Page 50 of Holly & Folly

She hesitated. “So, you do not disagree with the assessment I made when we first met.”

He gently pulled the bonnet from her head. “I do disagree with it. Heartily.”

She gave an incredulous laugh. “You are becoming nonsensical, my lord.”

He regarded her. “Shall we walk?”

She nodded, trying not to show her disappointment at the change of subject.

They strolled the flagstone path that twisted through trees and flowers and bushes.

“My parents married for love, you know,” he said. “It was a match regarded by all as ideal. My mother had beauty and wealth, my father had title and wealth, and they loved each other. They even had an heir less than a year after their marriage when I was born.”

Nell waited, unsure what point he hoped to make.

“I witnessed firsthand over the years as their love turned to frustration, then annoyance, then a tense coexistence. Father drowned himself in the estate and his obligations in the Lords, and Mother consumed herself with social engagements and expensive finery.”

Nell glanced at him. “And you?”

His mouth curled in a wry smile. “I pined in secret for days past.”

She frowned. Lord Dalmeer had seemed so nonchalant. So cavalier, even, at times. To hear him speak of hardship drew her to him in a new way entirely.

“So, you see, Miss Prescott, our histories and circumstances may differ, but the result is the same: we are both determined to marry practically. Not so very different, after all, I think.”

Nell was quiet as she pondered this assessment. “I had assumed your mother’s penchant for matchmaking grew out of her own experience in marriage.”

“Oh, I think it did, but not, perhaps, in the way you suppose. My mother is a woman searching to fill a hole.”

They came to a place where the path forked, but rather than choosing a direction, they slowed.

“Evidence of Mother’s search.” Lord Dalmeer pointed.

A ball of mistletoe hung from the branch of a laurel tree.

“Had she known you and I would be here,” Nell said, “no doubt she would take it down.”

“Quite likely,” he replied, gazing at it.

The confirmation stung. Lady Dalmeer’s dislike of Nell housed a truth that was becoming increasingly painful to acknowledge: there was a chasm between them that no amount of similarity on the subject of love and marriage could bridge.

He turned toward her, smiling. “You have upturned Mother’s best plans.”

Her own responsive smile was weak. “I did not come here with such a purpose in mind.”

“No, but I am glad you did come.”

She looked down at the toe of her boot against the flagstones and forced a laugh. “To be the instrument of torture against your mother?” She cringed as the words came out more pitiful than teasing.

The only reply was silence.

The toe of the earl’s boot, still wet from the snow, stepped into her vision until it nearly touched hers. His hand slipped under her chin, then lifted it gently.

Nell slowly allowed her gaze to meet his, afraid of the pity she would find there.

His eyes searched hers, but there was no pity in the brown depths. All she saw was her own desire—the one that made her heart skip and tumble and race all at once.

He drew closer, and his fingers slid from her chin to her cheek. “It is me you have been torturing.” His thumb grazed her lips.