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“You must not…” His expression shifted and shuttered, and he studied the door through which Althea had entered the garden. He was silent for a moment, as if a voice only he could hear was presenting evidence only he could consider. “I would appreciate your discretion regarding any sightings of the odd man on foot by the river.”
“Of course. I will ask my staff to avoid going near the river at dawn and dusk. I will avoid it myself at those times if you wish.”
“I do so wish.”
Four words, but how they disappointed Althea. Rothhaven would apparently make no more exceptions for her, and her good cheer was choked by the knowledge that she had blunderedyet againinto a situation where she was not welcome.
Except that wasn’t quite right. Rothhaven had played cribbage with her—three games—and he’d taken tea with her in his own garden. He’d also been enormously helpful to her where the Lady Phoebes of the world were concerned. Just as Althea was certain nobody else had taken tea with him at dawn, so too, nobody else had been half so insightful regarding her social ambitions.
And all he wanted now was to be free of her company.
“It’s time I was on my way,” she said, rising. “Thank you very much for the hospitality, Your Grace.”
He stood and offered his arm, something of a surprise, but then, a proper host escorted guests to the door.
“Aren’t you ever lonely?” Althea asked. “Don’t you ever want to drop by the posting inn and have a pint with the lads?”
“The lads would back away in horror.”
“No, they wouldn’t. They’d boast of your company all the way to York.”
“Exactly why the posting inn will do without my custom.” Rothhaven unlatched the garden door, bowed her through, then joined her outside the garden walls. “You must not come back here, my lady. It serves no purpose and does your reputation no credit. You should not be wandering alone even on your own property.”
“Balderdash. If Lady Phoebe heard I’d taken tea with you, she’d become my dearest friend.”
Rothhaven closed his eyes as if assailed by a megrim. “Althea, please promise me that you will never, not for any provocation or bribe—”
Althea pressed her fingers to his lips, and he opened his eyes. “Never,everbeg. A wise man told me that. Friends respect each other’s confidences, Rothhaven. You have been a friend to me, and I don’t abuse the trust of my friends. I never saw this magnificent garden, I did not encounter you down by the river, and I have never entertained you in my home. I understand.”
He caught her hand in his, his grip warm and firm. “You do not understand. You cannot possibly. I barely comprehend my situation myself at times.”
Althea wanted to understand, but all she knew was that Rothhaven would lock that garden door behind her, and she was unlikely to speak with him again. She’d see him galloping breakneck under a moonlit sky or stealing off to the vicarage once the days grew short.
But speak with him? Laugh with him? Break bread with him? He would not allow it.
Very well. Friends respected each other’s decisions. Never,everbeg.
“Do you know what else friends do?” Althea asked, stepping closer.
Rothhaven’s eyes were bleak and wary. He’d clearly already locked the garden door in his mind.
“Having known few who merit the termfriend, the answer to your question eludes me.”
“Sometimes”—Althea closed the remaining distance between them—“friends kiss each other good-bye.” She was being bold, but then, His Grace’s every admonition and instruction to her had been about boldness, about seizing control of a situation and bending it to her will. She had no wish to bend Rothhaven to her will, though she did very much want to leave him with something to think about, something personal to her.
She felt rather than saw the surprise flare through him, but he didn’t flee behind his walls, didn’t step away or laugh. In fact, he bent his head the merest fraction of an inch closer.
“Do they, my lady? Do they indeed?”
“This isn’t right.” Lord Stephen Wentworth could not stalk about in high dudgeon, but he nonetheless crossed the breakfast parlor, a cane in each hand, as his siblings regarded him warily.
More warily than usual, rather. “Althea should be here with us,” he went on. “She always spends the Season in Town, and if you lot believe the charms of Yorkshire in spring—which temporary blessing won’tarriveto Yorkshire until July—have seduced her from the blandishments of our company, you are fools.”
Quinn took the bait, as Stephen would have predicted. Quinn was head of the family and more of a duke with each passing year.
“When you are through insulting the only people to regularly put up with your rudeness,my lord, you might consider that Althea is an adult. You have no use for polite society, so why would you expect her to travel hundreds of miles for the privilege of tea with a lot of gossiping viscountesses?”
“Because she has a use for us,” Stephen retorted. “We are her family.”
