“Splendid. I haven’t been inside the house since I was a child. I shall be delighted to see what you’ve done. As it happens, I have a special interest in architecture and considered a career in it, but my father steered me toward the church.”

Why had he told them that last part? Because it had been so much a part of his life the past several years that he’d done so without thinking. His father had wanted him to be a bishop, and Gregory had worked—if unenthusiastically—to achieve that end. And now that his father was gone, he could change course.

Creighton’s sherry-colored eyes lit with interest. “I’ve more plans and would be keen to discuss them with you.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Gregory looked especially forward to the dinner. Spending the evening with Mrs. Renshaw was enticing enough. Now he had even more reason to anticipate the occasion.

He turned his attention to her. “I wondered if you might partner me—”

Mrs. Renshaw held up her hand, cutting him off before he could finish. “If you’re going to ask me to dance, please don’t. I did not come to dance.”

Why had she come, then? He wanted to ask the question—and would—but not in front of her hosts. “A promenade, then? The gardens are lovely, and it’s not too cold out if you have a wrap.”

She hesitated before answering, and in that moment, Mrs. Creighton shot her a puzzled look. “I can fetch it,” Mrs. Renshaw said. “A promenade would be pleasant.”

Gregory offered her his arm and inclined his head toward the Creightons.

“My pelisse is in the cloak room,” Mrs. Renshaw indicated as they circuited the ballroom.

He’d assumed as much, which was why he hadn’t steered them outside. “Do you not care for dancing?”

“I did before I wed,” she said. “But I haven’t done so in years.”

“You can’t have forgotten how,” he suggested with a smile.

“No, but I don’t find it as engaging as I once did.”

“A promenade gives us more chance to talk anyway, so I can’t say I’m disappointed. I thought you might like to hear how Ash is doing.”

“Yes, please. I was wondering…does he sleep in your chamber?” She looked up at him—for she was a good seven or eight inches shorter than his six feet—expectantly.

“He does, in fact. My brother tried to persuade me to lodge him in the stables, but then he would interrupt the lads’ slumber and perhaps their duties. I’m afraid he enjoys a jaunt somewhere between four and five in the morning. To relieve himself,” he added in a whisper.

“I see. You are kind to care for him personally.”

“I confess, when I am out with him at that hour, I completely understand why you preferred not to take him with you.”