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“Why will you refuse to answer me?” she said quietly. “Because it is far easier if I dislike you, isn’t it?”
His lips tightened, but he didn’t look at her. “How perceptive of you, Lady Andromeda.”
Granby said not one more word to her as they traveled through the woods together, the silence so deafening, Romy wanted to scream. Or kick his shin. Anything to shatter the chilling blandness he forced between them.
As they passed the pond, Lord and Lady Carstairs appeared on the path, carrying their fishing poles. Rebecca was flushed, her hair tangled. When her shawl slipped, Romy could see the back of her gown was buttoned incorrectly. Her eyes, full of ill-concealed malice, darted between Romy and Granby.
“Lady Andromeda, what a surprise to see you out walking.” Her lips lit with a sly grin, perhaps hoping for a scrape of gossip she could circulate.
“I walk often,” Romy stated, focused on getting away from all of them as quickly as possible.
“As do I,” Granby intoned. “One of my tenants reported a gypsy encampment in my woods. I thought to seek it out and found Lady Andromeda instead. Sketching.” He nodded to the leather portfolio. “I’ve reminded her to stay closer to the estate.”
Carstairs nodded, satisfied with the explanation.
“How good of you to do so,” Rebecca said, glancing once more at Romy, her eyes searching for any sign of torn lace before focusing on Romy’s swollen lips.
“I checked the pond first.” Granby looked directly at Rebecca until she blushed up to the roots of her hair and took a step closer to her husband. “Best fix your wife’s dress, Carstairs, before you reach the house. You know how guests talk at a house party. Iabhorgossip of any kind.”
His implication was clear. Granby expected them both to not repeat seeing him and Andromeda together. Romy thought Carstairs would comply. The same could not be said of Rebecca, once the shock of Granby’s threat wore off.
“Of course, Your Grace.” Carstairs shot his wife a meaningful glance before bowing, allowing Romy and Granby to pass.
