Page 29 of Hearts of Briarwall

“You hope for others what you do not have for yourself. I would say that is selfless.”

She dropped her gaze, her cheeks warming with a blush. “Or thoughtless. Anyway, your mother is fortunate to have you.”

He shrugged as they reached the landing. “My mother deserves all the reasons to smile.” They started down the stairs. “But you were saying? About Floris?”

“Oh.” She shook her head. What would she do, ask him if he was mesmerized by her new scent? It seemed so trite after the way he’d spoken of his parents. “I was surprised by the perfumery, that is all. I didn’t expect to learn anything, but I did.”

“And what did you learn, Miss Wooding?” They’d reached the main floor, and he turned to face her. His expression showed true interest, his eyes patient. She seldom had received that expression from men.

“I suppose ‘learned’ is the wrong word. It is more that something has lain quiet inside me for a long time, and today’s visit awakened the knowledge”—she suppressed a grin—“like a wood hyacinth in spring.”

He smiled at the comparison. “I am intrigued.”

“I had not realized how scent is so completely intertwined withemotion, with memories, and with people who evoke emotions within us. Try smelling something and deny it is attached to an emotion because of a memory or a person. Orchard blossoms, or roast lamb, or sun-dried linen. Perhaps even a patch of mud.”

He watched her too closely, and she looked down with a subdued laugh. “Perhaps it is nonsense.”

“It is not nonsense. I happen to have an excessive attachment to the smell of mud.”

She glanced up, seeing the mirth in his eyes. “You mock me,” she said, fighting her own laugh.

“I do not,” he said, faking indignation. He shook his head, looking off toward the study. “To mock you would make a hypocrite of me, as I now have an indelible memory to associate with the scent of ... of you.” His gaze returned to hers, and she drew in a quick breath.

As she searched for something to say, he lowered his voice. “Rest assured, your choice suits you, Miss Wooding.”

Lydia swallowed, her heart fluttering at the compliment. “Thank you, Spencer.”

A brief look of regret flickered across his face.

“Lydia, there you are.”

They both lifted their faces to the staircase as Andrew came down, toying with his cuff. In the same moment, Spencer stepped several paces away from Lydia, his interest suddenly taken by the portrait of Great-Great-Grandfather Wooding.

“Jones got away from me before a cuff link came apart, and this new pair is giving me fits. Help me?” Andrew said.

Wordlessly, she took her brother’s rebellious cuff link and attached it for him.

“Thank you. That’s a pretty new scent you’re wearing. Did you get that today?”

She brightened at his notice. “Yes. We—”

“Good, good. Hold that thought. I’ve got to take care of some business before dinner, or it will haunt me all night ...” He was already walking away, acknowledging Spencer with a nod and disappearing down the corridor.

Spencer glanced her way.

“Well,” she said, “at least he noticed.” She chuckled weakly.

He nodded. “He did. And one day, he’ll come across that scent, and his memory will be overflowing with you.”

His words refilled the space inside her that Andrew had emptied when he’d walked away from her. “Do you think so?”

He looked back at the portrait. “I know so.”

She lifted her wrist to her nose and breathed. Then she dropped it to her side again. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“My pleasure, Miss Wooding,” he said.

During dinner—a quieter affair without Florrie’s distinctive chatter—Ralston appeared, looking a bit ruffled. “You are wanted downstairs, sir. It’s the young Latimer boy. He says it is urgent.”

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