Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
“Why don’t we walk for a while? There’s so much of Bath we haven’t seen.”
“Very well. Shall we head toward the river?”
Nodding her agreement, she put her arm in his, and together they strolled down the avenue. Slowly, in deference to Meredith’s skirts.
“I’m sorry for earlier, with Lord Corning.”
“Oh, don’t be.” She bit her lip, abashed by the fact that he’d noticed the gentleman’s treatment of her, too. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He was silent for a moment, as if he were debating whether to take her comment as forgiveness or an invitation to further discussion. “It’s hard, sometimes, for men like him to greet me. I understand it; it can’t be helped. When Corning and I cross paths, naturally I remind him of the brother he lost. I can see it in his eyes, when he looks at me. He’s asking himself why a man like me survived when his brother did not.” Rhys sighed heavily. “It’s a question I can’t answer. There’s no satisfactory answer at all.”
“Wait a moment.” Meredith slowed, tugging on his arm. Eventually they both pulled to a halt. “Are you saying you believe Lord Corning’s awkwardness in that meeting was all about you?”
“But of course. What else would it be?”
“Me, you silly man.” She laughed. “He thought he’d interrupted you with your lady of the evening.”
He stared at her as though she’d gone mad. “No, he didn’t.”
“Rhys, I saw the way he looked at me. He dismissed me as he would a serving girl.”
He simply shook his head and turned, pressing on.
After a few minutes, he said, “You saw him as disapproving of you. I thought him disapproving of me. Funny, isn’t it?”
Not only funny, but a strange relief. Why hadn’t she seen it? Rhys felt like an impostor here, too. She ought to have recognized it earlier, from the way he’d wrestled his cravat. He’d been nervous, just as she had been.
Tilting her head to the twilight sky, she mused, “Do you know what I think? I have a feeling that dour look on Lord Corning’s face had nothing to do with either of us. Perhaps he’d just tasted something unpleasant. Or more likely, his purgative was taking effect at a most inopportune moment.”
They chuckled together and continued strolling down the shop-lined street.
“Which way shall we go?” he asked. “Do you wish to see the Orange Grove?”
“Oh, let’s. I adore oranges.”
“There aren’t any there. The park is named for William of Orange, not the fruit. No oranges to be had. Not much of a grove either, to be honest.”
“Oh. Of course.” She went silent, feeling inexpressibly stupid.
“But,” he went on, “there are surely oranges to be had, somewhere. And if you adore them, you shall have them. Let’s walk down to Sydney Gardens.”
“And are there actual gardens there? Or will I reveal my ignorance again?”
“Actual gardens, yes.” He bent his head and lowered his voice. “Pleasure gardens.”
Her pulse responded quickly to that promise, and only quickened as they made the walk across the Pulteney Bridge, crowded with vendors and shops.
As predicted, they soon came upon a girl hawking oranges. Rhys purchased three, tucking one in either of his pockets and tossing the third to her. Meredith held it between her hands as they walked, periodically lifting the exotic fruit to her nose and breathing deep.
She carried that orange in her gloved hands as they crossed the bridge and paused to gape at the grand homes in Laura Place. Just a short distance more, and they reached the Gardens themselves. Here there was yet more grandeur to be seen. The ancient ruins of a castle, which Rhys informed her was not truly ancient at all, but rather a modern construction. A bowling green and a labyrinth, and of course, all the fashionable people walking to and fro. Plumes bobbed in the perfumed breeze as a clutch of matrons approached. More than one turned a curious eye on Meredith and Rhys, and a titter of gossip rose as they walked past.
Here was that uncomfortable moment again, where they stood in silence. Meredith supposed both she and Rhys were suspecting the ladies’ disapproval to be reserved individually for them.
“I hear music,” she said. Because, although they hadn’t been speaking, a change of subject seemed a welcome thing.
“There are concerts, most nights.” He paused awhile before asking, “Did you wish to attend?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “No, let’s just stroll a bit.”
They ambled aimlessly until they found a quiet, picturesque bridge overlooking a canal. Here they paused, listening to the faint strains of the orchestra waft through the trees. Alone with Rhys, she felt more safe.
He looked at the orange she still carried. “Don’t you want to eat it?” When she hesitated, he motioned to her. “Give it here. I’ll peel it for you.”
She surrendered the orange to him, and he bit the rind to make a flap. She watched as he carefully shelled the sectioned fruit within, removing every bit of peel and membrane, tossing the bits into the canal. Watching him reminded her of that first breakfast they’d shared, and the way he’d balanced an egg in his big, strong fingers.