But the gentleman did not; he strode through his pleasure grounds as tho' intent upon a single object— the retrieval of ourselves. “I believe our time in Paradise is at an end.”

“Then do you go to meet him, my dear,” Lizzy said, “and turn back for me at the ferry landing. I am far too fatigued to walk back to the bridge, and you know these slippers should never support it. Detestable Mr. Grey — he is far too correct about everything; and for that, I shall not forgive him.” She turned her sunshade towards the offending apparition, and gazed out over the lake.

And thus was I thrown to the wolf.

“THE LARCHES IS A REMARKABLE ACHIEVEMENT, Mr. Grey. I must congratulate you most sincerely.”

If my faltering words were inadequate to the beauty everywhere around us, my companion did not choose to quarrel. Indeed, all trace of his former belligerence had fled; his countenance was as easy as a child's released from illness. Whatever the nature of his interview with Neddie, the result had proved of benefit. Or perhaps he derived such solace from his grounds, that more melancholy considerations were banished.

“I can never be unhappy while the park remains,” he replied, as tho' reading my thoughts. “It is a peace unparalleled, a balm for wounded spirits, a little paradise on earth, Miss Austen — and when I am away, I long always to return.”

“How unfortunate, then, that your business calls you so frequently to Town,” I rejoined. “For when we leave what is precious to the care of others, we endure a peculiar pain.”

He frowned at that, and studied my countenance for some falseness — a desire to prick his vanity, perhaps, by alluding to the dalliances of his wife, of which all of Kent must be aware. But my aspect did not betray me; I had uttered the sentiment as a simple truth; and Mr. Grey at last accepted it as such.

He offered me his arm, and we continued along the path towards the ferry.

“Mrs. Austen was overcome by the heat, you say?”

“Nothing so grave. Elizabeth is a stout walker, but her slippers are less equal to these paths than my more sensible boots. I came prepared to admire The Larches, from the praise I had heard everywhere of these grounds; and to admire, one must first be able to see.”

A faint smile was my reward. “I have known any number of fools to praise from utter blindness, Miss Austen.”

“That will always be the general case,” I said calmly, “but with very great luck, Mr. Grey, you may occasionally encounter a taste as brilliant as mine. I blush to admit it — it is most unwomanly, I own — but I have never been called a fool. I have long suspected it is the chief reason that no sensible man will marry me.”

To my gratification, Mr. Grey laughed aloud. “Men of sense, whatever you may say, do not wish for silly wives.”

“How mortifying,” I replied. “And I had doted on the notion! You force me to the conclusion, sir, that some other charm is lacking.”

“Then I should be horsewhipped, Miss Austen. How may I make amends?”

“By conveying me to that little temple on the hill. I failed to achieve it with my sister.”

“—who even now awaits us anxiously.”

“It must be her deprivation, then, for adopting fragile shoes.”

“Very well. The prospect of the house from that vantage is magnificent.”

He led me swiftly to the portico of the domed Temple of the Arts, and we stood in silent amity, with all of The Larches falling away before us. Here was no oppression of August heat, no desiccated air of a season wearied beyond imagining; all was verdant and singing with the voices of a thousand birds.

“How glorious!” I cried. “I wonder you can bear to live within four walls, Mr. Grey, when all this beauty lies without them.”

He did not reply, and his expression was remote.

“And all this you have done, in the space of a few years,” I continued.

“I cannot claim so much,” he returned abruptly. “The Larches was my father's passion before me. The construction of this valley — the lake you observe — are entirely his own. Such growth of trees could never be accomplished in a few years, as you must know. What I have done is small, indeed, compared to my father's accomplishments — I have pruned where his hand was excessive, and added what his sensibility could not envision.”

“Mr. Sothey, I believe, was your consultant?”

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You are acquainted with Sothey?”

“A little. We dined with him last evening, at Eastwell Park. The Finch-Hattons are old friends.”

“And what did you think of him?”

I hesitated. His tone imparted nothing of his own opinion. “I thought him a man of understanding and wide knowledge of the world, possessed of considerable taste. But I can judge no further; his character wants openness, and of deeper qualities I could form no opinion.”

“Reserve must be natural in a fellow whose every expectation was blasted by an unworthy father,” Mr. Grey observed. “I must assure you that Julian Sothey is the very best of men, Miss Austen. I esteem him as a friend, naturally; but as a man of education and honour, I can place none other before him. If there is anything of real beauty to be found at present in The Larches, I am sure it is due entirely to Mr. So they.”

“Then you are fortunate, indeed, sir.” That I managed a reply at all was remarkable; my thoughts were in a state of discomposure. I had suspected that Mr. Grey should despise Julian So they as his wife's paramour; but this heartfelt testimonial must blast my assumptions. “You have been acquainted with Mr. Sothey for some time, I collect?”

“No, indeed. His family and mine moved in very different circles. I might have had the purchase of his father's notes at one time or another, but any ties of a social nature were not to be thought of.”[51]

“Was Mr. Sothey's father so very depraved?”

Grey smiled grimly. “I am too familiar with the more common forms of depravity, Miss Austen, to be a sober judge of it in others. Let us simply say that the Earl had offended deeply, among those whom it is not wise to offend, and placed himself outside the pale of good ton.”

“I see. His son, however, is not so abandoned.”

“His son possesses such an amiable temper, as must endear him to everyone.” This was said without the slightest hint of irony, as might be natural in a cuckold; and again, I found cause for wonder.

“Lady Elizabeth Finch-Hatton certainly makes Mr. Sothey her protege,” I said. “I suppose you formed an acquaintance with the gentleman in just such an household.”

Mr. Grey hesitated, as tho' debating how much might be said. “I first met Sothey through a mutual friend, Miss Austen — Mr. George Canning, a present member of Government. No doubt you will have heard of him.”

Quite recently in fact, I thought in silence; and blessed my brother Henry. “Mr. Canning! He is a great enthusiast for exotic plants, I believe?”

Grey's careworn features lightened. “And something of an authority on landscape design. We share a love of the obscure and the exotic, Miss Austen — and Canning has directed me in the trial of many specimens rare in this northern clime. When I expressed a wish of cultivating the American azalea, it was he who commended Sothey as my greatest friend. I have never found occasion to regret the acquaintance.”

“I should have liked to have seen the azaleas in their season,” I said.

“You, too, are an admirer of the exotic?” my companion enquired seriously.

I coloured, and passed off the question with a laugh. “Not at all, I assure you. I merely find pleasure in the English landscape, sir, and all its myriad beauties.”

“Then perhaps you may be so fortunate as to return to Kent in April, when my azaleas are at their finest flowering.” He secured my hand within his arm, and led me firmly from the temple's steps. “But now, I fear, we must relieve Mrs. Austen's anxiety; the hour grows late, and her husband will be every moment expecting her.”