There was no sign of the Davenports or Amanda, and Nathan allowed himself a brief sigh of relief.
Gilt seats lined with burgundy velvet had been set up in the library, arranged around a low platform. Books ringed the walls, neatly arranged in shelves. Nathan had been to enough of the Rutherfords’ literary evenings to know that guests were encouraged to browse the shelves, or even bring their own books.
A young lady, resplendent in a pale blue dress edged with silver thread, was standing by herself, inspecting the shelves. She glanced over her shoulder, and her profile was familiar.
Pippa.
A shiver ran down Nathan’s spine.
Clearing his throat, he glanced down at his mother.
“Excuse me, Mother.”
Rose nodded, head tilted, and he had every confidence that she knew exactly where he was going and why. No time to feel embarrassed, however.
Nerves fluttered in his stomach as he approached Miss Randall.
Why do I feel more nervous every time I approach her? Shouldn’t I feel more confident, not less?
She turned at his approach, her face pale and unreadable in the flickering candlelight.
“Miss Randall,” he greeted, giving a bow. She gave a bobbing curtsey in response.
“Lord Whitmore. I didn’t realise you were such a follower of Timothy’s works.”
He smiled faintly. “I enjoy novels very much, and of course Timothy is my friend. However, I think I would like his work even if he were not my friend.”
She stared up at him, unblinking. “I am surprised that you enjoy novels, Lord Whitmore.”
“Oh? Why so?”
Pursing her lips, she considered. “You seem so… so serious. I would have thought novels would be too frivolous for you.”
Comenow, my good fellow, you possess the means to win her favour. Employ your charm. Perhaps a jest or a touch of mirth would serve you well.
“Well, don’t we all deserve a little frivolity at times?” he tried, flashing a nervous smile.
Miss Randall did not smile. She stared up at him, a faint line between her brows. She was certainly acting differently today. Had he done something wrong, said something he should not?
Abruptly, her gaze flicked over his shoulder, so rapidly that he almost missed it.
“Certainly,” she said, her voice low. “Excuse me, Lord Whitmore. The programme is about to begin, I think. I must find my seat.”
Without waiting for a reply, she hurried past him, clutching a book to her chest. Nathan turned to watch her go, and found Lady Randall standing a little way off, her face stony with disapproval. Miss Randall went straight to her mother, and the two women moved towards a pair of seats in the front row.
Nathan’s heart sank.
Oh, well done indeed. You scared her off.
She was right, though. The programmewasstarting. The other guests were filing into their seats, and by the time Nathan joined them, only one chair was left unoccupied. He was obliged to shuffle along a row and plump down in the middle, effectively trapped. He was also sitting directly behind Miss Randall, which was not intentional. Did she realise? Did she think that he had chosen that seat deliberately?
There was no time to worry about it. Katherine took her place on the platform, clapping for attention. An expectant hush fell over the guests.
“Welcome, friends and family!” she began, smiling around at them. “I believe you’ve all been to one of our literary evenings before – with the exception of my dear aunt and cousin. So, as we all know, there’ll be a series of readings and poetry tonight, and we can all discuss what we hear. To start with, however, I’m sure you all know that my dear husband, Timothy, has recently published another novel.”
There was a riot of applause at this, and Nathan watched as Alexander laughingly elbowed his brother-in-law in the side. Almost all of the guests loved Timothy’s work, and many of them had read his novels before his identity was revealed to theton.
“I thought we could begin with a short reading from Timothy’s book,The Ghost of Morendale Manor,” Katherine suggested, dropping a wink to her husband. “Would we all like that?”
