He tethered his horse outside the high hedge bordering the property and slunk like a fox through the trees and bushes. The crescent moon was so sharp in the sky it looked like he could hang his coat on it. A scatter of stars in the expanse of black velvet provided little illumination, a boon in this case. Shadowy figures of rabbits and the like darted about. He caught a boot in a burrow and fell to his knees. Tranquil spring air cooled his skin, yet he was sweating profusely from effort and anxiety. Thankfully, it was too early in the year for wasp nests, but dead twigs snagged on his breeches. He heard the fabric tear on at least one occasion and hoped he wouldn’t look and smell like an escaped convict by the time Elisabeth arrived. Edward hadn’t brought a pistol. The temptation to shoot the earl would have been too great. Trespass would be the worst crime he’d commit tonight. He crouched in the dark behind the gazebo for what seemed like hours.
