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“Very,” he said, a smile warming his face as he draped his gloves over his arm. “Lady Wetherby pointed out every improvement her neighbors ought to make.”

“She is generous with her advice,” Elizabeth said, her lips twitching.

“Remarkably. I began to fear for my own estate,” he said, with a mock shudder that made his shoulders jerk.

Elizabeth smiled, and her last nervousness slipped away.

“Have you been occupied?” he asked, his head tilted with genuine interest.

“A little sewing. Some reading,” she said, thinking of her over-stitched reticule and the book she had not truly read.

“Will you walk with me?” he asked, his tone light but his gaze steady on hers. “I have been sitting still for rather a long time.”

Elizabeth looked toward the open front door, and her pulse quickened at the thought. The sky had clouded over, a soft, low gray, but the air drifting in smelled warm and green. It was heavy with the promise of rain and cut grass.

“Only a short walk,” she said, resting her hand on his sleeve. “Lady Wetherby has ordered tea.”

“Then we must return before she notices our absence,” he said in a low, conspiratorial voice, and a delighted shiver ran through her as they stepped toward the door together.

They took the side path toward the garden, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. This time, Elizabeth found she had plenty to say. She told him about Lady Markham’s firm opinions upon correspondence and the fastening she had almost sewn beyond use. He listened, asked questions, and laughed at her account of Sir Henry trying to persuade him to buy horses he did not need. His impression of the gentleman’s booming voice was so accurate that she pressed a hand to her mouth.

They had nearly reached the summerhouse when rain began to patter lightly and quickly on the leaves. Elizabeth lifted her face. A cool, sudden drop landed on her cheek. “I believe the rain has come sooner than I expected,” he said.

Before she could answer, the rain quickened, drumming against the leaves. He guided her toward the summerhouse, his hand at the small of her back. They reached its shelter just as a proper shower swept across the path in a silvery curtain. She laughed breathlessly as he stepped inside behind her, shaking water from his sleeves. “Lady Wetherby will have to be disappointed with our absence.”

“We might plead that we were detained inspecting her roses,’ he said.

“She would want every detail,” she said.

He grinned. “Then I shall rely upon you.”

A few drops had gathered on her sleeve, but the rain on his hair caught her attention, dark and glistening. One lock had fallen forward over his brow, curling damply against his skin. She wanted to smooth it back. The wish was so simple that, for once, she did not spend long questioning it. When he lowered the handkerchief, she reached up and brushed the damp lock into place. Her fingertips grazed his forehead. He became still, his breath catching. Elizabeth lowered her hand, suddenly aware of what she had done, her heart pounding. “There,” she said softly.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

He was looking at her mouth. The rain drummed upon the roof, loud and steady, sealing them into a small, private world. Behind him, water gathered along the edge of a climbing leaf and spilled in a silver thread, catching the gray light. Elizabeth set her hand against his coat, feeling the warm wool and the strong beat of his heart beneath it. “I was hoping you might kiss me again,” she admitted, her voice trembling.

His expression shifted, amusement giving way to a focus that made her glad as his hand settled at her waist, firm, warm, and sure. “I have wanted to since you came downstairs,” he said, low.

She smiled before he bent his head. This kiss was familiar enough to welcome, and different enough to surprise. She knew where to rest her hand now, curling her fingers into his lapel. She knew she liked the warmth of his palm through her gown, the slight change in his breathing as she moved nearer, and the soft catch of it against her lips. When he paused, she followed him a little, rising on her toes, unwilling to let the moment end.

He made a quiet sound against her mouth and drew her closer, his arm wrapping around her. Elizabeth had not expected desire to feel so much like relief. She had spent years considering what to say, where to stand, whether she had been too quiet or too noticeable. Here, she could lift her face to his and be certain he welcomed it. The certainty loosened every knot she had carried, leaving her light and warm and unafraid.

He moved his lips to her cheek, brushing the soft skin. She closed her eyes as he kissed the corner of her mouth, then rested her forehead briefly against his shoulder, breathing him in. The rain and wool and the clean scent of his skin. He held her while the rain fell, his hand moving slowly in a soothing circle at her back.

After a while, she looked up. His cravat had been disturbed beneath her hand, crumpled and slightly askew. “I have made a dreadful mess of you,” she said, a little guiltily.

His smile came slowly, warm and lazy. “I shall endure it.”

She tried to straighten the linen, but her fingers weren't particularly steady. The folds slipped away. He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles; his lips lingered. “There. Leave it.”

“Someone will notice,” she said.

“Then I shall blame the weather.”

Elizabeth laughed, though she remained close to him, her hand still in his. Through the doorway, the shower had begun to ease, leaving the garden shining and fresh. Every leaf bright with droplets and the air sweet with wet earth. Soon they would have to return. Tea, conversation, and several people might notice how long they had been gone. The thought brought a small pang, and she pushed it away.

She laid her cheek against his coat for one moment more, listening to the steady thud of his heart. “May we wait until it stops entirely?”