be missed. “He has not chosen me.”
“So he did not propose today in the drawing room? I am glad to have eliminated that possibility.” Her voice could barely be heard above the pianoforte, but the song was almost finished. “Tell me, child. What did he say to you?”
“He—er—he wished to invite me horseback riding in the morning.”
Mrs. Ollerton’s eyes flashed with victory at having been told what she had been fishing for, yet her disappointment was just as obvious. “Oh, dear. I was not mistaken in his passion.”
I really wished she would stop using the word passion. A passion for teasing me, perhaps. My heart pounded at the thought of Mr. Hill having any real attraction to me. He had made it clear that he esteemed me highly, and he had become something of a trusted friend. We shared a passion for poetry and nature. But romance? Love? That was likely the farthest thing from his mind when he looked at me. He enjoyed making me blush with his flirtations, and that was all.
But the fact that Mrs. Ollerton believed his attachment was genuine was dangerous.
“Mrs. Ollerton, please understand, I am quite certain he does not—”
Miss Taplow’s song ended just seconds before the drawing room door opened. Mr. Hill had never left the dining room so quickly. Mrs. Ollerton moved to a far more comfortable distance, but Mr. Hill seemed to have noticed her quick movement. He likely noticed the blush on my cheeks and discomfort in my expression as well. I quickly put on a pleasant smile, willing my face to cool.
He sat on the chair beside my end of the sofa, joining in the applause that was being offered for Miss Taplow.
“Are you all right?” he said in a quiet voice, just soft enough to evade Mrs. Ollerton’s ears.
I nodded, knowing full well any word I spoke to him would be carefully observed by the rest of the party. They would all be reading my lips.
“What did they say to you?” He lowered his voice further.
Miss Taplow began a second number without invitation, seemingly unwilling to lose her place at the instrument now that Mr. Hill was present.
“I cannot explain here,” I breathed, careful not to draw attention to myself. Mrs. Ollerton was already watching from the corner of her eye, the blue irises shifting in my direction.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
I met his gaze, suddenly far more comfortable than I had been moments before. Ironically, the way he put me at ease instantly was rather unsettling.
One corner of his mouth curled upward. “Now, shall we tell a certain snakelike guest of our morning plans?”
“We must wait until the song is over,” I said in a hushed tone. “Or we shall not hear the resulting hiss.”
He made a choked sound, dipping his chin as if to lodge his laughter in his throat before it could escape. The corners of his mouth still twitched, and I found my own smile particularly strong in its fight against me.
“But there will be no need to tell her,” I said. “I daresay I have vexed everyone enough already.” I adjusted my left glove, enabling me to turn my face far enough away from Mrs. Ollerton to avoid being overheard. “And our hostess already knows.”
“Is she pleased?”
“Not in the slightest.”
Mr. Hill laughed under his breath, and we both sat back, our whispering becoming far too obvious. Miss Taplow’s immaculate performance was not even enough to distract me from the ripple of excitement in my chest. With the downward spiral of each trill she played, I was reminded of the risks I was taking.
For Papa, I told myself.
But the longer I sat against the red sofa resisting the urge to glance at Mr. Hill and his broad smile, the more I realized that my time spent with Mr. Hill was not just for Papa.
Chapter 17
“My horse is much faster than yours, I’d wager,” Mr. Hill said as we rode over the first hill beyond Winslow House. The landscape was more rugged here, less manicured. Dandelions sprouted all around us, trampled underfoot by our horses.
“This is not my horse, so I will not take any offense to that, though I sense he is offended greatly.” I patted the tan mane of my mount before tossing Mr. Hill a smile.
His eyes widened in a look of mock dismay. “He did glare at me just now. It was almost as cutting as one of yours.”
“I have not glared at you in a long while.”
“I do miss it.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Please