Free Married to a Perfect Stranger by Jane Ashford

because they can’t.”
    Mary blinked, surprised to hear her thoughts so clearly echoed.
    â€œIt’s really remarkably lifelike.” The woman walked around the bench to sit beside her, taking a small sketch pad from under her arm. “I draw a bit, too.” She opened her tablet on a charming scene, a view of the circular flower bed in the center of the square, the greens and purples picked out in watercolors. “Landscapes only, I’m afraid. Something about faces makes my pencil go off. Perhaps it’s a sense of being overlooked. I dislike being watched while I draw.”
    Mary certainly understood that. “I think of it as watching them ,” she offered.
    The old woman shrugged. “Perhaps I’ve just been too…encumbered by people in my life.” She glanced at a house on the other side of the square from Mary’s. Her smile returned, impish and youthful despite her wrinkles. “These days it’s my servants. They will hover. It’s all I can do to escape to this bit of garden. I promise you that two or three of them are peering out the windows right now, wondering who you are and what in the world I think I’m doing. Outdoors without a bonnet! Or my gloves. Scandalous!”
    Her lighthearted tone made Mary dare, “What are you doing?”
    The old woman laughed. “Teasing them a little, perhaps. But chiefly making the acquaintance of a new neighbor. I haven’t seen you here before. And I’m quite brazen, you see. No waiting for a ‘proper’ introduction.”
    Her roguish look made Mary laugh as well. “I’m Mary Bexley. We just moved into number thirty-six. My husband John and I.”
    â€œEleanor Lanford. I’ve lived in this square for six years.”
    â€œI’m so glad to meet you…Mrs. Lanford. You are my very first acquaintance in London. Indeed, this is my first day in town.”
    â€œIs it? Ever, you mean?”
    Mary nodded, wondering if she had sounded countrified.
    But her companion was examining her with every appearance of cordiality. “You rather remind me of one of my great-nieces. You must call me Eleanor. Mrs. Lanford…” She waved the label aside.
    â€œThat’s odd. I was just thinking you were rather like my Great-Aunt Lavinia.” As soon as the words popped out of her mouth, Mary wondered what she meant by them. There was no resemblance. Except…perhaps in the feel of her new neighbor. She had the sort of self-assurance and marked presence that Aunt Lavinia used to have. “Are you acquainted with everyone who lives in the square?” Mary said, to change the subject.
    Eleanor Lanford looked at the row houses surrounding them. “Not really acquainted. I know most of the names and some of the professions. There are several senior barristers and a banker or two. They are all closer to my age than yours. And rather…punctilious. You are quite a breath of fresh air for the neighborhood.”
    This was flattering, but disappointing. Mary couldn’t imagine making friends among people like that.
    â€œThis garden could use some children playing,” her companion added wistfully.
    A woman came out of the house Eleanor had pointed out as her own. She looked like a superior lady’s maid. She started toward the garden gate.
    Eleanor rose. “I must go. You are very talented, my dear. I hope to see you again soon.”
    The servant marched over to the wrought iron fence and stood waiting. She looked militant.
    â€œI hope so, too,” said Mary. The servant’s frown made her add, “I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble.”
    â€œNot at all, my dear. I am quite able to control my household.” Eleanor’s straight back and raised chin were suddenly the picture of aristocratic hauteur, dissipated a moment later by a twinkle in her pale blue eyes. “I keep all the keys to that gate, and my staff are reduced to peering