from trying.
Jacob angled his head, his gaze lifting from her face to her hair. “I mean, with that hair your mask was not much of a disguise, but it’s still nice to see your face again.”
She looked down at her hands, wishing away the volley of nerves suddenly besetting her. “My hair is too . . . brazen.” Mama had told her that plenty of times.
“Your hair is beautiful.” The rejoinder came quickly. Forcefully.
Her gaze snapped up to his face and remained there, trapped in all that beautiful darkness.
Perhaps there was a bit of magic to the night after all.
Her lips parted to thank him for the compliment, but no sound escaped.
They did not speak. They simply stared at one another with his magical words between them and her pulse racing.
He cleared his throat and looked off somewhere in the distance. “Ah. Wait here one moment.”
He left her on the bench and trotted over to a vendor. He spoke to the man and offered him a farthing in exchange for one of the several drinks and a biscuit available on his cart. Moments later, Jacob returned with a glass and biscuit in hand.
“Here.” He held up the cup to her lips. “Drink this.”
She sipped delicately at first, testing it. Once she recognized it as the ratafia she had liked so much at the tavern, she drank more greedily.
“Now have a bite of this,” he directed.
She accepted the iced biscuit from him and took a bite. It was lemon and so tasty. She took several more bites, surprised that she had an appetite after what she just witnessed. Then again, it was well past the dinner hour.
She finished off the biscuit and the drink.
Feeling refreshed, she handed him back the cup with a murmured thanks.
“You are very kind to look after me,” she added, dusting off her fingers.
Warmth spread through her now much calmer belly and it occurred to her, belatedly, that she should perhaps have not consumed her drink so quickly. Especially on an empty stomach. She was unaccustomed to the effect of spirits, and she knew they influenced people in sometimes inappropriate ways. She needed to keep her wits about her.
She’d heard Mama tell Papa that Redding was a little too fond of his drink. Violet did not seem concerned on the matter—or at least she always defended him when Mama complained about it, insisting that he was only ever enjoying himself and there was no harm in that. On the occasions Primrose had been in Redding’s company, no spirits had been served, but she’d had a flash of his face in the tavern earlier, flushed and ruddy, his eyes glassy, his laughter as loud as a braying mule’s. Doubtlessly, he had been drinking then.
Indeed, somewhere tonight in these very Gardens he was well foxed, which was fortunate for her. It would be unlikely for him to recognize her if they crossed paths again.
She and Jacob sat on the bench for some moments, the sound of revelry within the Gardens a distant hum in the air.
She stared into the evening at the people strolling about, intent on their own leisure. “Those poor beasts. I don’t understand why people take pleasure in such brutality.”
“Not all people do.”
She waved a hand toward the rotunda. “Well, there are many in there who are taking great pleasure.”
“And many more who are not.”
She shook her head. “I suppose I’m not so grown-up, after all.”
“Don’t consider yourself a child simply because you don’t revel in animals being abused. Most people are not so cruel.” He turned on the bench and leaned slightly in without touching her, as though he was imbuing reassurance with his proximity. “There are other people like you who would get sickened at the sight of such brutality.” He paused and then added, “‘Gentleness is the antidote for cruelty.’”
She sent him a quick inquisitive look. “Plato?”
His nodded. “You know your Greek philosophizers?”
She shrugged, determined not to bask beneath what sounded like praise in his voice. “We’ve a few of his books in our library.” And she had a great deal of time on her hands for reading.
“Not your typical reading for a young lady.”
Typical? She bristled. “Is it not? And what would be typical reading for a young lady?”
“Oh.” He blinked and shifted in discomfort. “I did not mean to offend. I merely—”
“You think I read only scandal rags and fashion plates? Is that the only material the female brain can manage?”
He let out a gust of breath and dragged a hand