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They moved toward the terrace doors. Elizabeth expected Lord Rosedale to offer his arm to their hostess, but instead he fell into step beside her, shortening his stride to match hers.

“Do you intend to say anything to the gardener?” he asked quietly, glancing at her as they crossed the terrace.

“I thought I would nod a great deal,” Elizabeth said. “It usually passes for understanding.”

“A sound strategy,” he told her. “I have nodded my way through entire dinners about drainage.”

She looked at him, curiosity piqued. “And no one noticed?”

“Not until they asked me a question,” he said, with perfect gravity.

Elizabeth smiled, and he held the door open for her, steadying it as she passed. Outside, the morning air was fresh and cool against her cheeks, and the gravel was dark in places where dew had settled. She heard birds among the shrubs and the soft rustle of skirts as Charlotte joined Lady Wetherby farther along the path. The scent of damp earth and green things rose around her, and some of the tightness in her chest eased.

The garden looked different from the quiet place she had discovered after midnight. She could see the borders now, bright with color. Carefully clipped hedges and a narrow path branched toward a summerhouse partly concealed by climbing plants. Its white trellis dappled with light and shadow. She glanced toward the gate, the stone pillars pale in the sunshine. Lord Rosedale noticed.

“You found the roses before the rest of us,” he said, following her gaze.

“Only those beside the wall,” she said, then smiled. They were lovely.

“Then we have plenty left to discover.”

He said it as though they were doing it together. Elizabeth liked the suggestion so much that she forgot her next answer and simply walked beside him in a small, warm silence. Lady Wetherby led them to a border where the gardener waited, hat in hand, turning the brim slowly between his fingers. The man began explaining his concerns, and Elizabeth listened while their hostess pointed out the plants she hoped to preserve, her bracelets jingling with each gesture.

For several minutes, she had no need to think about the gentleman beside her. The gardener knew his work and spoke plainly, letting her follow the explanation without feeling foolish. She relaxed gradually, her attention caught by the curl of a leaf and the pattern of the petals. When he paused, she looked toward a smaller plant near the edge, its blooms pale and slightly bent. “Would that one fare better in a less exposed place?” Lady Wetherby turned toward her. She felt the old urge to say she knew very little and might be wrong. Her cheeks warmed as the words gathered on her tongue.

The gardener answered before she could. “Indeed it would, my lady. That is what I hoped to persuade her ladyship of.”

Their hostess sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Then I appear to be outnumbered.”

Charlotte examined the little rose, tilting her head. “I believe it would be handsome beside the summerhouse.”

The conversation continued, but Elizabeth remained aware of Lord Rosedale looking at her. She glanced at him and saw a small, warm, unguarded smile. “What is it?” she asked quietly.

“You have proved more useful than I am likely to be.”

“I only repeated something he had already explained,” she said.

“You listened,” he said. “That is more than some would do.”

She lowered her gaze, pleased by the observation yet unsure how to take it. “That is hardly an accomplishment.”

“It appears to have settled a disagreement,” he told her. “That is no small accomplishment.”

Elizabeth looked back toward Lady Wetherby, who was now considering the new position with increasing enthusiasm. She nodded and pointed at the plants as if it had been her idea all along. Perhaps her contribution had settled a disagreement. Helping without a fuss pleased her, just as it did when she worked with her friends.

Lord Rosedale did not ask her to say more. He stood beside her while the others discussed where the plant should go, close enough that she felt his warmth, and she didn’t feel obliged to fill every silence between them. The quiet was easy, like a hand held loosely. That was pleasant. It was also rather unusual.

After a while, Lady Wetherby wished to inspect another border. Charlotte went with her, pausing to glance back, her eyes bright with an expression Elizabeth chose not to interpret. “We shall only be along the next path, Elizabeth.”

“Go ahead,” Elizabeth said. “I shall be able to see you from here.”

Her friend smiled and continued walking. Lord Rosedale stayed beside the rose border, close enough to talk without crowding her, his hands clasped behind his back. “Would you like to follow?” he asked.

“In a moment.” She had answered before realizing that she preferred to stay where she was. He appeared content with the choice, his shoulders relaxing. Elizabeth touched her fingertips against her palm, a small, nervous habit.

“Have you visited this estate before?”

“Twice,” he answered.