‘Thank you,’ Leo said as people scurried away.
‘Don’t worry, I know how to do this, even if I’m not…’ She stopped abruptly, as if she was biting her tongue. ‘Never mind.’ She gave her head a small shake. ‘Our next guests are arriving.’
The games had been a little more raucous than she’d planned, Florence had to admit as she descended the grand staircase an hour later. So loud, in fact, that her ears were still ringing. Thankfully, however, nothing was broken, only a few small children had cried—mainly about not winning, though thankfully a few mothers had been on hand to comfort them—and it was time for the grown-up competitions.
‘Now, if the children would like to go with Jane…’ she announced once they reached the hall, throwing a grateful smile at her maid, who was standing by with a stalwart expression, ready to take her new charges away. ‘It’s time for the prize-giving.’
There was a scurry of feet as they all hurried away, leaving her free to draw in a deep breath, smooth her skirts, lift her chin, and then go to join Leo in the Green Room. It had taken a couple of hours, but she’d finally recovered from the initial shock of the old marquess’s letter. As she recalled, Mrs Fitchhad called it a list of ‘kindly meant’ instructions, but in her opinion there had been nothing kindly about it. Leo’s father had wanted to control every facet of his son’s life—first and foremost, his choice of wife.
‘Select a bride whose fortune will enhance the estate, whose temper will benefit your domestic harmony, and whose bloodline is worthy of our illustrious family.’
The words were seared into her brain. She’d suspected something of the sort, but seeing them written down in black and white had shaken her more than she’d anticipated. Now she knew that Leo’s father wouldn’t just have disapproved of her. He would have detested her, just like Mrs Fitch and Sewell had no doubt detested her. As Leo himself had at first detested her! And even though she wasn’t ashamed of who she was and where she came from—only what she’d done to Leo—now she truly realised the size of the gulf between them, and she couldn’t help but feel humiliated and insulted, and hurt too. Because she was the very antithesis of the woman he’d been supposed to marry! A bride without any fortune, with too many opinions, who didn’t possess a single drop of ‘illustrious’ blood! And there could be no making the best of anything because, in his father’s eyes, their union was the worst thing that could possibly have happened, not just to Leo, but to the estate. How was it possible to ‘make the best’ of that?
The blunt truth was that she didn’t belong at Rainton and she never would. And what if the old marquess was right about her? What if she’d already ruined Leo’s life by trapping him? And then kept on ruining it by encouraging him to go against his father’s ‘instructions’, by getting rid of Mrs Fitch and Sewell? What if everything she’d done, and was doing, was just the first step towards…what were the words again…‘the ruination and the collapse of everything I have spent so many years striving to achieve…’? What if, in a few days or weeks or a year even,Leo came to think that way again too? What if she really was the worst thing that could ever have happened to a man she was falling in love with?
She pulled her shoulders back as she made her way to one of the competition tables. It was laden with at least a dozen plates of biscuits, the kind she would normally have been salivating over, if the knot of misery in her stomach hadn’t completely destroyed her appetite. It was a stark contrast to the way she’d felt that morning. She’d been so excited about the fair, but now just keeping her head up felt like an effort, as though she was holding herself together by the thinnest of threads.
‘Are we allowed to taste them, do you think?’
She half turned her head as Leo’s breath skimmed her cheek. ‘Yes…’ She felt the knot twist even tighter. ‘It’s a baking competition. We probably ought to.’
‘It’s hard to know where to start. They all look delicious.’ He picked up a biscuit with raisins and held it to her lips. ‘Judging contests is more fun than I expected.’
‘Mmm.’ She managed to twist her mouth into some approximation of a smile as she chewed.
Leo held on to her gaze, his eyes darkening as he lowered his head. ‘By the way, I have a surprise for you later.’
Her stomach lurched so violently, she almost brought the biscuit up again. All she wanted to do later was curl up in a corner and scream her emotions into a pillow. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes.’ He winked, as if he was genuinely enjoying himself, as if he didn’t know that she was everything his father had loathed… ‘But you have to wait and see.’
She gritted her teeth, then kept them gritted as the afternoon dragged on. After the baking competition came flower arranging, then embroidery, then wood carving and finally landscape painting, after which she presented the prizes to loud applause, and Leo gave a speech, thanking everyone for comingdespite the weather and suggesting they all adjourn for the picnic.
‘Ready for your surprise?’ Leo murmured as the crowd headed towards the ballroom. ‘It’s upstairs.’
‘Now?’ She stiffened, every nerve suddenly on high alert. ‘What about our guests?’
‘You said we ought to make ourselves scarce.’ He offered an arm. ‘We can show ourselves again later at the dance. In the meantime, Rimmer will keep an eye on things.’
She nodded reluctantly, unable to think of an excuse. ‘Very well.’
They climbed the staircase and made their way along the upstairs gallery in silence. Florence kept her feet moving, though her pulse was racing so fast, she felt as if the world was spinning around her. Their kiss that morning played itself over and over in her mind. ‘Later…’ he’d said. Did he meannow? Because there was no way she could even think about anything like that, not when her emotions were still so raw. She sucked in a breath, wondering how to tell him as he opened his bedroom door, then released it again as he led her straight through his chamber, past the bed, and on into a dressing room.
‘It’s a private picnic,’ Leo announced. ‘When I went down to the kitchens for tea, I asked Mrs Hotham to make us a special hamper.’
‘Oh…’ She placed a hand to her chest, touched despite the tension now pounding in her head. A large white blanket had been spread out over the carpet, surrounded by cushions, while a red bow had been tied to the top of the hamper. ‘It looks lovely.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’ He waited for her to sit before crouching down beside the basket. ‘Although I have to admit, I’m still quite full from all the biscuits. Sandwiches might have to wait.’
‘Yes.’ She tried to laugh, but it was impossible. She felt too overwhelmed, as if she might break into tears at any moment.
‘Florence, what is it?’ His expression softened. ‘Has something happened?’
‘No. Yes. I can’t…’ She closed her eyes.
‘Try.’ Their shoulders touched as he sat down beside her. ‘Whatever it is, it can’t be so bad. Or, if it is, we’ll deal with it together.’
‘I read your letter!’ The words erupted out of her, the sympathetic look in his eyes making her feel even more wretched. ‘I know I had no right and I should have asked your permission first, but it was just sitting on your desk and I wanted to know what Mrs Fitch meant about a warning.’