Page 44 of Sinful Persuasion of a Lady in the Making
Alison’s bright and cheery voice cut through the heavy atmosphere of the hallway—purposeful, no doubt, and Jenny was grateful for it. Any serious words they had for one another should at least wait until they were out in the garden.
“Fanny is ready. I shall be in the nursery with Elizabeth and the nursemaid, should anyone want me.”
Jenny nodded her silent thanks to Alison, and from her gentle nod in return, Jenny guessed that she understood.
“This way,” Jenny said, leading Lord Hartwood and Fanny through the house and to the back door that led onto their ample, but far from overwhelming garden.
Still, there was a gravel pathway that wound around the dense foliage, its many curves giving the illusion of a longer garden, and the thick bushes and trees hiding them from the view of the house. There were few flowers, but you could find every shade of green among the leaves and the grass.
They walked in silence for longer than Jenny had been expecting, and her heart thumped steadily, waiting for him to say something, unsure whether she should speak first. Finally, his deep and soothing voice broke through, and he pointed to a bench.
“Shall we take a seat?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling up at him, “and perhaps then you can explain everything, as you so kindly offered.”
“And there was me thinking you’d let it go,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “And that perhaps we could just enjoy the afternoon for its own sake.”
Her pulse quickened.
“You are under no obligation to te—”
“I know I am not,” he said, stopping and looking directly at her. “I am teasing you, Miss Jones. I want to tell you, but I am not going to lie and say it will be easy. I have never really spoken to anyone about my past.”
“Then why me?” she asked, smoothing her skirts down as she took her seat on the bench next to him. Fanny hovered near the tree, a few feet in front of them and making it studiously obvious she was neither listening in nor watching them. Jenny smiled. She was a sweet girl, if nothing else.
“Why you? Now there’s a question that could do with answering! In truth, Miss Jones, I do not know myself. Except that, perhaps, it’s because you are incredibly beautiful and wonderfully entertaining, and I wish to know you more. I cannot do that, with rumors circulating.”
“You are quite the charmer,” she said, smiling at his quick and complimentary speech. “And yes, I have been told about the rumors—by my brother, most of all.”
“Ah, brothers and fathers—the two family members who hate me most of all. Especially when I dance with their sisters and their daughters.”
He winked and she giggled, having no doubt that many a young lady enjoyed rebelling against their guardians. But then he sighed, suddenly serious, and her brow creased as she watched.
“Let me tell you everything, and then you can make your decision.” She nodded and he continued. “I don’t want you simply believing everything people say, but you also deserve to know the truth. I suppose I ought to start at the beginning.”
“Always a good place to start,” she said, trying to lighten his mood, but he only smiled sadly. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for what was to come. Was it possible for this witty, humorous, confident man to have any sort of regrets or disappointments?
“When I was three-and-ten, I lost my parents.”
Absolutely possible.
“I heard,” she said. “That must have been terrible for you. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you, but please don’t offer me your sympathies. They died because of me.”
“It was your fault?” she cried. “I cannot believe that a boy of just three-and—”
“I had smallpox,” he said, interrupting her and taking her hand. “They were away, visiting some family on the other side of the country, but when they received word that I was sick, they dashed home as quickly as they could. All too quickly. Thanks to their haste, plus bad weather and poor lighting, their carriage crashed and they both died before we even had a chance to say goodbye.”
“Heavens, My Lord,” she said, gasping. “That’s awful. But it wasn’t your fault.”
“It was,” he said, still refusing to look into her eyes. “Had I not been sick, well… Diana agrees. She hates me for killing them and hates me even more for what happened next.”
“Really,” Jenny tutted, looking away. “And in all that time, neither of you have grown up. To blame an innocent child for such a thing, indeed!”
“Did you just reprimand me, Miss Jones?” he asked, blinking at her in surprise.
“Well, yes,” she said firmly. “I suppose I did.”
