Perhaps that was a trifle too acerbic for small talk, and certainly not appropriate for conversation with a stranger he had only just met. He was fairly sure he had been saying inappropriate things to people all night, earning himself disapproving stares and curious glances.
The girl, however, only chuckled, shaking her head.
“I know you are being ironic,” she said with a sigh, “but I am a country girl, and to me, this room is positivelyfullof people. I can scarcely breathe. They are all very pleasant people, naturally, but there are so many of them. Oh, dear, you’re laughing. Have I said something else wrong?”
“Not at all. I have never seen someone so determined to enjoy themselves, that’s all. Uh, I don’t believe we have been introduced?”
It was a not-so-subtle hint for them tobeofficially introduced, as it really was not proper for them to have a conversation otherwise. The lady, however, did not seem to notice.
“No, no, I don’t think so. We never troubled ourselves greatly with such concerns in the countryside, you know.”
She reached past him and edged open the French doors, and Nathan felt obliged to clear his throat.
“I hate to say it, but it might not be considered proper for you to go out onto the terrace by yourself,” he said carefully. “Ladies don’t, you know.”
She paused, frowning. “Yet the doors are fashioned of glass, transparent to the eye, and all are present within.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Forgive me for saying it, but you really havenotbeen much in Society, have you?”
She wilted a little. “Oh, is it soveryobvious? I thought I was doing well. Thank you for telling me, good sir.”
“Lord Whitmore,” Nathan supplied helpfully.
“It’s a pleasure,” she said, distracted by a high-tiered cake being carefully carried through the crowds by a trio of footmen, towering above them all.
Nathan took the opportunity to eye the woman carefully. She was not familiar, and with her charmingly oblivious manners, he was willing to guess that this was her first real entrance into Society. She was old enough to be a debutante, at about twenty-two or twenty-three years old, and he would have bet money that she had not had an official come-out.
She was remarkably pretty. Her gown, for a start, was not suited to a debutante or a shrinking violet. No, it was a rich, sumptuous thing, made of expensive, well-cut silk and trimmed with fine lace. She had brown hair and clear blue eyes, set in a heart-shaped face that was open and entirely at ease.
Nathan had seen many young men and women with the infamous ‘Society Manners’. It was a way of appearing confident, open, and at ease with oneself, without actually risking a word out of place or revealing a single thing by accident. It was a rather artful set of manners, producing gentlemen who were loud and haranguing, and ladies who were falsely modest and coy.
Either way, the whole business was false, and it grated on Nathan. Why could people not be themselves, instead of leaving everybody to try and work out whether they meant a thing or not?
This young woman did not seem to be afflicted by these manners. No doubt the more spiteful of gossips would mock her innocence, claiming that she was too old for such naivety, but Nathan did not believe that shewasnaive.
She was simply herself.
She glanced up at him, catching him looking at her, and he felt heat spreading across his cheeks.
Why haven’t I bowed and made my excuses? Why do I want to remain with her?
“I do find these events rather taxing,” he found himself saying. “I often wish I was more social. I try, believe it or not, but I find that after no more than an hour, all I can think about is going home.”
The woman chuckled. “As I said, I lived in the country for my whole life, so this is the largest gathering I think I have ever attended. London is… well, it is interesting. I am enjoying my stay, so far.”
“I hope you continue to enjoy it,” he responded, making a short bow. “Tell me, who…”
“Pippa!”
A sharp voice cut across the ballroom, making the woman and Nathan jump almost out of their skins. He glanced over to find an older woman, tight-lipped, striding towards them. She was tall and beautiful, although more than a little fearsome. The lady – Pippa – seemed to shrink a little.
“My mother,” she whispered.
The woman reached them, shooting Nathan a quick, incisive glare. “Who is this, Pippa? You told me you wanted a breath of fresh air. I expected you to come back directly afterwards. There are people you must meet.”
“This is Lord Whitmore, Mama.”
Lord Whitmore bowed. “Charmed, madam.
