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The viscount was a smarter fellow than he, Walter acknowledged with an inner chuckle. He wouldn’t allow himself to be led astray by a vain beauty who fluttered her eyelashes at every fellow in the room the moment her spouse left it. Oh, Walter had heard of his reputation and knew Blackthorne was a wealthy aristocrat with a penchant for the petticoat set. He knew, too, that he could easily negotiate a marriage contract within the aristocracy. But the boy was made in his father’s image and required a wife and a marriage that would remain steadfast through life’s ups and downs, and Elise with her grace and wit would challenge and charm and suit him perfectly till the day he died.
As soon as Alex Blackthorne had come into his study and Walter had witnessed the two of them together he’d known. A short acquaintance, maybe, but they were in love, yet each too proud or stubborn to yield and declare feelings when fate seemed set against them.
Walter chuckled softly to himself. One down...one to go...
But he was optimistic on that score, too. The doctor was well within his rights to give the Dewey household a wide berth following the scandalous uproar he’d witnessed earlier, yet Walter had an inkling that Colin Burnett would return later, and primarily to see Beatrice rather than to fuss over him.
Chapter Nineteen
‘I’m sorry my father has...’ Elise’s courage deserted her along with her voice. She had no idea how to carry on, but had felt compelled to blurt out something to shatter the wall of tension that seemed to be building between them as they walked side by side.
She indicated a path that opened on to a small rectangle where a bench was situated beneath an arbour smothered in ramblers. The rose garden faced west and the golden warmth of the sun clung to the mellow red-brick walls enclosing it. The early evening air had turned fresh and Elise crossed her arms, absently rubbing at their tops.
‘Are you cold?’
‘A little...’ She gave him a fleeting glance, glad he had spoken at last.
He slipped off his jacket, settling the fine garment about her hunched shoulders. Elise smiled her gratitude as sandalwood and a faint aroma of port and tobacco enveloped her. She nestled into the coat bearing his warmth and musky scent.
‘I’m sorry my father made such a scene in the garden earlier,’ she began quietly. ‘Please make allowances for how dreadfully overwrought he must have been after reading Aunt Dolly’s letter.’
‘It was an understandable reaction.’
‘And I’m sorry he has engineered this awkward situation and has made you...’ Again Elise faltered, gestured with a hand as she approached the ancient wooden bench and sat down, an inaudible sigh shuddering up from deep within.
‘Sorry your father has made me...?’ Alex prompted,
‘Oh...I think you know what I’m trying to say!’ she cried in muted frustration. ‘He has made you say things...indicate things you don’t mean and from embarrassment, or good manners, you have gone along with it.’
‘I’ve not humoured your father,’ Alex countered mildly. ‘You seem to assume that I know your thoughts, Elise. More often than not I’m simply optimistically guessing at them, wishing your feelings to reflect mine.’ His expression turned wry as he sat down beside her. With a weary sigh he sat forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘Despite you assuming I’m a practised womaniser, I’m as clumsy as the next novice suitor attempting a courtship. Attempting a proper courtship,’ he qualified ruefully, sensing her narrowed eyes leap to his profile.
Elise quelled an urge to snap that he’d been skilful enough to gain his mistress’s blatant adoration on the afternoon she’d seen them together in his phaeton. As he turned towards her, she squinted against sunlight that shadowed his features, yet lit hers to his slow scrutiny.
The vague amusement in his eyes transformed to a gaze of passionate tenderness as he took her slender pale fingers, slowly raising them to his lips in a reverential salute. He lowered her hand to her lap, allowing his fingertips to continue the caress.
‘Did you intend to say that you’re sorry your father manoeuvred me into declaring my proposal was heartfelt, but premature?’ he asked with studied solemnity.
‘Yes...’ Elise croaked, intensely aware of the sensation of his skin stroking on hers. Involuntarily she unfurled her fingers to allow more of his seductive touch. ‘Yes,’ she repeated, having cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry you had to do that.’
