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“Lady Andromeda.” Miss Waterstone bobbed politely with a shy smile. “It appeared you would partner with Mr. Estwood.” Her lovely features took on a wistful look as she glanced in his direction.
Romy took note of her interest. “I’m not yet in the mood for a game, and Lady Mildred was eager to play.” She took Miss Waterstone’s arm. “Shall we walk for a bit? The day is fine, and the duke’s gardens are oddly magnificent.”
“Oddly?”
“I only meant, based on first impressions of the duke, His Grace doesn’t seem the sort of gentleman to harbor such a wild display of flora. I pictured neatly trimmed hedges and constrained vines. Possibly a small maze with a Minotaur lurking in the middle. His head gardener—”
“Oh, His Grace has had several. He’sveryparticular. I understand his father was much the same.”
“That is exactly my point, Miss Waterstone. This profusion of blooms seems out of character for Granby and far more exotic than I would have imagined.” Romy peered closer. “I’ve no idea what that particular bush is, for instance.” She pointed to a cluster of bright, papery pink flowers.
“The name escapes me.” Miss Waterstone tapped her lips with a forefinger. “The duke has a greenhouse which contains all manner of flowers, shrubs, and vines used to much warmer climates. A hobby of his, I think.”
Miss Waterstone appeared to have a great deal of information about the Duke of Granby.
“How unusual.”
“Greenhouses are fairly common, my lady.”
“Of course.” It was Granby’s penchant for growing things which confused her. Clawing, half-dead vines filled with thorns seemed more in character. “How would you come by such knowledge?” Surely Granby didn’t spend an inordinate amount of time with Miss Waterstone.
Romy bristled at the thought.
“His Grace has business dealings with my father, so this is not my first visit to The Barrow, my lady.” She paused. “I think at one time my father thought to make a match between myself and the duke, which is preposterous. Granby has much higher expectations for his duchess.”
Romy mulled the comment over, thinking it accurate. “Is that how you met Mr. Estwood? At The Barrow?” She squeezed her arm. “I noted your interest earlier.”
Miss Waterstone’s cheeks bloomed pink. “Mr. Estwood advises the duke on his investments, some of which involve my father. Much to my father’s displeasure, Estwood sees fit to accompany the duke to business meetings and the like. He finds Estwood beneath him.” Miss Waterstone placed a hand on Romy’s arm. “Not the duke,” she rushed to assure Romy. “I meant my father.”
Miss Waterstone’s lisp became less pronounced the longer she spoke and relaxed in Romy’s company. Romy wondered if her new friend had ever spoken to a physician about her speech problem. “A title doesn’t make a man.”
“No, but breeding does. It is the only thing I think the duke and my father have in common, outside of business.”
“Yet, Granby is friends with Estwood. Doesn’t that strike you as contrary, Miss Waterstone?”
She nodded slowly. “I was surprised to find Mr. Estwood attending the house party.” Her eyes lifted to the green where Estwood stood with Mildred.
“You should speak to him.” Romy inclined her chin. “Mr. Estwood.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” Her lisp increased. “I’d only embarrass us both and possibly anger the duke, which I certainly do not wish to do. I find him,” she lowered her voice, “intimidating. Which isn’t surprising. Miss Eddison says I am afraid of my own shadow.”
Romy looked over at Miss Waterstone’s chaperone, who resembled nothing so much as a mushroom with her rumpled dress of gray wool puffed out about her sallow, wrinkled cheeks.
“A toadstool,” she said aloud. “Not you, Miss Waterstone. You’re lovely.”
“You are very kind to me.” Her lips trembled slightly. “I wish I was braver. More like you, Lady Andromeda. I think you quite fearless, and you have excellent taste in clothing.”
“Me? I grant you my fashion sense.” Romy grinned. “But I am not brave; I am only the victim of an awful temper which, once unleashed, loosens my tongue. That is not bravery, Miss Waterstone, but stupidity.”
“I esteem you nonetheless, Lady Andromeda.”
“I would be honored if you would call me Romy. At least when we are together. We are friends, are we not?” Romy truly liked this shy, reserved girl.
“We are. And it would please me, my lady, if you would call me Lucy. Romy is short for Andromeda, I take it? From the myth?” Lucy, when she smiled genuinely, was quite lovely. Beautiful, even. She only needed the proper incentive to relax and step out of her shell.
“And a constellation. When my father was alive”—she hesitated slightly, feeling a tiny press of grief over her heart—“he and my mother were great admirers of the night sky. It was an interest they both shared. There were many mornings my sisters and I would find them on a blanket together on the lawn. They’d fallen asleep, you see, watching the stars together.”
Lucy stopped and took Romy’s hand. “You miss him very much.”
