.’ When she turned her head to look at him she found he was watching her and that the gloomy tone was lightened by the hint of a smile.
‘You are trying to make me laugh, Giles. You are a rogue and I suppose you know that perfectly well. Yes, you may try again, but I warn you now, I am expecting to refuse again.’ She rather thought he was offering her dream, her heart’s desire that she did not deserve and, without love, she did not think she could bear it. She should have trusted him, talked to him and, surely, it was too late now?
‘Shall we sit on that bench? It is shielded by roses on either side, we will not be overheard, but it is not compromisingly secluded.’ Giles took her nod as approval and turned to cross the grass to the seat.
It was a very good choice, Laurel decided. The roses smelt delightful and certainly added some much-needed romance. ‘Very well, Lord Revesby, you have my full attention.’ She folded her hands together neatly in her lap, tucked her feet under her skirts and regarded him with all the prim solemnity she could conjure up. Giles had always known how to make her laugh and she should not be yielding to the temptation to tease him back now, but, oh, he did so lift her spirits.
‘I am a rogue? You are deliberately trying to put me out of countenance with your Puritan Miss impersonation.’
‘I am waiting, my lord.’
Giles rolled his eyes, took a large handkerchief from his pocket, laid it out on the grass and went down on one knee.
‘Lord Revesby! We are in public.’ She reached out and tugged at his shoulder. Of course the wretched man did not stir.
‘Lady Laurel, I am attempting to perform an adequately romantic proposal in the correct style.’
‘Well, stop it this moment before someone who knows me sees us. Look—that group of ladies is walking this way! Get up, do, Giles, pretend you have dropped something. I despair of you—why should I marry a man who is as provoking now as he was as a boy?’
‘Because I make you laugh?’ Giles stood up, retrieved his handkerchief and sat down beside her again, just in time before the ladies passed by.
‘Making me laugh is better than making me cry, but it is hardly the basis of a sound marriage. But you did give me all the sensible reasons yesterday evening so I suppose the more...emotional ones are still to be discussed.’
‘Laurel, I can give you liking and respect and friendship. Years of shared memories and dreams.’ He did not try to take her hands, or move closer and, somehow, that made her believe more in his sincerity.
‘But not love.’
‘Damnation, here comes another flock of chaperons. I could swear it is the local branch of the Society for the Suppression of Vice, on patrol.’
This time the ladies, a trio, sat down on the next bench, close enough for the murmur of their voices to be heard, if not their words. Laurel managed, somehow, not to give way to giggles.
‘I refuse to discuss this in a whisper,’ Giles said.
‘Quite. Oh, no, here are the first group coming back and I recognise at least one of them. Mrs Atkinson, good afternoon.’ Laurel bowed slightly. Mrs Atkinson, one of Phoebe’s bosom bows, returned the gesture, glanced at Giles and walked on with her friends. They stopped a few yards away to admire a sundial.
‘And I have just realised that one of the group on the bench is Lady Druitt, who c
ame to visit my father the other morning as I was leaving. We are going to have to move, this place is like Almack’s on a Wednesday night.’ Giles was beginning to look hunted.
‘There’s the labyrinth, but at least three parties have gone in while we have been in the garden and no one has come out,’ Laurel said. ‘The children and nursemaids are all over on the other side of the lawns—are there any other areas?’
Giles dug in his pockets and took out the little map of the grounds that they had been given with their tickets. ‘There’s a Wilderness, over by the sham castle.’ He pointed. ‘I can’t recall seeing anyone go that way. Shall we stroll over there now before anyone else appears?’
Arm in arm, Laurel demurely twirling her parasol, they strolled towards the shady side of the grounds where the faux ruins could be glimpsed above small tress and artfully wild shrubbery.
‘I asked about love,’ she prompted.
She saw Giles look down at her hand on his arm. She was very conscious of his masculinity, the strength under her fingers, the muscles in the long thighs hinted at beneath the tight buckskin of his breeches. ‘I can promise you truthfulness and trust,’ he said before the silence became awkward.
