Page 47 of Holly & Folly

Their smiling eyes met, and Nell’s heart fluttered. Millie’s hopeful comments had clearly wormed their way into it despite her best efforts.

She took a step back and tried to look down at the bow, an impossible feat. “I must trust that you have not overstated your skill.”

“It would be impossible to do so.” He winked, and they continued walking.

There were already a half-dozen people in the saloon when they arrived, and the rest followed quickly.

Lord Dalmeer led the way through the tall French doors, a gust of chill air blowing into the room as they followed him out.

The winter garden was larger than Nell had expected, with nooks and crannies to explore. It was primarily gray and brown, the main color coming from the ivy that dominated the rectangular space. On closer inspection, though, hellebore, winter aconite, and winter jasmine brought pops of color to an otherwise dreary world.

Nell tried not to feel satisfaction when Lord Dalmeer remained with her as the group began to break off into pairs. This was the agreement they had made, and he was doing it as much for his own good as for hers.

Millie cast Nell a look, one of her eyebrows lifted subtly.

Nell lifted her own back at Millie, as Wesley was beside her.

“The secret language of friends,” Lord Dalmeer said, apparently noticing the exchange.

“I was obliged to tell Millie about our arrangement,” Nell explained as they strolled past what looked to be a promising bunch of snowdrops, yet to bloom.

“Obliged? How so?”

“She was…overly eager about what she had witnessed between us.”

The silence that followed this had Nell stealing a glance at him from the corner of her eye.

He was frowning.

“I was quick to disabuse her of such a notion,” she assured him.

“And yet the look she just sent you…”

Nell hoped that the nip of the air was justification enough to him for the color in her cheeks. “Millie is the very best sort of friend, who loves me enough to disregard my past—and ignore that it is not so easy for others to do.”

Lord Dalmeer stopped in front of a patch of white and purple hellebore and clasped his hands behind his back. “Then I too am the very best sort of friend.”

Nell regarded him. He had not meant that he loved her, though; merely that he disregarded her past. As a friend. Allowances could be made for friends which were simply impossible in romantic attachment and marriage.

“I have always liked the winter garden,” he said, looking around.

“This is the first I have ever been in. What is it that draws you?”

He reached out and touched a purple hellebore petal. “My mind can grasp how a beautiful flower may bloom in the lush conditions of spring and summer. But to see something so striking survive the elements and bloom despite them is miraculous, I think. And enviable.” He looked at her.

Nell met his gaze but could not find the words nor the capacity to respond, thanks to the tightness in her throat.

She had weathered elements of her own. She had survived. In Lord Dalmeer’s company, she sometimes felt as though she was thriving, even—something she had not thought possible.

“Will you tell me?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Tell you what?”

There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. Gentle, like his eyes.

“About what happened that night.”

Thirteen