The reluctant cavalier (16 page)

He was looking at her, his head cocked to one side and a quizzical expression in his eyes.

"I am not explaining myself very well, am I?" she said, looking at him, and hoping desperately he would understand.

"Er, no," he replied, and a dimple appeared briefly in his cheek.

A sudden bubble of laughter grew in her, and she burst into giggles. "Oh, heavens! I am sorry! I have made a mess of things, have I not?"

He grinned and went to the ornamental pond, where he scrubbed the dirt from his hands. "No, you have not made a mess of things, I assure you, Miss Smith. It is I who should apologize. I should have locked the door to the garden, which I usually do when we have guests and I am working. I forgot, and naturally you, wishing to view the gardens, came in." He wiped his hands on a rag hung from another shrub, then took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. "You are very kind, ma'am, for trying to take the blame from my shoulders." He smiled widely at her.

Annabella gazed into his eyes, at the warm expression in them and felt, suddenly, that she could not look away. How sweet his smile was—and why did she not notice before that he had dimples? One did not usually think of gentlemen having dimples—or at least she never had before, but Mr. Wentworth had very pronounced ones in each cheek, just by the corners of his mouth. She would have thought dimples would have sat oddly in a face with such a square jaw and stubborn chin, but they did not, not at all. Perhaps that was what made his smile so charming—when he did smile, that is. And oh, she would like to make him smile again!

He stared into her eyes, and his smile slowly faded, an intent expression replacing it. She felt as if he were going to take a step closer to her, but he drew in a sharp breath and released her hand. "Would you like a tour of the gardens, Miss Smith?" he asked.

"I... yes, of course, if you please, sir. Caroline has been telling me that you spend a great deal of time in your gardens." She felt oddly disappointed, though why she should feel so, she did not know.

He nodded. "If you do not mind waiting, I shall show you once I plant this bush." He picked up the bush he had dropped and removed it from its pot. "I hope I have not hurt it by dropping it." He gently lowered it into the hole he had dug, carefully, like a mother laying her child into its cot, then tamped the soil firmly around the base of the plant. "There. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall wash quickly and change my clothes." He gave her a wry smile and gestured at his soil-smudged clothes. "Even I know it would not do to escort you about in such dirt."

He took a few steps away, then stopped and turned around. "I believe you should come with me back to the house, for your own safety. Indeed, you should not have come here without a servant. I do not know where Sir Quentin is staying at present, though I have already sent queries about, and have sent a message to the magistrate, Lord Laughton, informing him of the attack upon your mother. Until I know, I would feel more comfortable if you were escorted."

Annabella frowned briefly. "Very well. I thought I need not, since there seemed to be many servants about the grounds."

"True," Mr. Wentworth replied. "But I believe your mother would worry if she knew, and I would not want her upset."

"How thoughtful you are!" Annabella said and smiled at him. "I am ashamed I did not think of that."

He stared at her again, then looked away, clearing his throat. "Shall we go?" he said and held out his arm. She placed her hand on it, and they left the garden.

Mr. Wentworth was as good as his word: he was down again in less than half an hour. He was better dressed, for he now wore a blue coat and black waistcoat, and his neckcloth was neatly tied, but Annabella could see he dressed more for comfort than for style. He wore no jewelry except for one plain ring on his finger, and his coat was more loose in the shoulders than was fashionable. And yet, she almost regretted the change—not that she wished to see him without his shirt, of course! The very thought of it made her face grow warm again, the way she remembered his—No, it was just that the more casual, workmanlike style seemed to suit him somehow.

She looked at him curiously as they went back to the garden in which she had first see.n him. "Do you work in all of the gardens?"

He hesitated, then said, "No, not all of them. The Grecian one—have you seen it?" At her nod, he continued, "That one is of my mother's design, which I leave for the gardeners to tend. She likes a more structured garden than I do. I like color, and so will bring in roses and flowering trees from the conservatory or greenhouse, once the plants are strong enough." He gave her a long look. "You do not find this strange?"

"What, that you have an avocation you enjoy?" Annabella asked. "Not many choose to work as you do. But there is nothing wrong with useful occupation, whatever it may be, and a harmless one at that. It is not as if you were in trade, after all."

"But so very ... common," Mr. Wentworth replied, and she could hear self-mockery in his voice.

She smiled. "I see you have not been in London much. No, no, Mr. Wentworth, you are very uncommon. You should take advantage of it, you know."

He gazed at her warily, but said nothing, clearly waiting.

"It is an
eccentricity,
and those are all the rage," she explained. "Were you to make it known, with complete assurance, that you cultivate rare and exotic plants—and I suppose you do cultivate rare and exotic plants?"

He nodded, and his lips quirked up for a moment.

"Well, then! Make it known that you are a connoisseur of rare flora, and that you breed only the best. If someone asks you to view their attempts at cross-breeding, then you should accept the invitation. But be chary of your praise! Make sure to criticize the plant thoroughly, and if you can, try to point out some disease or mildew on it. You will then be very sought after, and your habit of doing the work yourself—for, of course, you could not entrust the care of your precious plants to anyone else—will be copied by society's best."

Mr. Wentworth chuckled. "I see I have much to learn about society. I thank you for your instruction; I shall endeavor to put it into practice." He nodded at a rose bush in front of them. "There is one of them—my rare plants. I give each one of them a name after I've successfully bred and cultivated them. This one is called
Corazon
because of its color."

She started and stared at him. "What language is that, Mr. Wentworth?"

He gazed at her with raised brows. "Language?"

"Corazon ..
. what does it mean?"

"Why, it is Spanish, and it means 'heart.'" He smiled. "Are you wondering why I gave it a Spanish name? My family has Spanish blood in it, you see. I remember my grandmother speaking it, long ago."

"Do
you
speak it, then?"

"I? Not fluently. Perhaps a few words, that is all."

Annabella gazed at him, and a ridiculous idea came to her: Could Mr. Wentworth be the Cavalier? There was the Spanish, and yes, the same chin. But surely not! Why, the two men were totally different in nature! The Cavalier was dashing and brave, and while she did not know if Mr.Wentworth was as brave, he was certainly not dashing. The Cavalier had outrageously asserted himself in claiming her company, to the point of wrecking a country dance. She was certain such a thing would never occur to the reticent Mr. Wentworth—he would have blushed to have even thought of it, and she had never seen the Cavalier blush at all. And the Cavalier was taller—or was he? It must be someone else who resembled the Wentworths—or Lord Grafton himself? Lord Grafton would be wholly capable of acting outrageously ... but she hoped it was not he, for she did not like Lord Grafton at all. But who else could it be?She thought of the story Caroline had told her, of the Cavalier's ghost that haunted Wentworth Abbey, and shivered.

"Is there something the matter, Miss Smith?"

Mr. Wentworth's voice startled her out of her thoughts,and she stared at him. "I—no, nothing, only a silly thing,really."

His expression was concerned, but he nodded and looked as if he understood.

They had passed out of the garden in which Mr. Wentworth had been working and entered another, much smaller garden, almost equally full of flowers. Late tulips, red and yellow, filled the beds, and budding rose bushes were behind them. Flowering quince stood at attention at each corner of the garden, and sweet alyssum covered the ground and overflowed the brick that attempted to confine them. A low stone bench stood in the middle of this garden, with statues of cherubs flanking it. Annabella drew him to it, and they sat.

Annabella pressed his hand briefly. "You are very good, Mr. Wentworth ... and if you do not mind, I would count myself fortunate if I could call you friend."

Parsifal opened his mouth, then closed it. He did not expect this, that Miss Smith would wish to be his friend, and he felt an odd mixture of elation and discontent. "I do not mind, Miss Smith," he said at last.

She hesitated, then said, "It is a silly thing, but.. . Caroline took me to the gallery earlier this day and told me of the Cavalier's ghost. She said you knew more of it than she. Could you tell me more of the ghost?"

He smiled at her, feeling more at ease. It was easy for him to talk of his ancestors, for he liked the stories his father had told him of them, and liked the sense of his family reaching back into time, like a tree with deep roots. "Caroline is up to her tricks again, I see, and trying to make our family more romantic than it is. My father did tell us of the Cavalier and his ghost haunting the house. Indeed, Father said he had once seen him, as well. But while the stories about the Cavalier and his death are true, I am not at all sure that my father saw the ghost, or whether it was something he said to amuse us."

"But his vow of vengeance—is that true?"

"Yes. As he lay dying—and I think perhaps he was not aware he was—he whispered to his servant that he would take revenge on anyone who hurt his wife or the people he protected. I imagine he would have said the same for his own death, for he was a man who was quick with word and deed, and it seemed he was betrayed by his own brother, although it has never been proved. But the servant wrote a memoir of the earl and sent it to the countess, and we have it in our library now."

"What... what did he look like? Caroline showed me a miniature of him, for the large portrait of him had been taken down."

Parsifal grimaced. "I will have to disappoint you there, Miss Smith. I am afraid he bore a strong resemblance to me, or so my mother says. He was, however, a man used to commanding respect, and very brave, so if you wish to form romantic notions about him, you may dwell on those aspects of him."

She stared at him then and gave a tiny shake of her head. "I... I think I have seen the Cavalier, although it hardly seems possible."

"Excuse me?" He looked at her, a little troubled and wary, wondering if she might be making fun of him, as others had done. On the other hand, she might have seen the ghost—and he felt a little envious, for he had often wished he could see it himself.

Annabella gave an embarrassed laugh. "Oh, it is silly, I know!" She rose and paced in front of the bench. "There was a Cavalier at the masquerade, and I am sure he was the same one at the Laughtons' ball. He saved me from Sir Quentin and chased him away from my mother. He was all the things you and Caroline said of the thirteenth earl— dashing, brave, quick-witted, and strong. And a little impetuous, as I imagine the earl must have been. I thought he was real... he
felt
real—" She blushed. "That is to say, when we danced. And then he disappeared so quickly, without a sound! But what nonsense! Surely, no ghost would manifest as ... solidly as the Cavalier did."

I should tell her.
Parsifal opened his mouth, but Annabella spoke on, hurriedly.

"I thought perhaps it might be Lord Grafton in disguise, but he has not been here, has he?" She gnawed her lower lip, clearly concentrating on solving the puzzle.

"No, he has just returned today," Parsifal replied. He wondered if she would guess that he was the Cavalier, and what her reaction would be if she did. He hoped she would not be angry and thought perhaps he should not tell her just yet. Cowardly of him, he knew, but she had just asked to be his friend, and he would not want to ruin that—it was all he could claim from her at this time, and he wanted to hold on to it for just a little longer.

"I am glad it was not Lord Grafton." She cast him an embarrassed glance. "For I must confess, I am foolish enough to have formed an infatuation for the Cavalier—for someone who could very easily be a rogue! And I do not mean to malign your brother, but I do not think we would suit at all." She sighed. "Oh, I have been wondering forever who it might be! I even thought it might be the Duke of Stratton, for Caroline did point out the family connection. He was at the masquerade, but I doubt it was he." She laughed. "Do you know, I thought for a moment the Cavalier might have been you—and I can see by your astonishment that you are not the Cavalier, and I feel so silly for thinking it!"

For one moment Parsifal
was
astonished—and elated that she had guessed he was the Cavalier. But she had obviously dismissed the notion as soon as it had come upon her. Of course, she could not think it, and she had felt silly even entertaining the idea.

"You needn't have felt
silly
thinking it, Miss Smith," he could not help saying, and smiled wryly.

She looked at him, startled, then remorse showed clearly in her eyes. "Oh, I didn't mean—I am so sorry! After you have been so kind to me and to my mother! No, I am sure you would be brave, should the occasion arise. And certainly you are strong—that is to say, it
looked
as if you would be, the way your mus—Oh, heavens!" Her face turned pink, and Parsifal knew she was thinking of the way he looked without his shirt. He felt heat creep into his face as well, knowing that he had embarrassed her.

But she looked unhappy, and he was certain it was because she felt she had hurt him. She was a kind and dutiful young lady; and of course it would distress her if she thought his feelings had been hurt. He put on a smile and shook his head.