Page 29 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
To her great relief, it swung open. She dashed through, closing the door again before the gusting wind could take it. With a savage clap, the sky let rip with its deluge and the orangery, almost wholly comprised of glass, became a thundering chamber.
Skittering on the polished tiles, Pom Pom gave himself a shake while Rosamund untied her hat and found a handkerchief to wipe her cheeks.
“Didn’t we do well!” Bending over, she rubbed his ears.
It had been ages since she’d run like that. Rosamund had almost forgotten that she could. She’d even leapt over some box hedging, following Pom Pom’s wildly wagging behind.
The thought of it made her want to laugh.
The orangery was filled with potted trees—some in bloom and others in fruit. She was no expert, but the ones closest looked like fig and apricot, and there were oranges and lemons further down.
The scent was heavenly, and there was a fountain, too, set in the middle of the aisle. Though she couldn’t see much past it, Rosamund guessed the orangery extended the length of this side of the abbey.
Wandering along, she kept an eye out for any sort of passage that might lead into the main house. Then, just ahead, she saw Mr. Studborne, tucked against the wall and so fixedly reading that he didn’t seem to have heard her approach.
This part of the orangery was a deal warmer than where she’d entered, thanks to a woodburner, the doors of which were half-open. The young man was clearly comfortable, sitting with one long leg crossed upon the other and his collar discarded. A lock of hair had fallen over his brow, which he pushed away absent-mindedly, only to have it tumble forward again.
He rubbed at his nose, then nudged his spectacles.
“A good read?” Rosamund piped up.
Just as she’d expected, he jumped in surprise, sending his glasses into his lap and the book thumping to the floor.
Rosamund merely grinned.
She was laughing at him!
Miss Burnell—with flushed cheeks and hair coming loose in all directions—had crept up on him and given him an almighty spook!
For several moments, he was speechless.
In the meantime, her dog—looking almost as dishevelled as Miss Burnell herself—had selected a fern and was cocking its leg ambitiously, spraying an impressive arc for one so small.
“Naughty Pom Pom. Stop that!” Reaching down, she gave his nose a gentle bop.
Benedict recovered his spectacles, rubbing them on his sleeve. “Thought his name was Hector…”
Miss Burnell looked at him through half-shaded eyes. “I changed it. Parents shouldn’t burden their offspring with those sorts of names. The expectations are ponderous.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” He looked about for a second stool and gestured for her to sit, then recovered the book. The puppy was a menace, and all too likely to start chewing the corners.
She perched with her hands in her lap. “Fossils, is it?” She nodded at the shelf where he’d found a spot to display his treasures.
“You found them all?” She leaned forward, looking past his shoulder, and he noticed she’d a small leaf stuck to her neck.
“Some are my father’s; were his, I mean. I’m adding to the collection, gradually. As for the book, it’s about drainage, among other things. We suffer from water-logging where the land slopes off near the village.”
“Engrossing I’m sure.” She dropped her chin, looking at him through thick lashes. “I’d have thought you might sit in the library or somewhere else in the vicinity of a stiff whisky. Might make the ditches more palatable.”
“Actually, I like this spot. Hardly anyone comes in, so I’m guaranteed some peace.”
“And here we are, busting in on you.” She arranged her face into an expression of extreme contrition.
Benedict made himself take a deep breath. He’d invited her here on the pretext of giving his uncle a change of company, and offering Miss Burnell and her mother hospitality. The truth was that there was really nothing altruistic about his motives. As soon as he’d laid eyes on her, he’d hardly thought of anything else.
He’d read of people being in the grip of infatuation and losing all sense. He'd thought it a load of poppycock but he was burbling on about drainage of all things, and probably boring her half to death with his fossils.
Meanwhile, his uncle appeared similarly fascinated, going by the way he’d been looking at Miss Burnell over dinner.
