Did he feel the same way? No, she told herself. She was foolish to let herself even consider the possibility. He was attracted to her, certainly, but for a man like Royce Wins-low, their kisses last night would have been something quite minor. He had probably indulged in many such moments.#p#分页标题#e#
He led her finally out onto the terrace, which looked down upon a garden that was delightfully unregimented, flowers growing in profusion and narrow paths winding among them with few borders between.
“It’s a charming house, Sir Royce. I cannot imagine that Willowmere could be any nicer.”
Royce chuckled. “You should wait until you have seen Willowmere. I suspect you will change your mind. Iverley Hall is dear to me, but it is far less grand.”
“Grandeur does not always appeal,” Mary replied.
“Very diplomatic of you.” Royce turned to her.
They were so close that Mary could see the ring of darker green on the outer edge of his irises. Her throat grew tight, the pulse leaping in it. Royce wanted to kiss her; she could see it in his eyes, in the softening of his lips. Her entire body tingled with the memory of the kisses they had shared the night before.
He should not kiss her, she knew. She should not want him to. What had happened last night had sprung from the excitement of the moment, from the bizarre situation in which they had found themselves. Now, cooler, calmer heads must prevail. Yet somehow she could not move, could only stand, poised and trembling, as if on the brink of some precipice.
Royce turned away abruptly. “We should go back inside.”
“Of course.” Mary drew a shaky breath and walked back with him to the door, careful not to take his arm again.
Chapter 15
When they drove away from Iverley Hall the following morning, Royce took two extra grooms with him, one ranging ahead of the carriage and the other lagging behind. Mary noticed that both men had pistols tucked into their belts.
The journey was shorter than on the first two days, taking only six or seven hours, and the sisters found the landscape more interesting. Yesterday, as they approached Iverley Hall, Mary had noticed that the peaceful English scenery had become—well, somehow larger. Blue-tinged hills appeared in the distance, and today they traveled into them. Vistas spread out before them, now often dotted with beautiful dark lakes. Mary remembered that Oliver had called it the Lake District. There was an aura of grandeur to it, almost of wildness.
In the middle of the afternoon, Sir Royce dropped back by the carriage to tell them that they were turning into the park surrounding Willowmere. The sisters all crowded to the windows, despite Miss Dalrymple’s protestations, leaning out to catch a first glimpse of the house that would now be their home.
The carriage rolled through a long avenue of yews, emerging at last on a green expanse of lawn, with a house sitting in the middle like a jewel in a setting. Willowmere sprawled over the ground, three stories tall and spreading in every direction, far larger than Royce’s home. It lacked Iverley Hall’s symmetry, for it had clearly been added onto several times, with towers and wings pushing out here and there; yet the overall result was somehow pleasing. Built of yellowish stone, it reflected a welcoming glow in the afternoon sun. The stone had discolored irregularly, so that it seemed permanently shadowed in places, and ivy almost completely covered one wall. Trees and shrubs softened the edges of the building, and gardens spread out from either side.
“Oh my,” Lily breathed.
Mary glanced at Miss Dalrymple and saw that even she was wide-eyed as she gazed at the house.
“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” Royce leaned down to talk to them through the carriage window. “Don’t worry. It’s much more comfortable than Stewkesbury House. You’ll soon feel at home here.”
Mary wasn’t sure about that, but she had to admit that the house was lovely. Still … there was something about the smaller, squarer Iverley Hall that she preferred.#p#分页标题#e#
At least the staff here were not as stiff as those at Stewkesbury House—or perhaps, Mary thought, it was just that she and her sisters had learned not to act in the ways that shocked them so. Since the earl had sent a message informing them of the girls’ arrival, the servants had had time to prepare, and each girl was shown to her own room. Mary’s bedchamber lay on the west side of the house, overlooking a garden that fell in levels to an expanse of green. Beyond that lay one of the inky pools of water, called tarns, that were scattered about the countryside. A small wooden gazebo lay at the edge of the tarn. The pond was fed by a stream diverted from the nearby river, and a narrow stone bridge arched the stream, looking like something out of a fairy tale.