Sebastian marked the lady’s hesitation with approval. As she took a slow sip of her tea, he sensed she was searching for the right words to frame a polite refusal.
“I should be reluctant to disoblige you, Mr. Stanhope, but I fear Hermione has been too kind in her praise of my skill. You would be much better served bestowing your commission upon her.”
“I would, of course.” Claude helped himself to another pastry from the tray. “But I fear the task might be beyond even her considerable powers. I desire a sketch of her, perhaps tinted with watercolors. I am certain you possess both the talent and appreciation for your subject to render a flattering but accurate likeness.”
Miss Beaton’s reluctance vanished in an indulgent smile. “Very well then, sir. If you have faith in my powers, I shall be happy to make the attempt.”
Would the lady be as willing to undertake a different sort of commission which he intended to offer her? Sebastian bolted a mouthful of tea. Though she had not known him long and their acquaintance had gotten off to a bad start, Miss Beaton did not appear to hold it against him. Indeed, he sensed a deep bond of mutual respect and sympathy between them that he fervently hoped might win her over.
Their tea was not a success, Rebecca was forced to admit, in spite of the quantity and variety of baked delicacies on offer. Though Lord Benedict made an effort to be civil to Hermione, the poor girl seemed to sense his veiled hostility, which dampened her spirits. Afraid of saying the wrong thing, she spoke hardly a word even when the others tried to draw her out. Her wary silence only made his lordship impatient and Claude Stanhope irritable.
Desperate to fill the tense pauses in conversation, Rebecca found herself talking far more than she was accustomed to. She seized every opportunity to pay tribute to her former pupil’s cleverness, good nature and many accomplishments. Yet she feared her praise rang hollow in the face of Hermione’s wooden silence.
The only thing that made the experience bearable was Lord Benedict’s attentiveness. He seemed to hang on her every word. He laughed at her feeble efforts to lighten the atmosphere with a jest. He continually offered her dainty cakes and pastries. Surely Hermione could not be correct in supposing the viscount had taken a fancy to her? Hard as Rebecca strove to dismiss such an unlikely but appealing notion, Lord Benedict’s gallantry made it difficult to deny the possibility.
At last his lordship rose and bowed to his aunt. “Thank you for the fine tea, but if I swallow another crumb, I fear I may explode. Would you ladies care to take a stroll around our gardens? They are quite fine, though I can take no credit for them. That is one area in which my neglect has served a useful purpose. I reckon good gardeners are like good generals. They achieve their best results when given plenty of supplies and a minimum of interference.”
The quip and his invitation broke the brittle tension among their small party.
“A splendid suggestion!” Claude Stanhope leaped to his feet and held out his hand to his fiancée. “Come, Hermione, you must see the view from the Fountain Garden.”
“I should like that very much.” Hermione seemed to shake off the bemusement that had held her mute. “The fresh air will do me good.”
As the young couple joined hands and hurried away, Rebecca rose to follow at a discreet distance, as she had so often during their brief courtship. Only this time, rather than tagging along on her own as a grudgingly tolerated chaperone, she was escorted by Lord Benedict. The viscount diverted her with stories about Stanhope Court and his ancestors whose portraits thronged its walls.
Once outside, Rebecca was immediately enchanted with the gardens, beginning with the one behind the house. It nestled between the east and west wings of Stanhope Court like a beloved child cradled in the arms of a caring parent. The colors of the flowers stood out in vivid contrast to the background of greenery.
Next Lord Benedict led her down a brickwork path that wound through a succession of vine-covered trellises to a smaller terrace garden cut into the side of the hill. Surrounded by box hedge walls, it had the air of a secret room decorated in shades of pink and gold. Rebecca wished she could linger in it, but since Hermione and Mr. Stanhope had already moved on, they followed.
When she entered the final garden, Rebecca let out a gasp of wonder mingled with a sigh of delight. This tiny hillside bower was not planted with bright-colored flowers to draw the eye. Instead it was edged with greenery and contained only a few pale but fragrant blossoms. At its heart, a small stone fountain splashed and tinkled a soothing liquid melody. The focus of this garden was not upon itself, but outward at the breathtaking view of the Vale of Avoncross.
“How lovely!” cried Hermione. “I could stand here all day and never grow tired of such a view.”
As Hermione extolled the panorama before them, Rebecca could not help wishing her young friend would hold her tongue for a few minutes. This glorious prospect deserved to be savored, with only the gentle babble of the fountain and the subtle fragrance of flowers to enhance the experience.
Despite Hermione’s vow that she could stand and stare all day, it was not long before her interest waned and she and Mr. Stanhope wandered back up the path. Or perhaps she wanted to escape the brooding presence of Lord Benedict.
Rebecca’s reaction was quite the opposite. She welcomed the opportunity to enjoy such a rich feast for the senses in his company.
Eventually, however, duty won out over inclination. “I suppose we ought to rejoin the others.”
“In a moment.” The viscount turned toward her with a gaze as blue and breathtaking as the wide Cotswold sky. “First I have something particular I wish to ask you.”
Something particular? That usually implied a delicate matter, often romantic in nature. Surely Lord Benedict could not intend to declare some feelings for her... could he? After all, they’d just met the other day and theirs would be a far more unequal match than his brother’s, to which he objected so strongly.
Though Rebecca reminded herself of those things, her heart began to beat far too fast and her voice caught in her tightened throat when she replied, “By all means, your lordship. I am at your service.”
She deliberately tried to emphasize with her words the vast gulf between her position and his.
The viscount refused to take heed. “I do not mean to issue orders or condescend to you, Miss Beaton. I respect you too much for that. In many important ways, I believe we are very much equal. Our great concern for those we care about, for instance.”
As Lord Benedict spoke, his deep voice grew softer and mellower in timbre. It might have coaxed a sigh from Rebecca, if she had not been on her guard to avoid any such slip.