She held out the missive. “You may take this to Lord Harrington’s messenger.”
He bowed as Elizabeth looked at the clock. It had been not quite an hour since the invitation had arrived. “There is no hurry.”
Broadwell’s step immediately slowed to a turtle’s pace. “As you wish, miss.”
That afternoon, Elizabeth dressed in a new carriage gown that was almost the same color as her eyes. Lord Harrington arrived at precisely five minutes to the hour. As she descended the stairs, she took time to admire the way his Prussian blue jacket of superfine showed off his broad shoulders. His waistcoat was of blue and white stripes with thin strands of gold thread accenting the stripes matching the gold in his hair. His pantaloons were molded to his well-formed legs, and, even at this distance, she could see herself in his highly polished boots. Other than a gold pin, his only ornaments were a quizzing glass and a pocket watch. In short, there was everything to admire about his person.
It was his interest in her she was not at all sure of. With luck, after this afternoon she would know more.
“Miss Turley.” He bowed as she curtseyed and held out his hand. “I am delighted you accepted my invitation.”
“I am pleased that you asked.” She smiled just enough to show him she was content but not enough to allow him to think he had won her over.Hemight be in a rush to wed, but she was determined to ensure he loved her or could love her before she took such a permanent step.
“Come.” He placed her hand on his arm. “I wish to show you my new phaeton. It was specially designed for the rougher roads on the Continent.”
Happily and in an almost boyish fashion, he pointed out all the ways in which the carriage had been modified. “As you can see, it is much more stable than the usual phaeton.”
“Your carriage maker did a fine job.” Elizabeth, however, was more interested in the matched pair of Belgian horses with coats that were almost blue. She stroked their noses as they snorted into her hands. “Aren’t you handsome,” she murmured to the horse. To Lord Harrington she said, “I have never seen a Belgian with this color before. What is it called?”
“Roan Blue.” His grin widened. “They are not at all in the common way.”
“I should say not.” The wheeler lipped at her bonnet and she leaned back a bit to remove the hat from his notice, then stroked his nose. “Will you take these lovely fellows as well?”
Reaching out, he scratched the space between one of the horse’s ears. “Indeed I shall. I’ll require horses that don’t tire easily.”
From all the accounts Elizabeth had heard, one did not leave one’s cattle at posting houses on the Continent. Not if one wished to keep the horses. And, because of the war, the roads were in sad repair, making travel uncomfortable. “From what I have heard of the state of the roads, they will work well.”
“That is the conclusion I came to.” Still grinning, he assisted her into the carriage.
Once he was settled on the other side of the carriage, he started the horses toward the Park.
Their conversation soon fell into the normal pattern of discussing politics. When she tried to guide the conversation into other venues, such as the latest plays at the theaters or opera, he turned the subject back to Europe. Even when they reached the carriage way in the Park, he barely stopped to greet friends and acquaintances. Never once, except to verify some bit of information about her, did he ask about her likes or dislikes. He did not even mention his request for a second set. At that point, Elizabeth decided that if he did not bring it up, neither would she.
By the time Lord Harrington headed back to her house, Elizabeth understood exactly what Charlotte had meant about him being too sure of himself. Lord Harrington might be one of the handsomest gentlemen she had ever met, but, despite the physical awareness she experienced when she was near him, he had a long way to go before Elizabeth felt she could accept a proposal of marriage from the man.
She danced once with him that evening, and once each during the next two evenings. The waltzes were all that a lady could hope for. Her waist warmed, lighting little fires where he touched her. She felt as light as down as he led her around the floor. Elizabeth was a little disappointed that he did not attempt to draw her closer during the turns, but that she could have forgiven if he at least attempted to come to knowher. Yet he had not, and she was really making very little progress knowing him as a man, rather than a soon-to-be diplomat.
If he did not change his tune soon, she might as well leave for the country and wait for the Little Season to commence.
* * *
A few mornings later, Aunt Bristow entered the Turley House breakfast room with a card in her hand. “You will never believe what we have been invited to.”
Elizabeth tried to see who the card was from, but her aunt was waving it around too much. “I cannot even guess.”
“An End of Season breakfast at Stanwood House,” her aunt said, excitement infusing her tone.
“An End of Season breakfast?” she echoed. “I have never heard of such a thing.”
“Nor have I. I think it’s a hum, but for what reason I have no idea. Still, I have it on good authority”—meaning Aunt’s lady’s maid had been gossiping again—“that Lady Charlotte and Kenilworth will soon wed. And as Lady Merton and the Duchess of Rothwell have arrived back in Town, I believe the rumor to be true.” Aunt accepted the cup of tea Elizabeth handed her. “I absolutely do not understand why no one in that family seems to be able to wait to marry.”
Because they are in love and care more about beginning their lives together than a grand affair.
She was certain her aunt was correct and her friend’s wedding would take place soon. If not for a fitting at her modiste’s shop, she would have gone to Stanwood House straightaway. As it was, she was not able to visit Charlotte until that afternoon when she found her friend with Dotty and Louisa.
“Elizabeth,” Charlotte greeted Elizabeth, bussing her on the cheek. “How are you?”
“I am well enough.” She took in her friend’s glowing cheeks and the way her eyes twinkled. “I would ask you how you are faring, but you look as if you are walking on clouds.”
