It should not. It never has before.
Instead, he replied, “Not trouble. It confounds.”
Eliza smiled, tired now. “You are used to everyone being an open book.”
“Not everyone,” he replied. “But I do enjoy it when people make sense.”
She laughed, quick and real. “Then you must find me insufferable.”
“Not insufferable.” He considered. “Unpredictable.”
She looked at him, and her eyes were not cold at all.
He wondered, for a moment, if the storm was in the room.
After a time, she said, “I had tea with Lady Wilhampton today.”
He felt the ground shift beneath his feet. “Did you?”
“She invited me. It would have been rude to refuse.”
“I hope she did not make herself unpleasant.”
Eliza shrugged, but the gesture was calculated. “On the contrary, she was most welcoming. She made me feel as if we were already old friends.”
August frowned. That was not Lady Wilhampton’s way, for she preferred to collect enemies, not friends.
He stared at Eliza, thrown off balance. “You did not seem to be fond of her when I introduced you.”
“Yes, but that was because I did not know her.” She set her hands in her lap. “But she made it clear that she knows you very well.”
August felt a muscle jump in his jaw. “We are acquainted.”
Eliza waited. He said nothing more. She stood, gathering her wrapper around her shoulders. The storm was already passing; the rain softened, and the thunder was more distant.
“I should go,” she said and started toward the door.
“Why did you really go to tea with her?” he called after her.
Eliza paused but kept her back to him. “I wanted to make new friends.”
August stood and closed the distance between them. He took her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Lady Wilhampton is not the sort of woman I would expect you to befriend.”
Eliza’s eyes bore into his own as if she was seeking something deep within his soul. A long moment passed before she replied, “I know.”
That simple response nearly shifted the ground beneath his feet. What manner of game was his wife playing? And why did it matter to him?
Fourteen
“You are not actually going to try the wheelbarrow race, are you?” Eliza asked, squinting at the heap of chaos assembling near the pond’s edge.
August feigned offense as he steered her off the main thoroughfare, expertly navigating a knot of toddlers and a dog that looked as though it had never known a leash. “My dear, if you have never seen the Duke of Wildmoore in a wheelbarrow, you have not lived.”
“I was under the impression that the wheelbarrow was, by definition, for objects and not for persons.” She kept pace with him, a neat two steps behind, though when they reached the fence line she forged ahead as if she owned the field.
“That is a common misconception.” He grinned at her sidelong. “The real trick is getting the person out of the wheelbarrow without causing a scandal or a lawsuit.”
“Is that the voice of experience, My Lord?”