He watched her glide away, smoothly performing the hostessly ritual of pairing her guests according to the recognized order of precedence. With the company boasting English, Irish, and foreign dignitaries, that was no mean feat, yet she organized them all without a hitch.
As he strolled to offer his arm to Mrs. Driscoll, he wondered how Elizabeth would have managed it.
Well, we’ll hope to see you in Edinburgh sometime in the next year.“ Mrs. Driscoll helped herself to green beans from the dish Michael held, then relieved him of the dish and passed it on.
“I’d enjoy visiting again, but I fear the Prime Minister may have other plans.” Picking up his knife and fork, he applied himself to the fifth-course meats. “When duty calls…”
“Aye, well, all of us here understand that.”
Mrs. Driscoll’s gaze briefly circled the table. Inclining his head in acknowledgment, he, too, glanced around. For all that she saw him as a potential opportunity for one of her daughters, Mrs. Driscoll had not been overly pushy; their conversation had not become awkward.
Her comment, indeed, was apt. All those about the table knew how things were done, how to behave in this select and somewhat esoteric circle so heavily influenced by the vicissitudes of politics, both local and international. He felt more at home, certainly more engaged than he did at similar purely tonnish gatherings.
Between Mrs. Driscoll on his right and the countess on his left, he didn’t lack for conversation. The whole table was engulfed in a pleasant hum. Glancing along the board covered with white damask, silver, and crystal, he noted the younger ladies, Elizabeth and the two Driscoll girls, together with two younger gentlemen and flanked by Edward Campbell, sitting in a group midway along.
Seated on the opposite side of the table, Elizabeth was engrossed in some discussion, animatedly describing something, hands flying.
Michael turned to reply to a question from the countess.
He was turning back to Mrs. Driscoll when a sudden peal of laughter drew all eyes—to Elizabeth.
The sound was abruptly cut off; fingers pressed to her lips, Elizabeth’s gaze darted up and down the table. A blush suffused her pale cheeks.
One of the Driscoll girls leaned forward and made some comment; Edward Campbell answered and the awkward moment passed. The other diners turned back to their conversations. One of the last to do so, Michael saw Elizabeth, head now bowed, reach for her wineglass.
She took a sip, choked—tried to replace the goblet and nearly tipped it over. The clatter and her coughing again drew all eyes. Goblet finally safe on the table, she grabbed her napkin from her lap and ducked her head.
Beside her, Campbell patted her on the back; her coughing eased. He asked her something—presumably if she was all right. Her fair head bobbed. Then she straightened, lifted her head, and drew in a deep breath. Smiling weakly around, she breathlessly said, “I’m so sorry—do excuse me. The wine went down the wrong way.”
Everyone smiled easily and returned to their discussions.
Talking to the countess, Michael found his mind wandering. The incident was a small thing, yet…
His gaze drifted up the table to Caro at its end, engaged in what appeared to be a scintillating discussion with the duke and the general. If she had choked… a big “if admittedly, but if she had, he was certain she’d have passed the moment off in a much more charming way.
Still, as Caro had said, Elizabeth was young.
He smiled at the countess. “I hope to visit your country again in the not-too-distant future.”
When the company reassembled in the drawing room, Michael continued to observe Elizabeth, but from a distance. She remained surrounded by the younger crew, leaving all hostly duties to her aunt and father, giving him no chance to evaluate her abilities in that sphere.
He felt oddly frustrated. Joining that younger group… he simply wasn’t one of them. It had been a very long time since events such as curricle races had dominated his mind. Yet he was determined to learn more about Elizabeth. He was standing by the side of the room, momentarily alone, wondering how best to further his aim, when Caro materialized at his side.
He knew she was near an instant before she stopped beside him and claimed his arm. She did it so naturally, as if they were old friends with no social barriers between them, he found himself responding to her in the same vein.
“Hmm.” Her gaze was fixed on Elizabeth. “I could use some fresh air and I daresay Elizabeth could, too.” Looking up, she smiled warmly, but there was a determined glint in her eye. “Besides, I want to separate her from that crowd. She really should do the rounds and widen her acquaintance.” Her hold on his arm firming, she arched a brow at him. “Would you care for a stroll on the terrace?”
He smiled, careful to hide the depth of his approval. “Lead on.”
She did, steering him across the room, with a few glib words extracting Elizabeth from her circle. Still on his arm, she swept them through the open French doors out onto the moon-drenched terrace.
“Now!” Walking briskly, whisking Elizabeth down the terrace, Caro studied her. “Are you all right—is your throat sore?”
“No. It’s truly quite—”
“Caro?”
The soft call had them all turning. Edward Campbell looked out from the French doors. “I think you’d better…” He gestured back into the drawing room.
“Peste!” Caro looked at Edward for a moment, then glanced at Michael, then Elizabeth. Releasing Michael’s arm, she caught Elizabeth’s hand and placed it on his sleeve. “Walk. To the end of the terrace at least. And then you can return and practice by charming the general for me.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Oh, but—”
“No buts.” Caro was already stalking back to the drawing room. She flicked a hand back at them, rings flashing. “Go—walk.”
She reached Edward; taking his arm, head rising, she swept back into the drawing room.
Leaving Michael alone with Elizabeth; suppressing a grin—Caro was quite amazing—he looked down at her. “I suspect we’d better do as instructed.” Turning her, he started slowly strolling. “Are you enjoying your summer thus far?”
Elizabeth threw him a resigned smile. “It’s not as exciting as London, but now Aunt Caro is here, there’ll be lots more happening. More people to meet, more entertainments to attend.”
“So you enjoy meeting new people?” A healthy attitude for a politician’s wife.
“Oh, yes—well, as long as they’re young people, of course.” Elizabeth pulled a face. “I do find ‘making conversation’ with old fogeys or those one has nothing in common with a trial, but Caro assures me I’ll learn.” She paused, then added, “Although I have to say I’d much rather not have to learn at all.”
She flashed him a brilliant smile. “I’d much rather just enjoy the parties, the balls, the routs and not worry over having to talk to this one or that. I want to enjoy being young, enjoy dancing and riding and driving, and all the rest.”
He blinked.
Leaning on his arm, she gestured widely. “You must remember what it was like—all the fun to be had in the capital.”
She looked up at him, clearly expecting him to smile and nod. After leaving Oxford, he’d spent most of his time as a secretary to important men; he had been in the capital, yet he suspected he’d inhabited a parallel universe to the one she was describing. “Ah… yes, of course.”
He bit back an admission that it had been a long time ago.
She laughed as if he’d been twitting her. Reaching the end of the terrace, they turned and ambled back. She continued telling him of her wonderful months in London, of events and people he didn’t know and had little interest in.
As they neared the doors to the drawing room, he realized she’d shown no interest in him—in his likes, acquaintances, his life.
Inwardly frowning, he glanced at her. She was treating him not just as a family friend, but worse, as an uncle. It hadn’t occurred to her—
“Finally!” Caro emerged through the doors, saw them, and smiled. She glided toward them. “It’s so balmy out here—perfect for a pleasant interlude.”
“Ah, my dear Caro, you read my mind—”
Caro swung back. Ferdinand had followed her onto the terrace; he broke off as he realized there were others present.
She reversed direction, intercepting him. “Mr. Anstruther-Wetherby and Elizabeth have been enjoying a stroll—we were just returning to the drawing room.”
Ferdinand flashed his white smile. “Excelente! They may go in and we can stroll.”
She’d intended to turn him back into the drawing room. Instead, deftly, he turned her. Half turned her—she caught his arm and was about to correct him when she sensed Michael move close.
“Actually, Leponte, I believe that’s not what Mrs. Sutcliffe meant.”
The delivery was urbane, his tone impossible to take exception to, yet steel rang beneath the words.
Mentally rolling her eyes, resisting an urge to pat Michael’s arm and assure him she was perfectly capable of dealing with would-be gigolos like Ferdinand, she shook Ferdinand’s arm, dragging his gaze, belligerently locked with Michael’s, back to her. “Mr. Anstruther-Wetherby is right—there’s no time for a stroll for me. I must get back to my guests.”
Ferdinand’s lips set, but he was forced to accede.
Knowing he would sulk, suddenly perceiving an unexpected opportunity, she swung to Elizabeth; her face momentarily screened from both men, she signaled with her eyes, directing Elizabeth to Ferdinand. “You’re looking refreshed, my dear—perhaps you could help?”
Elizabeth blinked, then summoned an ingenuous smile. “Yes, of course.” Drawing her hand from Michael’s sleeve, she turned her smile on Ferdinand. “Perhaps you could take me to your aunt, sir? I’ve had very little chance to speak with her.”
Ferdinand was too experienced to let his chagrin show; after only the most fleeting hesitation, he smiled his charming smile and with a courtly half-bow, murmured his delight.
Ferdinand reached for Elizabeth’s hand; behind Caro, Michael shifted. It was a tiny movement, but both she and Ferdinand noted it. Ferdinand’s smile took on an edge. Grasping Elizabeth’s hand, he drew her nearer, settling her hand on his sleeve. “I will do more than that, my pretty one. I will stand by your side and…”
Whatever else he planned, Caro didn’t hear as he bent closer to Elizabeth and lowered his voice.
Caro knew Elizabeth—and Edward—far too well to imagine Ferdinand would get any joy there, but Elizabeth had the sense to laugh delightedly as she and Ferdinand reentered the drawing room.
Feeling quite pleased with Elizabeth’s performance, Caro turned to Michael, ignoring the irritation behind his polite mask. He was reasonably adept at hiding his emotions, but she was a diplomatic hostess of long standing, ergo an expert in divining people’s true reactions.
He was—as she’d hoped—not just frustrated, but puzzled, and starting to be wary. She—they—needed him to reassess; she almost crossed her fingers as she reclaimed his arm. “The duke mentioned he’d like to speak with you again.”
Recalled to duty, he accompanied her back into the drawing room.
She ensured he was kept busy, away from Elizabeth. Whether he noticed Ferdinand flirting with Elizabeth, who wisely played the innocent, thus encouraging Ferdinand to even greater efforts, Caro couldn’t be sure; the duke truly had wanted to speak with him. Michael had already made the right impression there; they remained locked in serious discussion for some time. While continuing to patrol her guests—there was never any time during diplomatic entertainments when a hostess could relax—she tried to keep an eye on him, yet toward the end of the evening, she suddenly discovered him gone.
One quick survey of the room informed her Geoffrey was also absent.
“Damn!” Plastering on a smile, she swept up to Edward. “You’re on duty for the next while.” She lowered her voice. “I have to go and haul your irons out of the fire.”
Edward blinked, but he’d stood as her deputy through far worse crises; he nodded and she moved on.
Casting a last glance about the room, reassured there were no other impending disasters threatening, she slipped into the front hall. Catten stood guard there; he told her Geoffrey had taken Michael to his study.
Her heart sank. Surely after all he’d seen of Elizabeth that evening, all the serious questions Elizabeth’s performance ought to have raised in his mind, Michael wasn’t so boneheaded as to persist with an offer?
She couldn’t believe he was that stupid.
Almost running, she hurried to the study. With barely a tap, she opened the door and swept in. “Geoffrey, what…”
With one glance she took in the scene—both men leaning over the desk, poring over some maps spread on its surface. Relief swept her; she hid it behind a disapproving frown. “I know you’re unused to these affairs, but really, this is not the time for”—she gestured at the maps— “constituency matters.”
Geoffrey grinned apologetically. “Not even politics, I’m afraid. There’s a blockage on a tributary to the river. It’s in Eyeworth Wood—I was just showing Michael.”
With a fine show of sisterly exasperation, she linked her arm in Geoffrey’s. “What am I to do with you?” She bent a mock frown on Michael. “You, at least, should have known better.”
He smiled and followed as she led Geoffrey from the room. “But the woods are mine, after all.‘
Her heart no longer beating in her throat, she ushered them back into the drawing room. Elizabeth glanced over and saw them enter; her eyes flared—Caro smiled serenely back. And made sure Michael had no further opportunity to speak with Geoffrey by retaining her hold on her brother’s arm and taking him to talk with General Kleber.
The end of the evening drew near. Gradually, the guests took their leave. The diplomatic contingent, more accustomed to late nights, were the last remaining. They’d gathered in a group in the middle of the room when Ferdinand spoke.
“I would like to invite all those who would enjoy it to join me for a day’s cruise on my yacht.” He looked around the circle; his gaze came to rest on Caro’s face. “It is moored in Southampton Water close by. We could sail for a few hours, then find a pretty spot to anchor for lunch.”
The offer was generous. Everyone present was tempted. With a few questions, Caro ascertained that the yacht was sizeable, large enough to accommodate them all easily. Ferdinand assured her his crew would arrange a luncheon; it was too good a prospect to dismiss—on more than one count.
She smiled. “When should we go?”
They all agreed that the day after next would be perfect. The weather was currently fine and not expected to change; having a day to recover before they came together to enjoy each other’s company again would work nicely.
“An excellent notion,” the countess declared. She turned to Caro. “Aside from all else, it will put that boat to better use than I suspect it has been put to date.”
Caro hid a smile. The arrangements were quickly made. Michael accepted; she’d been sure he would.
As everyone turned to leave, Elizabeth tugged her sleeve.
She stepped to the side, lowered her voice. “What is it?”
Elizabeth glanced past her to Michael. “Have we done enough, do you think?”
“For tonight, we’ve done all we reasonably can. Indeed, we’ve done brilliantly.” She glanced at the group filing through the doorway. “As for the cruise, I couldn’t have planned that better myself. It’ll be the perfect venue to develop our theme.”
“But…” Still looking at Michael, who was talking to General Kle-ber, Elizabeth bit her lip. “Do you think it’s working?”
“He hasn’t offered for you yet, and that’s the most important thing.” Caro paused, reassessing, then patted Elizabeth’s arm. “Nevertheless, tomorrow’s another day—we should make sure he’s occupied.”
With a swish of her skirts, she returned t
o the group. A quick word in the countess’s ear, a quiet moment with the duchess and the ambassador’s wife, and all was arranged. Or almost all.
As he followed the bulk of the guests out of the front door, Michael found Caro beside him.
She slipped her hand in his arm. Leaning closer, she murmured, “I wondered if you’d like to join us—me, Elizabeth, Edward, and a few others—on a trip to Southampton tomorrow. I thought we might meet in town late morning, have a look around, then lunch at the Dolphin before a quick visit to the walls, and a gentle journey home.”
Looking up, she arched a brow at him. “Can we count on your escort?”
Another—and quieter—opportunity “through which to evaluate Elizabeth. Michael smiled into Caro’s silvery eyes. ”I’ll be delighted to join you.“
He hadn’t realized Caro had intended a shopping expedition. Nor that Ferdinand Leponte would be one of the party. Arriving at Bramshaw House at eleven, he’d been bidden to join Caro, Elizabeth, and Campbell in the barouche; the day was fine, the breeze light, the sunshine warm—all had seemed in place for a pleasant outing.
The others joined them at Totton on the road to Southampton. The duchess, the countess, the ambassador’s wife, and Ferdinand Leponte. Ferdinand predictably tried to engineer a reallocation of seats, suggesting Michael join the older ladies in the duchess’s landau, but Caro waved the suggestion aside.
“It’s barely a few miles, Ferdinand—too close to bother rearranging things.” With the tip of her furled parasol, she tapped her coachman’s shoulder; he started the barouche rolling. “Just have your man follow and we’ll be there in no time, then we can all walk together.”
She sat back, then glanced at Michael, sitting beside her. He smiled, let his gratitude show. Her lips twitched; she looked ahead.
They spent the half-hour journey discussing local events. Caro, he, and Edward were less well informed about local affairs than Elizabeth; encouraged, she filled them in with the latest news.
He was pleased to discover she kept abreast of local matters.
“The church fete is the next big event.” Elizabeth grimaced. “I suppose we’ll have to attend, or Muriel will be after us.”
The Ideal Bride (Cynster Novels) Page 4
