I like her. I should not be averse to getting to know her better.
Of course, it was fairly plain that Miss Randall’s mother wanted her to make a match with Lord Barwick. The woman had hustled her daughter away from Nathan as if she were afraid, he might run after them, and it was plain that the girl was meant to sit next to Lord Barwick at dinner.
I’m surprised Lord Barwick isn’t pressing his advantage, making his excuses and hurrying to the drawing room to get a place by Miss Randall already.
Or perhaps he doesn’t see me as competition.
Owen took his shot, potting a ball neatly. He was already winning.
“I see you met Miss Randall earlier, Nathan,” Owen remarked, eyes focused on his next shot. “She’s making quite a stir, ain’t she?”
“She’s a very pleasant young woman,” Nathan responded, as vaguely as he dared.
“For a country girl, she has interesting manners. Very open. She had better be careful, though. What she sees as friendliness might be seen as flirting.”
A ball landed in a pocket. A cold feeling spread through Nathan.
“I’m sure she would not intentionally flirt with anyone,” he found himself saying.
“Perhaps not,” Owen conceded, straightening up. “But you know what Society is like. We’re all so focused on each other, at times we only see what we want to see. She’s a friendly little thing, very lively. She ought to take care, though. These things can be misinterpreted, as I said.”
It was a short conversation, and Owen moved away almost immediately. Nathan, however, stood in silence, his head swimming.
It was entirely possible that Miss Randallwasonly being friendly. How embarrassing would it be to have misinterpreted her kindness?
No,he scolded himself.Don’t doubt yourself. Owen clearly has an interest in her himself, so of course he wants to put you off.
Unless he knows something that you don’t. An affection, perhaps, or some attachment. It isn’t as if you are any good at interpreting social occasions.
He spent the rest of the game in gloomy self-doubt. By the time it ended, he had decided to start afresh, to let Miss Randall take the lead.
But he was one of the last gentlemen to enter the drawing room. All the seats were taken, and Owen was standing in front of Miss Randall, who was bracketed by her mother on one side and Lady Henrietta Barwick on the other. The girl looked rather subdued and not entirely happy. She did meet his eye, however, and gave a faint smile, but then Owen moved so as to block their outline.
Nathan had been standing in the corner for a few moments, debating his next course of action, when his mother approached.
Rose was pale, her eyes heavy, and he knew at once she had one of her ‘megrims’ coming.
“I hate to ask, darling,” she whispered, “but might you take me home? Miss Molyneaux started playing the pianoforte, you know how she loves to play, but sheisso terribly heavy-handed, and all those discords and that thumping is giving me a megrim. Of course, if you are enjoying yourself, I can go home alone and send back the carriage?” she added hopefully, but Nathan shook his head.
“Certainly, I shall escort you home, Mother. Do fetch your shawl, and I shall bid farewell to our hosts.”
Rose nodded, looking undeniably relieved. Nathan tried to catch Miss Randall’s eye as he passed, but her trio of guards seemed to have edged even closer to her, and there was of course no hope of escape. He could, of course, have elbowed his way into the conversation and made a point of speaking to her, but that would have taken a more confident man than Nathan.
Since I’m going home early, I can get a good bit of work done,he thought, but the idea did not bring the wave of satisfaction that it usually did.
He left the party while it was in full swing, and nobody seemed to notice very much, except perhaps Henry. Nathan longed to turn around as he walked out of the room, to see if Miss Randall had noticed, but he was very much afraid that he would turn around and find that she had not noticed and did not care.
It seemed the safer option, then, not to turn around at all.
Ignorance is bliss, after all. Or so Nathan reminded himself, as he strode down the cool hallway towards the open door, through which he could see the blocky shadow of their carriage waiting.
It was a silly hope, anyway. In a week or two, I’ll hear that Miss Randall is engaged to Lord Owen Barwick, and that will be that.
He’s a marquess, after all. What woman wouldn’t prefer a marquess to a plain old viscount?
***
It was cold inside the carriage. Outside, rain had begun to fall, pattering gently against the roof. They made commendable progress, owing to the scant traffic upon the roads at that hour of the evening, though not as much as would ensue later, once the guests commenced their departure.
