Page 8 of Letters to a Wallflower
“I don’t know why,” he complained. “It’s not as if you have any great love for these people.” He snorted. “They have surely spoken harshly of you.”
“Yes, and they did it without knowing the truth of the matter. Why should you or I make the same mistake?”
“Because we can?” he asked sardonically.
“Are you feeling irritable because your merry widow isn’t here?” she asked teasingly. Leighton liked talking to her about his affair with the widowed Lady Littleton, likely because he knew he shouldn’t.
“I tire of her,” he said shortly. “I don’t care to play second fiddle.”
“You cannot complain about coming in second to her dead husband,” Helen admonished him.
Leighton gave a laugh and shot her a look. “Helen, my dear innocent, I didn’t even come in second to the baron when he was alive.”
She sighed, but it seemed to do the trick. He stopped sniping and watched the crowd, brooding in silence, until they were interrupted by the clearing of a feminine throat.
“Lord Akers? Good afternoon.”
“Miss Parker,” Leighton said with a short bow. “Mr. Parker,” he said to the man at the young lady’s side. “Good day.”
“It is the perfect day for such an event, isn’t it?” Miss Parker looked about with satisfaction. “Won’t you introduce us to your companion?”
Leighton did the honors and Helen found the brother and sister pair to be friendly. “Everyone is admiring your dress, Miss Crawford. Did you truly make the lace adornments yourself?”
“I did.” She spoke a little of her tatting and several other young ladies moved in to join the discussion as the gentlemen stepped aside.
“I do enjoy embroidery,” one girl remarked. “But I’ve never heard of tatting.”
“It sounds like peasant work, if you ask me,” another said with a sniff.
“Then you may share your opinion with Queen Charlotte,” Miss Parker told her. “For I have heard that she practices the skill as well. Did you know that, Miss Crawford?”
“I did. I have exchanged patterns with several of the court ladies.”
“There. You see,” Miss Parker declared.
“You all have far more patience than I,” someone said. “I prefer a bruising ride.” The young lady sighed. “Although there’s no such thing to be had in London.” She arched a brow at Helen. “Do you ride, Miss Crawford?”
“Oh, yes. My father was a cavalry officer. He never lost his affection for horses and keeps a fine stable. We all learned to ride nearly as soon as we walked.” She drooped a little. “I had to leave my mount at home, though, as Lady Bitwell prefers her carriages. But I did used to ride roughneck with my brothers.”
Leighton stepped close again. “Oh, yes,” he laughed. “Helen chased Will Crawford and his bosom friends all over the county. She rides like a burr, stuck to the saddle.” His face lit up as he stared beyond their group. “Oh, and look there! Here is one of Will’s friends, now. We can ask him if he recalls it as vividly as I do.”
Helen turned her head to follow his gaze—and found herself rooted to the spot. Her heart began a frantic pounding even as gooseflesh erupted along her arms and at the nape of her neck. She shivered at the clammy feeling—the same one she’d felt several years ago, when she’d first been given the cut direct. The same reaction, caused by the same man.
Mr. Benjamin Hargrove.
He stood there, at the corner of the pond, mere feet away. She could not rip her gaze from him. The sun lightened his chestnut hair. It lay a little too long, and his face had changed. He was still tall and eye-catchingly handsome. But his square-jawed face looked . . . thin. His cheekbones looked as sharp as glass. His changeable eyes were the same, though. Right now, they looked almost brown as his gaze met hers—and suddenly she was a girl again, pouring her huge emotions onto paper.
* * *
I am fascinated by your eyes. Now green, now amber, then brown. Only the gold flecks stay the same. The gold flecks, and the kindness, the good humor, and that lively interest in the world.
* * *
He took a step toward her and broke the spell.
Involuntarily, she retreated a step. But she stiffened her spine—and her resolve. It had to happen sometime. His return. Their first meeting. But why now?
Then she noticed the cane.
