Page 47 of Never a Duke
Hercules trotted after them, leaving Ned alone with Lady Rosalind, who had just heard him do his very best impersonation of a braying ass.
“My mortification,” he said, “is without limit.”
“As are your thespian skills. I had forgotten that story, if I’d ever heard it before.”
She wasn’t laughing at him outright. In fact, she was regarding him with a seriousness the moment did not warrant.
“I was so behind in my Latin when His Grace consigned me to the schoolroom that I had to start with simple tales. I began reading the English versions to Bitty—Lady Elizabeth, rather—when she came down with chicken pox years ago, and my fate was sealed.”
Rosalind took his hand and leaned against him on the bench. He could not see her face and thus had no clue what she was about.
“Rosalind?”
“You adore those children. You would die to keep them safe.”
“I would, of course.”
“What am I to do with you?”
You could kiss me.Except the moment wasn’t a kissing sort of moment. The moment was a Rosalind sort of moment. Ned wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and that seemed to ease whatever emotion gripped her.
They remained thus, his arm around her, her cheek pressed to his chest, until Hercules trotted up the path and sat at Ned’s knee.
“Will you meet me in the park tomorrow morning?” Ned asked.
Rosalind nodded and swiped at her cheek with gloved fingers. “Weather permitting. The day after otherwise, and so forth. We must find them, Ned. Every day matters. I feel it in my bones.”
“We will find them.” He sneaked a kiss to her temple, not half so confident as he sounded. Tryphena Hepplewhite did not intimidate easily, and whoever was behind this maid-snatching scheme had her thoroughly cowed.
That dubious accomplishment spoke of both ruthlessness and the power to act on that ruthlessness.
“I’ll see you back to the house and make my farewells to Her Grace,” Ned said, removing his arm from Rosalind’s shoulders. “I would rather tarry with you out here on a picnic blanket.”
“Someday, Ned Wentworth, you will tell that bank to go to blazes, and when you do, I hope I am on hand with a hamper and blanket, and a gig waiting to take us into the countryside.”
What a marvelous, tempting thought, and not because of a hamper full of sandwiches. “I’ll live in hope then,” he said, rising and offering Rosalind his hand. “I know a group of widows who have a thriving business making up picnic baskets. Say the word and I will put in our order.”
Rosalind stood and hugged him. “Surprise me, as you have surprised me today.” She took his arm before he could turn the hug into anything more and walked with him back to the house.
He parted from Jane on a promise to return for Sunday supper, though just once, he’d like to spend his Sunday enjoying a picnic in some secluded wood out in Surrey. He left the Walden town house as he mentally scouted locations for that happy occasion only to find a Walden groom walking Ned’s matched pair of chestnut geldings.
“What happened to my tiger?” Ned asked, more worried than irritated that Artie would leave his post.
“Said he had to step around behind the mews,” the groom replied. “That was three-quarters of an hour ago, Mr. Wentworth. I figured the lad was in the kitchen. That’s where I’d have been at his age. Boy could use some extra meals.”
“The boy will soon need a new post,” Ned said. “Have a look around and send him out here. I’ll circle past a few times, but if you can’t find him, he knows to return to the bank by sundown.”
“Aye, sir.” The groom touched a finger to his cap and ambled off in the direction of the alley.
Ned dawdled for nearly thirty minutes, and still, Artie was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter Nine
“Did you and his lordship promise to exchange recipes?” Rosalind asked, tying her bonnet ribbons loosely.
Mrs. Barnstable accepted a parasol from one of the Walden household’s Viking footmen. “We did, my lady, and I must say, the viscount’s approach was very intriguing. Spices, of all things. I mean, one knows they have an effect on the humors, but his study of them has been most scientific. He avers that chocolate…”
She paused to extract gloves from her reticule. Rosalind noted that Mrs. B’s gloves had seen better days. Ned had said the investigation had become dangerous, but allowing him and his Wentworth relations to take all the initiative had grown…vexing.
