Page 22 of The Duke's Accidental Wallflower
“I quite agree,” Chastity said lightly, drawing both men’s attention. “There’s something freeing about untamed beauty.”
Willis’s brow furrowed briefly, but he quickly plastered on his usual cheerful smile. “Well, I suppose we cannot all be connoisseurs of order,” he said, his tone a touch defensive. “But Lady Chastity, you’d find no shortage of beauty at my estate. Lavender as far as the eye can see, and the finest statuary imported from France.”
“Lavender does have its charms,” she replied with a demure smile, though her gaze flicked once more to Wellford, who watched her with an unreadable expression.
“Lady Chastity,” Wellford said suddenly, his tone calm but deliberate, “do you prefer gardens that conform to structure, or those that allow for a touch of wildness?”
The question caught her off guard, and she hesitated, her fan faltering. “I think,” she said carefully, “that beauty lies in the balance. However, I tend to believe that too much control stifles growth.”
His mouth curved faintly, as if her answer amused him, though he said nothing more. Beside him, Willis launched into a spirited defense of symmetry, pulling her attention back with his animated gestures.
As Willis spoke, Chastity shifted in her seat, her hand brushing the edge of her gown’s hidden pocket. The folded piece of parchment tucked there seemed heavier now, a new letter to occupy her when she got home. However, she kept her expression carefully composed. The note had been passed to her so discreetly that even she had barely noticed it at first. Its contents, however, had set her heart racing.
“Wellford, don’t you agree that the elegance of symmetry speaks to civilization itself?” Willis asked, his voice breaking into her thoughts.
Wellford raised a brow, his tone dry. “Civilization, perhaps. But elegance? That depends entirely on the beholder.”
“Well,” Willis continued, clearly oblivious to the undercurrent, “Lady Chastity, you must allow me to send you some lavenderclippings. They would thrive beautifully in your family’s garden.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, though her voice sounded distant even to her own ears.
From across the garden, she felt Minerva’s gaze land on her, a subtle reminder that her sister was always watching. Chastity smiled faintly, lifting her teacup to mask her unease. Let Minerva watch. She wouldn’t give her anything to worry about—not today.
Minerva smiled politely, nodding at Lord Radcliffe as he continued his story, though her fingers tapped lightly against the side of her teacup. “And then, of course, the stag bolted right into the underbrush, and we had to spend another hour tracking it through the woods.”
“Fascinating,” Minerva murmured, though her mind was already elsewhere.How long has this conversation been going on?
Radcliffe beamed at her interest, clearly eager to keep going. “Yes, quite the adventure. My brother was almost thrown from his horse, but fortunately, we managed to?—”
“Well, in my experience,” Sir William Farley interrupted, his ruddy cheeks puffing out as he sat up straighter, “there’s nothingquite like tracking game in the Highlands. The terrain is much rougher, you know. The stags there are larger, more dangerous.”
Minerva stifled a yawn, her eyes drifting away from the men as they continued to drone on about hunting trips and countryside adventures. Across the garden, guests were laughing and chatting, the warm sunlight filtering through the trees. She caught sight of a group of young ladies gathered by the fountain, all of them smiling and engaged in light conversation.
She let out a small sigh, her thoughts already forming an escape route.At least they’re polite,she thought, trying to convince herself that enduring this conversation wasn’t a complete waste of time.
“Lady Minerva,” Radcliffe said, leaning in with an eager smile, “have you ever been on a hunt yourself?”
Minerva blinked, quickly pulling her attention back to the conversation. “Oh, no,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “I do not believe it is quite my area of expertise.”
Sir William chuckled, clearly amused by the idea. “Ah, yes, well, I suppose it is not the usual pastime for a lady of your... refinement.”
Just as Minerva was about to respond, the conversation was mercifully interrupted by a shadow falling across the table.
“I hope I am not interrupting,” A familiar voice, smooth and far too close for comfort, cut through the men’s chatter. Minerva’s stomach dropped. She knew that voice—of courseshe did.
Evan stood behind Radcliffe, one hand resting casually on the chair, his lips curled in that maddening smirk. The sight of him, as uninvited as ever, made her heart skip an uncomfortable beat.
Radcliffe, startled, turned in his seat. “Your Grace! I—uh—did not realize you were?—”
Evan did not let him finish. “Do you mind switching places?”
His voice was polite enough, but the way he phrased it left no room for argument. The question hung in the air for only a moment before it became clear that it wasn’t a question at all.
Sir William glanced nervously between Radcliffe and Evan, clearly unsure how to respond.
“Well, I—” Radcliffe began, but one look at Evan’s cool, steady gaze silenced him. His mouth snapped shut, and with an awkward cough, he stood up, stepping away from the table.
“I really must be going anyway,” Sir William muttered, standing so quickly that he nearly knocked over his chair. “Good day, Lady Minerva.”
