she should leave the box here, or return with it later."
Miss Barrett ? "What box?"
"I don't know, sir. Shall I inq—"
Robert pushed to his feet. "I'll see to it."
Lucinda Barrett stood in the foyer, a small wooden crate at her feet. He lifted his gaze from it to her, taking in the fashionable yellow bonnet over her auburn hair and a green and yellow gown to match. Unless he was very much mistaken, the expression in her hazel eyes was amused.
Robert shook himself. Invited or not, she was the guest, so he was supposed to say something first. "What are you doing here?"
She flipped him a pair of heavy work gloves, which he caught by reflex. "Pick that up," she said, gesturing at the box, "and follow me."
He almost did it, catching himself just as he started to stoop. "No," he returned, straightening.
Miss Barrett folded her arms across her pert bosom. "Were you, or were you not, rude to me yesterday?"
"Your point being?"
"I'm getting my revenge on you." With an easy, confident smile, she toed the box. "So come along. It's just a few feet, and I promise there's nothing in there that'll bite." Her brow furrowed. "Not as long as you're careful, that is."
Dawkins had returned to the hallway, the two breakfast room footmen at his heels. At least one maid lurked up on the balcony, eavesdropping, while he could hear Edward upstairs arguing with his tutor about Madagascar, of all things. Shrugging, he tossed the gloves onto the lid and then bent down and hefted the box.
Lucinda pulled open the front door before Dawkins could reach it. Rather than motioning for Robert to precede her, she marched down the front steps and turned right along the drive.
Well, this was odd, but at least it got him away from the curious eyes inside. Robert followed while she traipsed toward the stable, lifting her skirts above the damp grass as she left the carriage drive.
"This looks good," she said, stopping to turn a circle at the near side of the stable. "Plenty of sun, but with shelter from the worst of the weather." She faced him again, pulling on her own heavy pair of gloves. "Well, put it down."
Robert stood where he was, eyeing her. Once he saw her with the gardening gloves, everything began to make sense. For a brief moment he contemplated hunting down Georgiana and favoring her with a few choice words. Whatever she'd told Lucinda, though, Miss Barrett was the one who'd agreed to it.
Carefully he put the box down and took a step back. "Good luck with your endeavors," he said, "but next time use a footman to cart your luggage. Good morning."
"Mister Carroway," she said to his back, "generally when someone gives someone else a gift of some rather rare and valuable rose cuttings, they are thanked for their efforts."
He stopped. "I didn't ask you for anything."
"Hence my use of the word 'gift.' There are also several books on rose cultivation in there. So you don't kill anything out of ignorance, I thought I might give you a brief introduction and some general instructions."
Robert strode back to her. "I don't want your roses, your instruction, or your damned charity," he snarled.
She blinked, and he realized he'd more than likely frightened her. Well, good . He didn't much like surprises, either.
"You came to see me yesterday," she said slowly, her gaze holding his. "When I saw Georgie this morning and she mentioned roses, I thought perhaps you'd meant to ask me for some clippings. So I don't consider this charity. I consider it my affirmative answer to a question you hadn't quite asked."
God, what was she thinking, to be willing to put up with such idiocy from him? And when he walked away, he would have no reason or cause ever to visit or talk with her again—about anything.
At the same time, her "gift," as she chose to call it, left him on very marshy ground. He needed a better tactical position if he ever wanted her to see him as anything other than a cripple, just the fact that that concerned him was startling. "I actually