Читать книгу How To Marry a Rake - Deb Marlowe - Страница 12

‘Lord Stephen,’ his hostess exclaimed. ‘You are back early!’ The pleasure faded from her expression. ‘You are the only one, I am afraid. The other gentlemen have all abandoned us for the Heath, the Jockey Club and the other pleasures of town.’ She didn’t look pleased. ‘We don’t expect them back until dinner, at the earliest.’

Stephen grinned at her. ‘Thank you, Lady Toswick, but I find I’m more interested in the whereabouts of the ladies at present.’

She returned his grin. ‘How very obliging of you.’

The matrons in the room smiled at each other over their embroidery and correspondence. ‘All of the young ladies have gone strolling about the grounds,’ a silver-haired lady offered.

‘Yes, they’ve taken the forest walk,’ the countess added, ‘except for dear Miss Halford. Her ankle is not up to the exercise just yet, so she’s gone to feed the birds in the meadow.’ Lady Toswick waved an encouraging hand. ‘But the rest of the girls have only just left. If you hurry, you should be able to catch them before they’ve gone far.’

‘Thank you, my lady.’ Stephen cast a conspiratorial wink across the room and pretended not to notice the bent heads or the tide of rising whispers following him from the room. He paused in the entry hall and tossed a waiting footman a coin. ‘The meadow?’ he asked, his voice pitched low.

‘Not far.’ The coin disappeared and the footman leaned closer. ‘Just past the terraced gardens at the back of the house. The path begins next to a large chestnut tree.’

Stephen nodded his thanks and hurried on his way, hoping his feet would get him there before his head convinced him to turn back. It was the height of irony, finding himself chasing after Mae Halford. No—it was the measure of his desperation. How many times had he told himself that he would do anything to bring about Fincote’s success? Well, now he knew it was true. He would do anything—even ask for help from the one person from whom he least deserved it.

The crunch of gravel underfoot faded as he left the formal gardens behind and found the tree marking the tiny path. A thick canopy of elms and chestnuts spread overhead, filtering light and muting sound. Stephen quickened his pace, unwilling to be alone with his doubts and his conscience for longer than necessary. It was only a few moments, though, before he reached the clearing and paused on the edge to drink in the beauty of the scene.

It must be man-made, this perfectly symmetrical open spot in the midst of the wood. The ground was covered in a vibrant carpet of wildflowers, the edges punctuated with rustic, curved seating. Mae sat quietly, off to the right, her fingers drumming on the thick-crusted loaf in her lap. She was clearly not part of the scene—dressed immaculately as she was, from kid boots to her charming, if ineffectual hat, in rich shades of brown and contrasting cream—yet it was as if her very separateness enhanced the image. Bird-song echoed in the glade, but she hadn’t yet broken her bread. She looked lost in thought—and he suffered the sudden urge to ruffle her feathers, yank a lock of that shining hair, flop down next to her and tease her until she confessed what troubled her.

He shook it off. Breathing deep, Stephen stepped forward. He called out to her before he could change his mind. ‘Mae? Good morning.’