“Why waste the sunshine?” Fiona said. “We’ll be trapped by rain enough this month.” She winked. “Besides that, Linden is resting after our trip, and I need someone to talk to.”

They took a turn in the circle, paralleling their earlier path on the other side of the untrimmed hedge.

“How long have you been Miss Spencer’s companion?”

“Since January.” Annabel had spent one last holiday at Chilworth House before returning to London to look for a placement. “Mrs. Spencer took ill at Christmas and is convalescing in Bath. In her absence, they advertised for someone to help bring Elizabeth into Society.” She paused. “How long has Mrs. Linden been with you?”

“Since after the Chitesters’ house party.” Fiona steered her around another hedge. “I wish I would have had her the Season before.” She sighed as they came to another wall and a third turn. “I also wish Jasper would make a shortcut through these dratted hedges.”

“The funds must get there somehow.” The voice, leaking through the maze’s inside wall, was deep and measured. Aristocratic. The man sounded much like Jasper, but Annabel couldn’t be certain. She’d only heard him speak when he was bored or poking fun.

Still, her ears perked up.

“What say our friends to the west?” he asked.

“They’re being watched too closely to communicate. I don’t blame them after Gareth’s disappearance,” another man replied. Annabel could place him easily. The very serious Mr. Yarwood had directed her to Elizabeth’s rooms upon their arrival. He had supervised the upstairs staff with military precision. “When does Claudette arrive?”

Mr. Spencer said Ramsbury had a French mistress wrapped up in his scheme. Annabel thought it quite bold to include the woman in a house party, not to mention continuing their plot in plain view. But then, Jasper Warren seemed to care little for what Society thought.

She risked a glance at Fiona. After Amelia’s party, Annabel would have sworn Fiona was Jasper’s latest mistress—or perhaps something more serious. Could the man really intend to have two ladies demanding his attention under the same roof at the same time? Did Fiona not care?

“Within a fortnight. Perhaps a bit later,” Jasper mumbled. “Our lady in London will be expecting progress, Kit.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have invited a house full of strangers for the month. I can’t traipse off across Wales and leave you alone.”

“I’ve no need for a mother hen, and I’m hardly alone. Fiona is here.”

Yarwood barked a laugh. “Then you have no need of me at all.”

Fiona sped their pace and rounded the last corner in a whirl of yellow skirts, pulling Annabel in her wake. “Careful with your next words, Mr. Yarwood. Jasper can vouch for my fighting skills.”

Annabel looked between the two men, each dressed well and close in age. Yarwood was the leaner of the two, and he wore his suit with crisp precision.

However, Jasper commanded attention without moving or uttering a word. His dark blond hair, worn at a fashionable length, fell past his broad shoulders and chest. He wore his tailored coat, made of dark blue super-fine, with the casual air of a man accustomed to the best life had to offer.

“Especially when you arrive with reinforcements.” He nodded toward Annabel. “Miss Pearce.” His slight smile contradicted his sharp, wary gaze. It matched Yarwood’s. Both of them reminded her of foxes guarding their kill.

Annabel curtsied. “Your lordship. Mr. Yarwood.”

The center of the maze was a wide circle occupied by four female statues facing each direction on the compass and each dressed for a different season. Vines wrapped their feet and dirt stained their faces and streaked their clothing.

“What brings you here, ladies?” Jasper asked.

“Miss Pearce was walking when I took her captive and forced her to accompany me,” Fiona said. “I’ve come to tell you that you promised croquet, and the young ladies need something to occupy their time other than sharpening their tongues.”

“Croquet it is, then.”

“Excellent. Thank you.” Fiona turned to Annabel. “Will you join us, Miss Pearce?”

Annabel shook her head. “Thank you, but no. I should return to the house.”

“As you wish,” Jasper said. “Kit, please take Miss Allen to the croquet court and help her set out the wickets.” He winked at Fiona. “I don’t trust her not to cheat.”

“Cheat?” Fiona pressed her hand to her chest. “Me? I seem to remember you putting all my wickets uphill.”

Jasper’s warm and rich laughter rolled like sunshine from behind a cloud. “I did, didn’t I?” He walked past her and offered Annabel his arm. “Allow me to accompany you, Miss Pearce.”

She resisted the urge to put her hands behind her back. “That’s not necessary, your lordship.”

He left his arm at a right angle, waiting for her to accept. “Unnecessary, yes, but ungentlemanly otherwise.”

The weight of everyone’s stares pressed on Annabel’s shoulders, forcing her to lift her hand and thread it through Jasper’s elbow. Her fingers rested on his thick, solid forearm. His deep blue coat and buff trousers made her gray dress drabber and dowdier than she had believed possible.

“Thank you, your lordship.”

*

Jasper walked in silence beside the woman on his arm. As a general rule, he found the prattling of ton ladies annoying. Today, however, was different. In his experience, a quiet woman was rarely a good thing.

“Have you kept in touch with Amelia since the house party?” He hoped his cousin, their one mutual acquaintance, would break the ice. Amelia usually did.

“We correspond, yes.”

He waited for more. Amelia’s letters were always full of news about the estate and the family. Uncle Augustus was now determined to keep death at bay in order to see his first grandchild upon its arrival, likely in the summer.

Annabel offered nothing further.

Jasper tried again. “She doesn’t appear to regret missing the Season.”

“No, she doesn’t. It is one of the things I admire about her.”

Jasper wondered whether Annabel’s admiration would be tempered by knowing Amelia eschewed London because her whiskey business demanded much of her attention. “She is an unusual lady.”

At that, Annabel glanced up at him. Her furrowed brow enhanced the confusion in her eyes, which were the same color as his favorite chestnut mare.

“What?” he asked.

“You make unusual sound like a compliment.”

Jasper had met many beautiful women in his life. Annabel Pearce wasn’t a traditional beauty, especially with her hair in that severe style and in a dress even a nun would refuse to wear. But her skin was luminous, and she carried herself with a grace that was almost impossible to teach.

“I suppose it is,” he replied. “She has a confidence that makes her stand out amongst the other ladies of the ton.”

Except, perhaps, the young woman in front of him.

Jasper pushed the thought from his mind. Yes, he remembered Miss Pearce’s sharp wit and thoughtful stare from Amelia’s party, but he wasn’t walking with her to test her wits. Not exactly, anyway.

He resumed their stroll through the maze. “You have not been Miss Spencer’s companion long.”