Page 51 of A Devious Secret

Chapter Eight

Stephen had watched as Lady Hawkinge had walked across the ballroom with a determined stride and a hardened look on her face, but he couldn’t help but notice the slightest quiver of her chin.

“It would appear that Uncle Andrew managed to upset Gemma… again,” Hugh remarked with a frustrated sigh. “I should go speak with her.”

“Allow me,” Stephen said.

Hugh opened his mouth to no doubt object but Marielle spoke first. “I think that is a grand idea.”

“You do?” Hugh asked, looking skeptical.

Marielle nodded. “I do,” she said.

It took a long moment, but Hugh finally relented. “Very well,” he encouraged. “But do not put my cousin in a compromising position.”

“I have no intention of doing so,” Stephen said.

Hawthorne spoke up. “Dinah and I will step onto the veranda to ensure you and Gemma are properly chaperoned.”

Before Stephen even took his first step, Marielle leaned in and said, “Be sure to listen to what she isn’t saying.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Women don’t always say what they are truly feeling,” Marielle explained. “They are afraid to reveal too much of themselves.”

“Then how can one solve their problems?”

“Sometimes women just want to be heard. They don’t want their problems solved.”

“That is illogical.”

Marielle grinned. “Women aren’t known to be the most rational creatures, especially when we are upset.”

Hugh interjected, “It is true.”

Stephen was growing tired of this conversation. He wanted to go find Lady Hawkinge and ensure that she was all right. Nothing else seemed as important as that at this very moment.

“If you will excuse me,” Stephen said before he started to walk off. He didn’t want to give his sister a chance to give him anymore of her “so-called” advice, especially since he knew how to speak to a woman.

He stepped out onto the veranda and his eyes roamed over the gardens, but he saw no sign of Lady Hawkinge. He started down the path, tipping his head at the couples that he was passing by, and kept his alert eyes open. He had seen her leave the ballroom, so he knew she had to be somewhere in these gardens.

As he reached the back gate, he was about to head back towards the townhouse when he heard a woman sniffling. He turned towards the noise and saw a bench was set back under a large tree. But, more importantly, he saw Lady Hawkinge sitting in the center of it, her eyes downcast.

He stepped off the path and walked the short distance towards the bench. Lady Hawkinge brought her gaze up and there was enough light from the moon to see that she had been crying.

Stephen reached into his jacket pocket and removed a white handkerchief. He extended it to her without saying a word.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she wiped her eyes.

Now that he was here with Lady Hawkinge, he was at a loss for words. What could he say to bring back the light that was so prevalent in her eyes?

The only noise was an owl hooting in the distance and the sound of the wind rustling through the tree leaves.

Stephen decided that the silence had gone on long enough so he thought it would be best to start with something safe.

“It is a lovely evening,” Stephen said, glancing up at the stars.

When she didn’t respond, he decided to try again. “The gardens are exquisite,” he attempted.