A Most Unladylike Proposition - Chapter 8
Their hostess was famed for her gardens. In addition to her home’s pristine landscaping, she (and her hundreds of servants) maintained an orangery, a maze, a hothouse for exotic flowers, and an English rose garden. Unlike the orangery, which was known as a rendezvous point for overzealous lovers, the rose garden would not garner much attention from other guests given the cold night.
The rose garden was sectioned off from the surrounding grounds by a small red-brick wall. In July, the thick scent of the flowers was as potent as a woman’s perfume.
James entered the garden and meandered through the militant lines of rose bushes towards the centre clearing, where a stone table and bench had been set. He sat down on the cold bench, placed the champagne and flutes beside him, and leaning forward, rested his forearms on his knees.
As he waited—hoped, even!—for Lady Diana to come, he mulled over the way he had gone about securing her hand. While he could acknowledge that marriage was largely transactional for those of his social standing, he wished he had considered being more thoughtful. She was only eighteen, an entire decade younger than him. Moreover, after meeting her, he now knew that she was completely innocent. So, while he had let his mother pick her from the swarm of eligible ladies in London as easily as one might pick a flower from a garden, Diana was the only one who had suffered for it. He had scared her. He wished he had done things differently. He wished he had taken the time to get to know her and given her a formal courtship, even if it was only to ease her mind. Because then he could have romanced her. He could have whisked her away and kissed her as her fiancé, not as some stranger in the dark giving her one last taste of freedom.
And now, because of his arrogance, he was in a bind. Did he tell her who he was and risk humiliating a woman who had done nothing save try to enjoy the last night of her girlhood? Or did he keep his identity hidden and hope she did not hate him for it in the morning? Because she would recognize him. If not for his looming height, then the sound of his voice or the particular shade of his hair. Of that he had no doubt.