but at the same time she was aware of a sense of impending doom.
God in heaven, here she was again, one word away from being dismissed from Lord Darlington’s service. She’d have to return to London and explain to Lady Clifford she’d lost her temper, and insulted one of his lordship’s guests.
“Cecilia.”
Cecilia went still at the commanding note in Lord Darlington’s voice, but she kept her chin high as she turned to face him. Let him send her away, then, because nothing—nothing—would make her beg that wretched woman’s pardon. She’d sooner jump in the lake than beg Mrs. Honeywell for anything.
“If you still wish to have your walk, you’d better get on with it. It’s growing colder, and it looks as if it might snow.”
“Lord Darlington!” Mrs. Honeywell was so furious she actually stamped her foot.
Lord Darlington said nothing, but he gave Mrs. Honeywell a look that silenced her at once. “Go on, then.” His voice was quiet, but his blue eyes were soft.
She gaped at him, stunned, but he turned away from her to smile down at Miss Honeywell. “Do you still wish to see the rose walk, Miss Honeywell? Or would you prefer a warm fire and a cup of tea?”
Miss Honeywell blossomed under his attention like a flower opening up to the sun. “The rose walk, please, my lord.”
“This way, then.”
Lord Darlington led Miss Honeywell down the pathway without another glance at Cecilia. It was the most thorough dismissal she’d ever experienced in her life, but it didn’t appear to be a permanent one. She’d have to content herself with that.
She told herself to turn away, to get on with her walk, not to watch them go, but against her better judgment, she found herself staring after them. Lord Darlington’s head was bent toward Miss Honeywell as she said something to him, and the beauty of the two of them caused a pang in Cecilia’s chest. They were lovely together, perfectly suited to each other in looks, with Lord Darlington’s dark coloring complementing Miss Honeywell’s golden fairness.
Not that Lord Darlington’s handsomeness made the least bit of difference to Cecilia, who hadn’t been sent here to gawk at him like a schoolgirl. His handsomeness was not, after all, any proof he wasn’t a murderer. If Cecilia was obliged to remind herself of this more than once as she paced the narrow pathways of the kitchen garden with Isabella…well, no one else had to know about it.
Isabella was subdued for a time after the incident with Mrs. Honeywell. Cecilia kept a close eye on her, being of the opinion that children—particularly bright, thoughtful children like Isabella —were a great deal more sensitive than adults suspected they were.
Isabella soon forgot the incident, however, and skipped between the neat rows of flower beds, pointing out her favorites to Cecilia. They wandered about, with Cecilia pausing now and again to admire a shrub, or try and guess the origin of the plants she didn’t recognize.
Which was, admittedly, most of them.
She was fond of flowers, but she hadn’t had much opportunity to learn about them, there being only a very small garden at the Clifford School, and all of them too busy to spend much time in it.
The Darlington Castle kitchen garden was a large one, surrounded by a high stone wall to keep any animals from nibbling the vegetation. It was tidy despite its size, and pleasant to wander in, with its gravel pathways and rows of carefully tended plants, though there wasn’t much greenery in evidence, everything having been trimmed and tucked away for the winter.
“My mama took me here sometimes.” Isabella stopped near the back wall of the garden, near a large patch of lavender in a corner, rather pretty still with its slender gray leaves, though the purple spires had long since bloomed their last.
“Your…mama?”
“Yes. Her name is Leanora, and she’s very pretty.”
This was the first time Isabella had ever mentioned her mother to Cecilia. She was a bit taken aback, but she said only, “I daresay she is, Isabella. Shall we go and see if this lavender has any scent?”
Isabella gave an eager nod. Cecilia waded into the patch of lavender with Isabella at her side, and leaned over a clump that looked a trifle heartier than the rest. She inhaled, and got a faint hint of the sweet floral scent. “Oh, that’s lovely.”
“Lovely,” Isabella echoed, burying her face in the lavender and taking a deep sniff.
Cecilia smiled, then rose and brushed the dirt from her skirts. “It’s