Perhaps he would, but one thing Nicholas St. Clare never did was back down from a challenge, so he was in the garden at quarter to ten the next morning. Devil take him if Amelia wasn’t already waiting for him with that enormous pig of hers. The pig was nosing about the flowers surrounding the fountain, while Amelia was making tut-tut sounds and sitting on the bench with her parasol shading her from the summer sun.
She looked up as he approached. He hated for people to watch him walk. His gait was uneven and unsteady, but in this case, he wanted her to see. But she didn’t look at his legs or even at his body. As soon as she saw him, she looked into his face and smiled.
It was the most beatific smile he had ever seen. Nicholas actually looked over his shoulder to see what could have made her so ridiculously happy. But no one was behind him.
“You came,” she said, standing and still beaming at him.
“You doubted I would?” he said, his tone gravelly and sharp.
“I thought you would. I always heard you were a man of bravery.”
“No braver than most.” He stopped in front of the bench. “I’m here. What now?”
“I thought we could take a stroll around the fountain—Sweetie, no!”
The pig made a sound that even Nicholas understood was displeasure when Amelia caught her nosing about the flowers.
She stood and took his arm. “Shall we?”
“I don’t stroll, Amelia.”
“You do today.” And she gifted him with yet another huge smile. Why on earth was the woman so happy? Her face was almost as bright as the sunlight. She took a small step forward, still holding on to his arm, and he stepped forward as well. He might not walk gracefully, but he could manage a turn about the fountain. The weather was warm and breezy and the sun not yet too hot or bright in the sky. Seeming curious as to what they were about, Sweetie followed them in their slow-moving circle.
“Lovely weather we are having, isn’t it?” she said.
The woman might not have ever had a Season, but she certainly knew the role of the debutante. She looked up at him and smiled and said something about the blue of the sky.
“Why are you so happy?” he asked.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Why shouldn’t I be happy?”
“You seem happier than usual,” he said. “Why?”
“Oh, I’ve just had good news this morning.”
“A letter this early?” he asked.
“Not that kind of news. I’ll tell you at another time.” And she looked away. Was she blushing? The color in her cheeks couldn’t be because of their exertions. He was moving slower than a snail.
“I saw the rector this morning,” she said, obviously changing the subject.
Nicholas halted. “The vicar, you mean? Vicar Osgood?”
Her brow knitted. “I could have sworn he said he was a rector. He has such an odd way of speaking, though.” She tilted her head as he began walking again. “He says he is from Yorkshire, but old Mr. Pliney who ran the mill was from Yorkshire, and he didn’t sound anything like Mr. Pliney.”
“He’s not from Yorkshire. What was he doing?”
“Just standing over there.” She pointed toward a neat hedgerow, trimmed within an inch of its life. From above, all the hedgerows made the shape of an A for Averstow encircled by another set of hedgerows. Those hedgerows kept the gardeners busier than the flowers most years. “He had his hat off and was looking off into the distance. His eyes are quite the loveliest shade of blue. Almost violet.” She glanced up at Nicholas. “Of course, I prefer your shade of blue. Although the two of you make me feel quite ordinary.”
“There is nothing ordinary about you,” Nicholas said before thinking.
“Oh, really?” She released his arm and moved to stand in front of him. She was smiling that beatific smile again. “Whatever do you mean, my lord?”
Nicholas felt completely at sea in that moment. Not only was he not entirely steady on his feet, he felt as though his world was jolted. What woman didn’t prefer Rafe and his legendary good looks to him? Nicholas had never had his eye on the same woman as Rafe, but it seemed when Rafe was nearby, every woman forgot every other man in the room. That had been true in the ballrooms in London before the war and in the villages they passed through in France. But now this woman was not asking him about Rafe. She was smiling at Nicholas and flirting with him.
He hardly knew how to play these games anymore.
“You know you are an attractive woman, Amelia,” he said.
“I know some think so. Do you?”
“Of course.” He started to walk again, but of course, she just took his arm and moved with him. He wouldn’t be able to outpace her.
“You act as though that’s a foregone conclusion. But we really had no courtship to speak of. I have no idea what you think of me.”
“I kissed you,” he said, glancing down at her. “Of course, I find you attractive.”
“Oh, I don’t know. That might have been an impulse of the moment.”
“An impulse driven by your deep brown eyes.” He allowed his gaze to dip to the swell of her bosom under the pale blue morning dress she wore. “Among other things.”
She looked up at him, her cheeks pink but her eyes sparkling. “What other things, my lord?”
“Probably best to avoid enumerating all of your alluring qualities if we plan to maintain separate bed chambers.”
“That might be your plan,” she said. “It’s not mine.”
Nicholas was certain he had not heard her correctly. “Pardon?”
Instead of responding, she pointed toward the house. “Oh, look! There is your sister.”
Florentia waved to them. She had just stepped out of the house, a golden shawl wrapped about her creamy white gown. “Am I interrupting?” she called.
“Yes,” Nicholas muttered.
Amelia elbowed him in the ribs. “Not at all. Come and join us.”
Florentia did just that, linking her arm with Amelia’s other, so that his wife was between the two siblings. Nicholas didn’t know why he should be surprised. Of course, Amelia had won his sister over. She seemed to have such a sunny temperament. It was difficult to imagine her locked in Catmint Cottage for years caring for her ailing father. She seemed to belong in the sun and under the blue skies.
“I’m so glad you took my advice to take a turn in the garden in the morning,” Florentia said. “And you managed to convince my brother as well. I have been trying for years.” She winked at Nicholas, who returned her smile with a scowl.
“The fresh air is good for all of us,” Amelia said. It was a sentiment Florentia readily agreed with. As Nicholas listened to the ladies chat, he realized that the two were already becoming friends. He hadn’t considered Florentia when he’d married Amelia, but now he realized his taking a wife would benefit his sister immensely. Florentia was a spinster at the age of two and thirty, and her friends had all married and settled into family life. She saw them on occasion, but Florentia often complained she had little in common with these wives and mothers who bore almost no resemblance to the girls she’d known. Even their sister Anne had married and now had two very young children. Her husband’s land was in Northumberland, and they only came this far south perhaps once a year. Florentia almost certainly missed female companionship—any companionship, as he knew he was a poor companion most days.