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“Miss Sparrow.” She raked her disapproving gaze over Sylvia’s comparatively dull form. “I have yet to see you in anything other than gray, brown, and that particularly hideous gown that resembled animal droppings.”
“That was fawn, madam,” Sylvia calmly explained.
“The name isn’t the issue. You need a little morecolorin your life.”
“I agree,” Georgiana said pointedly, drowning out Sylvia’s weak protest. “Perhaps we can find something for you in Glasgow. You will need a new wardrobe before you leave for your trip.”
Mrs. Crawford’s eyes sharpened. “A splendid idea, Georgie. Now, lend Miss Sparrow one of your shawls. The sapphire one will do wonders for her complexion, don’t you think?”
“Oh yes.” Georgiana’s smile rivaled the Cheshire cat, and she immediately disappeared into her room and called for her maid, Bea.
“Really, Mrs. Crawford,” Sylvia pleaded. “This isn’t––”
The older woman held up a hand. “I’m not interested in your excuses, nor your thanks. I am merely doing my duty. You are a young woman who has lived much of her life away from society, but that doesn’t mean you need to dress like a schoolmarm.”
Sylvia lowered her eyes and bit her lip. “Yes, madam. I appreciate you thinking of me.”
Georgiana returned with the shawl and drew it smartly around Sylvia’s shoulders. “There,” she said with an air of satisfaction. “It suits you perfectly. I’m afraid you’ll just have to keep it.”
Sylvia ran her fingers over the delicate paisley-patterned silk that covered her shoulders. This was far finer than anything she had ever dreamed of owning. She glanced up and met Georgiana’s eyes. “Thank you.”
The viscountess gave her a soft smile. “My pleasure.”
“Very good,” Mrs. Crawford grumbled. “Now let’s move along. I won’t sit anywhere near that dashed Mr. Thompson again. The man lumbers along like an ox. And smells even worse!”
***
A little while later, Mr. Davies appeared in the upstairs parlor resplendent in forest-green tweeds. Sylvia suddenly felt rather shy, as if he could tell just by looking at her that she had spent the better part of the day thinking of him. If the man noticed, he didn’t give any indication. He took a seat diagonally across from her and greeted everyone with the same warm cordiality he always did. Sylvia let out a little breath of relief and began buttering her scone. After a moment Mr. Davies spoke.
“That is a lovely shawl, Miss Sparrow.”
Sylvia looked up so sharply it was a wonder her head didn’t fly off. “Oh. Thank you, Mr. Davies.”
Mrs. Crawford not-so-subtly leaned over to catch Sylvia’s eye and gave her a significant look. The wordsSee? Didn’t I tell you?may as well have been written above her head for all to read. Sylvia had to take an enormous bite of dry scone just to keep from laughing, but Georgiana, who was sitting between them, was less successful. Mr. Davies took notice of the viscountess’s quaking shoulders and flashed her an amused look. “Is there something I’m missing?”
“Not at all, sir.” The reply would have been slightly more convincing if she wasn’t simultaneously wiping away a tear.
Sylvia chewed solemnly and stared up at the room’s vaulted stone ceiling until it felt safe to proceed. But as soon as Georgiana glanced at her, the two burst out into a rather raucous fit of laughter. For the space of a few moments they were girls again, running through the meadows that surrounded their school, spying on the strapping village boys while they swam naked in the local swimming pond, and giggling in a back pew during church service. She had forgotten that lightness.
When Sylvia was well and truly recovered, everyone was shooting them veiled looks of disapproval––as no one woulddareto outright frown at the viscountess––everyone except Mr. Davies. He was smiling at the pair of them with a fondness that made her heart turn over. This man may well be a rake, but there was something more there. More than he would ever reveal without a little prompting and probably a great deal of trust. As their eyes met, an unfamiliar kind of desire kindled within her. A kind that wasn’t born of aching passion or burning lust, but a desire to understand and be understood. The joie de vivre that seemed to cling to Mr. Davies slowly faded to reveal an unfamiliar intensity. How could anyone look upon this man and see nothing more than a raffish scoundrel?
As if he had heard the very thought, Mr. Davies swallowed hard and looked away. Leaving Sylvia with the distinct feeling that she had done something wrong. And had been dismissed once again.
***
Rafe tore his gaze away from Miss Sparrow’s and made sure to look in her general direction as little as possible for the rest of tea. Every time he did, Mrs. Crawford vibrated like a damned tuning fork. But no one could accuse him of anything more than politeness––if only because they couldn’t hear his thoughts.
The meal finally came to a merciful end. A short program of piano music performed by some of the guests was the afternoon’s entertainment. Rafe hadn’t planned on attending, but the thought of fruitlessly rifling through another drawer of underclothes held little appeal. When Miss Sparrow shot him a curious glance before dutifully following her employer, the decision was made. But Rafe held himself back. What happened next needed to look like a coincidence. If people noticed him paying her any particular attention, tongues would begin to wag, and it would be Miss Sparrow’s reputation that suffered.
He waited a moment, then fell in step with an older gentleman, Mr. Leonard, and his son Bert. Mr. Leonard had once been Wardale’s lawyer and had recently sold his very successful law practice, but it seemed unlikely that his son would follow in his father’s footsteps. Bert was one of the few male guests around Rafe’s age, but the callow young man could barely tie his shoelaces, never mind engage in subterfuge.
Rafe exchanged a few friendly words with the stoic old barrister. The man had a quiet, unassuming air, but Bert couldn’t have been more different. As soon as he had the chance, the fop sidled up to Rafe as if they were old friends. Rafe had to force himself not to step away, as this was exactly the type of man he wassupposedto be friends with.
“That Miss Sparrow is rather pretty, don’t you think? I thought she was quite plain at first. Hard not to when the viscountess is present,” he said with a suggestive wink. Rafe’s jaw tightened in outrage over the lad’s shameless shallowness, but hadn’t he had the very same thought? How much had changed in only a matter of days…
“I’ll have to pay her more attention,” Bert continued. “Maybe even ask her to take a walk through the labyrinth with me. Plenty of privacy in there.”
And he was handsome enough for her to be tempted by the offer. The image of Bert snatching a kiss from Miss Sparrow in one of the labyrinth’s dead ends flashed through his mind.
