Chapter 32

A splash of color near Isabella’s feet caught her eye, and she squatted to see a clump of bright red flowers marching around the base of a sprawling bush. Had she seen flowers like this in the garden area? She probably wouldn’t have noticed them if she had. The formally laid-out portion of Kensington Gardens was a beautiful riot of color and pattern. As a whole it was absolutely breathtaking. It was difficult to look at any of the plants individually, though.

But here, in the wilder area of the gardens, the little red flowers stood out, allowing her to easily see the softness of the stem and the silkiness of the petals. In contrast, the bush limb jutting out over the cluster of flowers was rough and hard, the green leaves looking harsh. That both could exist in nearly the same place was one of the things Isabella found so fascinating about plants.

The murmur of voices reached her from a distance, and she took a last longing look at the little red flowers.

She slid her hands to her knees, prepared to push herself up to a more respectable standing position. As she stood, her gaze rose until she could see over the top of the bush.

Then she immediately dropped back down so she was sitting on her heels. When did Griffith find time to take a stroll through Kensington Gardens? And though she’d yet to meet him, the man with him looked similar enough to be identified as his younger brother, Lord Trent Hawthorne.

As much as she didn’t want to see Griffith, she couldn’t take the chance that he would turn down this particular path and find her hunched over in front of a bush.

It was possible, if she moved quickly, that she could get around the next bend and start making her way to where she’d told the carriage to meet her. Armed with a plan, she stood again and felt a sharp tug before hearing a series of small cracks. The jutting limb, which had earlier made such an interesting juxtaposition to the little red flowers, had several skinny twigs branching off it. Twigs that tangled easily in curls that brushed against it.

She turned to her maid, who stood three feet away looking bored but resigned. It was the same expression she’d worn through every other park, garden, and square Isabella had dragged her to.

“How bad is it?” she asked.

The maid cocked her head to the side, showing the first sign of real interest she’d shown in a while. “It’s an unusual look, miss. If you’re wanting to really claim the effect, I’d suggest adding a few more. Perhaps one or two with a leaf attached.”

It was hard to tell if the maid was joking or not, but the picture she’d painted inspired a sputtered laugh from Isabella. “We’ll just walk on, shall we?”

But she’d neglected to realize how much ground two energetic, long-legged men could cover in a short amount of time. Griffith and his brother had not only seen her but were standing within easy speaking distance.

“Isabella.”

She’d missed his voice, resonating from his broad chest and wrapping around her like a blanket. “Your Grace.”

His eyes widened, and she could see the hurt her deliberate use of his honorific had caused. But she didn’t have the right to call him Griffith anymore. Not when she’d walked away from him so completely the last time she’d seen him.

“Miss Breckenridge.” His voice had roughened. “May I present my brother, Lord Trent Hawthorne.”

She gave a curtsy. The other man, who looked like a smaller, more carefree version of Griffith, grinned at her. “Miss Breckenridge. I’ve heard a lot about you. May I say that the tales haven’t done you justice? You’ve no need for ornamentation, but I’ve rarely seen a woman wear it so well.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, and Isabella fought the urge to start yanking at her hair to get the twigs out of it.

“Isabella.” Griffith stepped forward. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you around.”

“I’m socializing with trees these days.” She gestured to her nature-enhanced hair. “As you can see.”

“It’s a good look for you.” He reached forward and pinched one curl between his fingers and let it slide through. “I like the red. And the earrings.”

She hadn’t powdered her hair since the Apothecary Act had been abandoned. Her mother’s jewelry had also been dug from the bottom of the drawer where it had been stashed. It had been nice seeing her natural hair in the mirror. It felt even nicer that he approved of the color as well.

It felt too nice.

He dropped his arm. “I won’t ask if you’ve reconsidered, though should you ever decide to, my request stands. But you don’t need to confine yourself. I would like to see you. I would like to dance with you. But should you wish me to refrain from attending any event so that you may attend in peace, you need only send word and I will send my regrets.”

And this was exactly why she couldn’t let him know of Uncle Percy’s plans. Already he was trying to sacrifice for her. And she couldn’t live a life with him knowing their entire marriage had been based on a similar sacrifice.

Why, oh why, had she thought all aristocrats were cold and unfeeling people she could use and leave at her will? Hadn’t her loving mother come from the same group of people? Tears threatened to choke her, and the last thing she needed was for him to see her cry.

“If you would excuse me.”

She whirled and fled down the path, her maid scurrying behind her. She didn’t know which way she was going, but it was away from Griffith, and that was all she needed at the moment.

By the time she stopped to get her bearings, she could see nothing but trees and grass, meandering paths, and a scattered handful of fashionably dressed people strolling along. Until she saw something she recognized, she was just going to have to walk and try to look as if she knew what she was doing.

Light sparkling through the trees told her she was nearing some sort of water. If it was the Serpentine, she’d gone a long way in the wrong direction. Clear into Hyde Park instead of back to the carriage at the edge of Kensington Gardens. She was near the edge of the water, and it would be a simple thing to skirt the edge of it and enter the expanse of Hyde Park. The area was devoid of London’s elite. All she could see were sheep. And a few deer at the edge of the forest.

Throwing propriety to the wind, she crossed to a large tree and sank down to sit at the base of it.

Her maid squeaked but didn’t say anything. Isabella thought about telling the other woman she might as well sit down and get comfortable because Isabella didn’t intend to leave anytime soon. This spot, this moment, felt more like home than anything she’d felt in a long, long time. Not since her week in Hertfordshire had she felt anything resembling the peace she did now.

The peace went beyond the idyllic setting. It was bone deep, heart deep. Sometime during the last few days, strolling through parks and quietly slipping into various squares, she’d accepted that God forgave her for what she’d done. That knowledge and acceptance had brought the overwhelming peace only Jesus could bring.

It hadn’t brought happiness, though.

But she deserved to be unhappy, didn’t she? Who could say how much unhappiness she’d caused? Had any of those men actually developed feelings for her? It was hard to say, since she’d never let herself consider them much beyond whether or not she could get them to keep visiting her.

And then there were the ladies. Like Lady Alethea and Miss Newberry. What had she done to their futures? Their happiness?

But if she were forgiven, if she truly accepted that Jesus had taken her sin as far as the east was from the west, that meant it could no longer impact what God decided she did or did not deserve.

It didn’t mean she was happy. It didn’t mean she’d be happy anytime in the near future, because the fact was that what she’d done had consequences, and they made her sad.

But as she looked across the field of happily grazing sheep she knew that one day she’d be fine, and eventually, she might even be good.

Griffith leaned his shoulder against a tree. She’d been sitting there watching the sheep for nearly half an hour. What was she thinking about? He couldn’t see her face, but she seemed peaceful, like a country milkmaid taking a break in the middle of the day.

“I’ve seen more trees today than in the rest of my life combined.” Trent leaned his back against another tree trunk and crossed his ankles as he watched Griffith watch Isabella.

“Your talent for exaggeration has developed well.” Griffith didn’t bother reminding him that they’d grown up in the wooded hills of Hertfordshire.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Wait until she leaves and make sure she gets to her carriage safely.”

Trent laid his head back against the tree. “Does that mean tomorrow we’ll be scouring the parks again?”

“I don’t know.” It was a fair question, but not one Griffith could answer. Ever since he’d learned what was really keeping them apart, he’d been conflicted.

“I’ve got one chance left, Trent, and it’s something I might not be able to accomplish.”

His brother scoffed. “What does she want? Napoleon’s crown jewels? Talk to Prinny. He may loan them to you when they get here from France. I’ve heard the treasures are coming out of Paris by the boatload.”

“I don’t think she wants anything.” And that was the problem. If she wanted something from him, he could do it. Buy it, make it, trade for it—whatever it took. But she didn’t actually want anything except for him to be free of her uncle’s potential schemes.

“Nothing is pretty easily obtained.” Trent held out his empty hand, palm out. “You can borrow mine if you need to.”

One side of Griffith’s mouth kicked up. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Have you prayed about it?”

“Every day.” Every moment. Griffith wasn’t sure there was an hour he’d been awake when some part of him hadn’t been crying out to God for a way to fix this dull ache in the middle of his chest that refused to go away as long as there was a chance that Isabella could be his.

Trent shrugged. “Then do the next thing and let God take care of the rest.”

Such a simple concept, but so very difficult in practice, even if Griffith knew his brother was right.

“If I marry her, we’ll probably have children,” Griffith murmured.

“That’s the natural order of things.” Trent laid an arm around Griffith’s shoulders and turned him back up the path.

“Your chances of becoming a duke will decline.”

Trent grinned. “All the more reason to get busy doing what you’ve got to do.”

Griffith let his gaze linger on Isabella as his mind wandered. He was fairly certain that he knew everything now, or at least enough to approach Isabella about whatever concerns were keeping her away. But it wouldn’t do to simply make things right for a day. He needed to make sure that every last bit of this situation was settled so that they could move past it and never return.

“All right, then.” Griffith adjusted his coat and rolled his head back and forth, trying to relieve the tension in his neck. It was time to take a more active role in this whole apothecary business and learn what politics were really taking place. Only then could he make sure it went away. “Let’s go see a doctor.”