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“Do you?”
“Well, not as such.” Another sound emitted from the ducal person, akin to the grind of a rusty water pump. “His Highness has deemed it so, and I find myself constrained by his wishes.”
He inched closer. “You have traveled the globe.”
“Sadly not.” Very sadly, not so at all. “There are great swathes I have not seen, nor shall I, I suppose.”
“Will you not?”
Let them discuss travel, then. “I have no companion, as my brother is now content to remain on home soil. Even though companions may be hired, I cannot imagine traveling with a stranger.” She could see this much human engagement was taxing his fortitude. “I, too, am to live at Lowell Hall,” she said. “Shall we fix a time to, to meet?”
The duke crept closer still, his eyes uncannily bright even in the darkness. He tilted his chin again and appeared to assess the air. Whatever he scented had him backing up a step, then another, and then, as if he had never been there, he was gone.
A shiver of preternatural fear coursed through Tabitha’s body. Even with the ill health he radiated, his power was palpable and his demeanor forbidding. She did not know where to start or, indeed, what use she could be at all. She suspected she had no idea what to do.
That had never stopped her before.
***
What had stopped her was the duke’s unwillingness to be pinned down. His Grace was adept at avoiding the denizens of the Hall in general and herself in particular. He began as he intended to go on and eluded her during the great bonfire celebration at Arcadia. Once she and Timothy settled in the cottage, Tabitha sent His Grace several notes via eager footmen, of which Lowell had an inordinate amount. She hesitated to knock upon the ducal door, as humble as it was, but if the part of the park she now wandered brought her near to Llewellyn’s sanctuary, then what of it? She had yet to investigate this particular grove—who knew what she would find?
Today, she found a duke.
A rustle in the shrubbery alerted Tabitha to his presence, and the rising sun cast just enough light through the trees to reveal Llewellyn’s shadow. “Your Grace.” Would she curtsy in the middle of a wood? No, she would not. “Good morning.”
His husky voice rumbled from the perimeter. “You ought not to wander without thought to what lurks on this land.”
That would be you,she thought.Lurking.“It is a paradox.” She set down her trug and took stock of the place. “For even though the beings here are dangerous to humans, this may be the safest place on earth. Or one of them. I do not know if this is typical ofversipellianculture, to bring together a variety of species to live as one…” She trailed off at the sight of—was that—oh! Digitalis! She slid her shears out of a pocket and reached to stroke the bell of the nearest plant.
“Do not!” the duke very nearly shouted, his vocal cords not equal to the strain.
Tabitha snipped off a stalk of the foxglove before laying it in the trug. “It is only somewhat poisonous.”
“Under prolonged contact, it is more than somewhat.”
“I am taking only one. Two.” She hummed in consideration. “Three at the most.”
“You ought to wear gloves.” His eyesight was all it was vaunted to be if he could tell in this low light.
“They interfere with my perception.”
“Of what?” Another rustle, this time from her right side. Goodness, he was fast.
“The health of the plant, the state of the soil…” She balked at admitting the fanciful notion that she could feel effectiveness or otherwise from what she touched and chose two more blooms.
A rumble of disagreement issued from between the leaves. “Gloves made of lambskin would suit.”
“The porousness of kid would defeat the purpose.” Tabitha set one last stalk into her trug.
“A trowel, then, for the love of Palu.” His Grace moved fully into the glade, dressed this morning like a common laborer, in a formless coat and a muslin shirt hanging outside his trousers.
“A blunt instrument?”
“You may gauge the plant by eye and then touch the soil.”
“Why should I uproot it, if it is not useful?”
“You may return it to its place! With the trowel!”
