Chapter 9

Isabella made a conscious effort to keep from her facial features the thought that her cousin had a few attics to let. If the duke was interested in Frederica, he didn’t need a reason to question her faculties.

“You wanted to see them, didn’t you?” Frederica continued. “You said it was one of the things you wished to see the most on your first trip to London.”

“Yes. The trees.” While it was true that Isabella had expressed a great desire to see the trees while she was in London, there wasn’t any real urgency to the desire. She was going to be in Town for weeks, probably months. There would be plenty of time to go to the park in Berkeley Square.

Apparently they were going to go today, though.

As they began to walk down the pavement, Isabella tried to separate herself from the potential couple. Frederica was determined to return to where she left off with Arthur Saunderson, and if the man returned her affections, Isabella would be the first to approve the match. But if he didn’t, if life as an officer of war for the past two years had altered him, then Frederica needed an alternate plan.

Isabella’s main goal for the Season was, of course, to get the money needed to save her family’s farm, but she was quickly coming to care almost as much about getting Frederica settled and out from under the control of Uncle Percy.

“The weather is quite fine today, Your Grace.” Frederica placed one hand on top of her bonnet and turned her face up to the sun. “Might we walk down Bond Street so that we can more fully enjoy it? Davies Street is so narrow. The sun doesn’t reach below the attics there.”

Isabella suddenly felt as if she were choking on her heart. The pressure in her chest and the burning sensation in her throat mimicked the worry and unease that filled her mind as the implication of Frederica’s words came to light. This walk was a ruse.

“Surely there isn’t a call for that, dear cousin.” Isabella sped up until she was walking on the other side of the duke. What an odd set they must appear strolling down the street. “Davies Street may be narrow, but it is much shorter. We’ll be at Berkeley Square all the sooner and in the unhindered reach of the sun and a spot of fresher air. There is no benefit to going down Bond Street.”

Frederica wrinkled her nose at Isabella’s protest. They both knew that the only thing Frederica cared about on Bond Street was the Stephens Hotel. Arthur was alive, in town, and his reappearance hadn’t yet made the gossip pages. Of course, with it being the beginning of the Season, there were much more interesting arrivals to report than the third son of an insignificant baron, but it still meant that there was every likelihood he had not returned to his family quarters.

Which put great odds that he was staying at the Stephens Hotel.

The duke looked down the pavement as if visualizing his street options and then at each of the young women at his side. He released a gust of breath that sounded almost like a sigh. “We can walk to Berkeley Square via Bond Street and return up Davies.”

There was nothing Isabella could say that wouldn’t cause the duke to become suspicious, so she fell back a step or two again and considered praying—though whether she’d be praying for Lieutenant Saunderson to be there or for every officer to have disappeared from the vicinity, she wasn’t sure.

It didn’t matter which she chose. God didn’t have any reason to ignore Frederica right now, so she’d be better off without any entreaty from Isabella. Still, Bella couldn’t help but wonder which option would be better for Frederica.

Bella lowered her head and watched her toes appear and disappear beneath her hem as she walked. In front of her the duke and Frederica’s voices droned on, discussing the same inane, polite topics everyone had discussed at every other social event she’d been to. She frowned. It sounded like the exact same discussion the two of them had had the night before. Didn’t they have anything else to talk about?

She kicked a pebble and sent it careening off the pavement and bouncing onto the cobblestone street beside her. Did God miss her as much as she missed Him? Her family prayed together every morning, read the Bible by firelight in the evening. Some of her first childhood memories included skipping along the rutted lane to the village church.

But now? Now she couldn’t even bring herself to whisper His name. Amazing how one decision could drive a person so far from where they thought they’d never stray.

“Oh!”

The startled cry from Frederica drove Isabella’s head to rise, but not in time to see that the couple in front of her had come to an unexpected halt. She barreled into the duke’s back, bumping her bonnet brim against his shoulder hard enough to cause the hat to push painfully into her scalp.

As she fell back a step, she raised a hand to her head to rub the sore area.

Frederica was clinging to the duke’s arm while she dug her fan from her reticule. “I’m afraid this fine weather has become a bit warmer than I’d anticipated.”

A glance around the area revealed they were in front of the coffee shop across from the Stephens Hotel. At least half of the shop’s patrons sported the eye-catching scarlet coats and important bearing of English officers.

Off to the side of the building, leaning against the wall by the door, with his narrowed gaze glued to Frederica’s antics, was Lieutenant Saunderson. His light brown hair was pulled back into a queue, and his uniform looked as pristine as any gentleman could ask for. The high jackboots were polished to a mirror shine.

Isabella tried not to groan, even as she knew she was going to aid Frederica’s cause. Never let it be said that Bella wasn’t loyal. “Perhaps you are becoming ill. Your constitution has seemed quite delicate of late.”

Frederica looked over her shoulder, her eyes considerably more alert than they should be for a woman on the verge of unmovable exhaustion. “Yes, I do believe that could be true. I’ve overexerted myself.”

The duke turned halfway around. “Should we return? We’ve been walking but a quarter hour. Your home is not far away.”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly!” Frederica grabbed Isabella’s arm, and laughter threatened to burst from Isabella’s chest and ruin the entire show. Frederica had always been prone to absurd antics in private, especially when she visited Isabella during the summer, but in public she’d always been the epitome of gentility.

If this infatuation with Arthur allowed her to be more herself, then Isabella was going to have to admit it was a good thing. As long as Frederica didn’t end up hurt.

Isabella looked over her cousin’s head, locking gazes with the man in question. His mouth was flattened into a grim line, but it was not a look of resignation on his face. In fact he looked a great deal like her brother did when they walked the village fair and he stood before the candy cart, knowing he couldn’t have any but wishing for it all the same.

Isabella heaved a dramatic sigh, though not as dramatic as Frederica’s. If she was going to be acting and lying her way through London, it might as well be for a noble cause as well as a selfish one. And she was going to do a cracking good job of it. Or at least better than Frederica. “I did so wish to see the trees. Do you think you will feel up to walking such a distance soon?”

“I don’t know.” Frederica turned wide eyes in Isabella’s direction. “I’m so sorry, cousin. I know how badly you wanted to see the trees. I hope this doesn’t send me to my bed for weeks. My recovery is sure to be hindered knowing how much I’ve disappointed you.”

Isabella ducked her head and bit her lip. She dug her fingernails into her palm. Anything to keep from laughing. She so desperately wanted to take a peek at His Grace to see what effect Frederica’s antics had on his esteem. Was he regretting his choice? What would Uncle Percy say if the duke retracted his attentions?

That was a thought sobering enough to get her impending giggles under control.

“Your Grace,” Freddie pleaded, “please go on without me. My maid will stay with me, and I’m positive that these kind officers will see to it that I find a table in the shade.”

Isabella glanced once more in Lieutenant Saunderson’s direction. He’d straightened from the wall, ready to step in before any of the other officers could do so. No one else seemed to have noticed their conversation yet, but they couldn’t stand here for much longer without drawing attention.

The duke sighed, or rather his massive chest deflated a bit. He was probably much too polite to sigh at a lady’s request. “It would be my honor to fulfill such a dear request as—” he paused and cut a look in Isabella’s direction, one that questioned her sanity—“viewing the trees.”

The man already thought she was addled, so Isabella decided to take more of the attention off Frederica. “Perhaps that officer there.”

Lieutenant Saunderson stepped forward and bowed. The duke started to introduce himself, but Frederica made a show of wilting further onto Isabella’s shoulder, distracting both men. Moments later, Frederica was walking into the coffee shop on the arm of Arthur Saunderson, her maid trailing dutifully behind, and Isabella was left standing on the pavement with the duke.

And she discovered that she hadn’t met her capacity for feeling guilty after all.

Griffith wasn’t sure what to think as he watched Miss St. Claire stumble her way into the coffee shop, looking very much like a woman who had imbibed too much wine instead of overexerting herself. Perhaps she had simply been seeking a way to avoid trying to make more conversation. He couldn’t blame her. Instead of wishing he could take this opportunity to sit and have a quiet cup of tea with her, he found himself relieved to cut their time short. They’d already exhausted the topics of the fineness of the weather, the dreadful traffic caused by the abundance of London construction, and even the interesting trends in fashion now that the war was over.

Along with the relief came another emotion—one that he wasn’t sure he could or even wanted to identify. The fact that he was now going to have to spend time alone with Miss Breckenridge, something he’d been doing his best to avoid, inspired something that wasn’t excitement but wasn’t dread either. She held none of the qualities he was looking for, but all the qualities people assumed he wanted. Once he was seen walking with her, there were sure to be a few more lines added to the betting books around town. That realization must be causing the feeling of near trepidation he had.

Bond Street grew considerably more crowded as they continued walking. Miss Breckenridge’s arm brushed against his, and he resisted the urge to offer it to her as they walked down the pavement. The stares they were getting were enough to ensure his uncharacteristic behavior was going to make the society pages the next day. He didn’t need to add any additional tidbits for the wagging tongues to share.

This was exactly the sort of thing he’d hoped to avoid.

“Are you enjoying London?”

She tilted her head so that her bonnet no longer blocked her view of his face. Or his view of hers. The features truly were exquisite. This close he could see that her skin was smooth and clear, though not quite as pale as he’d originally thought. A touch of sun and health bloomed across her cheeks, making her eyes appear even more luminous than they had in candlelight. “London has definitely been an experience unlike any I’ve ever had before. I had no idea so many people and businesses could exist in the same place.”

Griffith turned his own head to be able to look at her more closely. London was large, yes, but in some ways it was more like many towns smashed together. Surely she had seen busy streets and squares before. “Where are you from?”

She hesitated a moment as they made the turn onto Bruton Street, licking her lips and clearing her throat before turning her attention back to the road in front of them. “Northumberland.”

Not the most fashionable part of the country, to be certain, but there was nothing in it to cause her any shame. He was a bit surprised at how much he didn’t like the idea of her feeling sad. It must be a holdover from raising his sisters. Anyone as young and inexperienced as Miss Breckenridge was bound to remind him of his youngest siblings. “Do you miss it?”

“At times. London is very different than Northumberland. You’re the first to actually ask me about it.”

He cleared his throat. “It is a fine area of the country.”

“Oh.” She turned her head to face him with wide eyes. “Have you been there?”

“Er, no.” He looked both ways before directing her through a gap in the traffic and into the edges of Berkeley Square Gardens.

One side of her mouth lifted in an amused smile as she looked up at him through lowered lashes. “The area’s reputation has preceded it, I suppose, in order for the county to earn your esteem.”

Griffith steered her toward the shade trees they’d walked this way to see. “Northumberland is a county in England. Therefore it is a fine county.”

Silence fell between them as her feet tripped to a stop.

He took one step past her before turning around to see what had caused her to become still.

Her lips were curled inward, pale stripes of near white showing in the light pink areas, an indication that she was actually biting the insides of her lips in an effort to remain silent. She swallowed visibly, the lines of her delicate neck jumping with the effort and her eyebrows raised high as she tried to push down whatever her initial reaction had been to his statement. “That shows quite a loyalty to king and country.”

One of his eyebrows shot up. His brother was constantly complaining about the arrogance of such an expression, but it was a habit Griffith had never been able to conquer, much to his chagrin. “Of course. I am a duke. If our loyalty does not extend to our monarch and our country, then what good are we?”

“Well, you’re very good at sending the attendees of a social gathering into a mad tempest.”

It was Griffith’s turn to suppress an inelegant response, though he trusted that he did so with less obvious methods than Miss Breckenridge had employed. He swept his arm toward the grove of trees. “The plane trees, madam.”

She shifted her gaze to look beyond him, and her mouth dropped open a bit in a soundless gasp as she nearly ran past him to lay a gloved hand on the unique mottled and peeling bark of the tree. “Fascinating.”

Griffith clasped his hands behind him at his lower back, trying to see what she was obviously seeing. “Fascinating?”

“Have you ever seen a tree like this? I read about it in one of my father’s horticultural books—how the tree was discovered in Vauxhall Gardens and planted here. When I learned I was coming to London I knew I had to see them. I could never understand how the bark was being described, but it makes so much sense now.”

The last thing Griffith expected the woman already being touted as London’s own Aphrodite to be fascinated with was trees. Dances, shops, perhaps the latest in horses or even sporting, but trees? No one could feign that level of excitement and knowledge. The request to see the trees had obviously been genuine.

Griffith followed her at a more sedate pace until he was standing just a bit behind her shoulder. He stretched his right arm out and flicked one finger against the smooth but fractured bark. A chunk of it peeled off the tree and landed at Miss Breckenridge’s feet.

“Oh!” She bent to retrieve the piece of bark and turned it over and over in her hands, examining it with an attention he’d have expected to be reserved for gossip rags or an updated copy of Debrett’s.

“I’ve never seen a tree do this before. It’s rather strange, when you think about it.” She let one hand fall to her side, the bark still clutched in her fingers, leaving specks of dirt and tree bark on her gloves and dress. The other hand moved toward the tree to poke at the recently revealed portion of the trunk. “Does this leave it vulnerable, do you think? For animals or some other sort of plant to burrow in?”

“I wouldn’t know. The plane tree doesn’t have a lot of value for me, given that it doesn’t produce much of anything besides shade. And I’ve trees aplenty that do that already.”

She tilted her head and looked up at him from the corners of her eyes. “And do you only give consideration to things that benefit you?”

His first instinct was to deny the accusation, but something about the way she said it made him stop to consider his answer for truthfulness. “I give a great deal more thought to things that matter to myself and my family. I think everyone does.”

“Yes. I imagine they do.” Something sad crossed her features before she gave her attention back to the tree. “How long do you think it will take for the tree to replace that bark?”

Griffith wasn’t very interested in investigating the parts of the tree, but he was becoming increasingly curious about what made up the woman before him. Watching her while he contemplated these new attributes wasn’t much of a hardship either.

And that worried him.