“I don’t think it’s proper.”
“I’m amazed, and impressed, at how loyal you are to a man you haven’t even real y gotten to know yet.”
She squirmed, as if she were again under Henry’s mental microscope.
“Here.” He stretched the binoculars in front of her eyes and slid behind her. His buttons grazed the smal of her back. With his arms brushed up against hers, he adjusted the focus for her. “Do you see him?”
She saw a lot of things, including the fact that she liked Henry a lot more than a girl was supposed to like a potential brother-in-law. “Yes. He’s—
he’s beautiful.” She watched the woodpecker as he turned his green head topped with red feathers, and she handed the binoculars back. Her eyes fel to the forest floor littered with leaves. “Thank you. The most common woodpecker back home is the downy woodpecker. He has red plumage on the back of his neck. He’s much smal er, though.”
She smoothed down her overdress. Mrs. Crescent had told her that a lady must never reveal her ful intel igence to a man, and this she found exasperating. She stepped into the breezy clearing, and away from him. Anyone could see them here. She had to get away, but didn’t want to leave.
He moved toward her. “By the way, would you like me to fix your tiara? I’m afraid, though, it’s too late to repair it before the bal .”
It was enough to stop her for a moment longer. She had to think about this one.
“I can come by later to look at it. I’l be able to tel you if I can fix it as wel as any jeweler would.” He pul ed an apple out of his pocket and shined it on his coat.
Chloe licked her lips at the sight of the apple. A breeze wafted through the trees and the dappled light flitted around them like sparkles from a disco bal .
She had to get out of here. “Yes, that’s fine,” she said absentmindedly. “I—I need to head back.”
“Absolutely. I would escort you—but . . . we shouldn’t be together.” Henry bowed and fed the apple to his horse.
The horse crunched on the fruit. Chloe was ravenous, especial y for fruit. She’d slept right through the mutton dinner last night.
Henry raised his eyebrows. “Unless you’d like me to escort you back to Bridesbridge after al ?”
“No, thank you. But might I ask if you have any more of those apples?”
A shaft of sunlight came down on him through the trees. “You do realize how bad they are for your complexion, right?”
She smiled. “I’m wil ing to take that chance.”
“I don’t have any more, but the one my horse is eating was barely fit for consumption, human or equine. If you want fruit, I have something better.”
He smirked.
Chloe folded her arms. “I’m sure you do. But that’s not what I had in mind.” She curtsied and turned to go. Much as she enjoyed the repartee with Henry, she needed to be bantering with Sebastian instead.
“I’m talking about the fruit growing at the Wrightman hothouse.”
Much as the hothouse sounded—hot—she knew better. “I can’t risk it and I don’t have the time.”
“How much time do you have?”
The woodpecker started laughing again.
“Considering I’m not of high enough rank to carry a chatelaine, I never know what time it is. But I only have until twelve-thirty.”
Henry checked his watch fob, and Chloe checked her thoughts of the two of them in a “hothouse.”
Even though she’d kil for a strawberry, it had to be nearly twelve-thirty and she had to hurry back, so she curtsied. “Good day, Mr. Wrightman.”
With that, she left him, and didn’t look back.
“I’m sorry.”
“Were you with Mr. Wrightman?” Cook sneered.
Chloe swal owed. She never lied to Cook. “No—no. I just ran into Henry.”
“Taking a fancy to the penniless one? Tossing your fortune to the wind?” Cook chopped a carrot.
“It’s not just about the money!” Chloe blurted out.
Cook raised an eyebrow. “Humph. What about Mrs. Crescent’s little Wil iam?”
“You know about him?”
“Of course.” A cauldron on the range bubbled over and dripped into the fire with a sizzle. Cook swung the pot hook out and let the cauldron hang, cooling.
Four dead, skinned rabbits lay on the table. “He doesn’t have a hope without that prize money.” Cook raised her knife, chopped the heads off each rabbit, then stood the heads up on a platter in a neat row.
