Page 20 of Oddity of the Ton
He drew out his pocket watch. A quarter to seven. Mother would be up by now, waiting at the head of the breakfast table, ready to lecture him on the folly of whoring.
Then a stay of execution beckoned in the shape of the gates leading into Hyde Park. Beyond, a wide expanse of lawn, sloped gently down toward the water, covered with pockets of mist that lingered over the surface. He slipped through the gates and approached the gravel path alongside the lawn. Glistening dewdrops twinkled where the sun’s rays penetrated the mist, and he caught a myriad of colors, as if the ground were dotted with diamonds. Soon, they would disappear. But, at that moment, they belonged to him.
And, at that moment, the park was his, and he could appreciate its natural beauty without interruption.
Then he caught sight of a blurred shape through the mist.
A deer, perhaps? It seemed the right size.
Werethere deer in Hyde Park? It was a haven of countryside in the center of town—who knew what manner of wild creatures had made their way here over time to seek refuge?
He stepped forward, and the gravel crunched underfoot, but the creature gave no sign it heard.
Then the mist dispersed, and Monty realized his mistake.
The creature wasn’t a deer. It was a woman, sitting on the grass, beside a thick tree stump, the hem of her skirts already stained with the dew.
A servant, perhaps, seeking a moment’s respite before her employers demanded breakfast. Though if they saw the state of her dress, she’d be dismissed. Unless, of course, she belongedto one of the more liberal families, such as the Howards, whose fortune had been acquired through trade, rather than inherited.
But he couldn’t envisage Lady Howard permitting a lack of decorum among her servants.
Feeling like an errant schoolboy, he slipped behind a nearby rhododendron to observe her unnoticed.
She had a book on her lap, and seemed to be writing, though she continually looked up toward the tree stump, then back down to the page. Each time she looked up, she smiled—not the smile of gratification he’d seen on Daniella’s lips half an hour ago, but a genuine smile of contentment.
She stopped writing, placed the journal on her lap, then pulled a bracelet off her wrist, twirling it between her hands—a gesture that seemed familiar…
Of course! The bland little governess from Lady Fairchild’s ball.
No—not a governess—Sir Leonard Howard’s eldest daughter.
What the bloody hell was she doing? Didn’t she realize the risk to her reputation if she were caught grubbing about on the ground? Perhaps she lacked understanding.
Soft in the head—that was how Sawbridge described her, much to Marlow’s obvious anger.
A splash echoed in the distance, followed by a volley of quacks. She stretched her arms, slipped the bracelet back on, then tilted her head upward as a beam of sunlight broke through the trees.
Then she turned her face toward the light, and Monty caught his breath.
Her eyes were the most extraordinary color—like an exotic ocean, a rich green, with shades of blue. Illuminated by the sunlight, they radiated intelligence and insight, with a peculiarly intense expression, as if she constantly strived to see beyond the superficial to discern the very essence of the subject she wasobserving. Then the sunlight faded as a cloud passed over, and she resumed her attention on her journal.
No—not a journal. A sketchbook. From his vantage point he could make out the image of a tree stump on the page.
A bird flew out from the bush, squawking in distress. Miss Howard leaped to her feet, clutching her sketchbook. She glanced in his direction, and his heart ached at the terror in her eyes.
Perhaps shedidunderstand the risk to her reputation.
But though she—a young woman in the park, alone and unchaperoned—was the one at risk of vilification for breaking decorum,hewas the interloper, having trespassed on her privacy.
Unwilling to disturb her peace, he retreated, and picked his way across the grass toward the park gates.
But rather than return to his townhouse and a judgmental mother, he found himself waiting beside the gates to see if his quarry would emerge.
Soon enough, he heard footsteps on the gravel—then they stopped.
What was she doing?
He peered around the gates. She stood in the center of the path, staring wide-eyed at the grass, where he’d left a trail of footprints.
