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“My mother’s youngest sister. Sadly, passed away. Wasted away.”
“I am sorry,” he said dutifully. “And your father—”
“My poor papa was shipwrecked off Goa while en route to pick up a shipment of spices. He was a merchant. I was five years old,” she added quickly.
He sensed she remembered little of her parents. His own were far away, and the measure of distance between him and them was deliberate: he did not want to bring his disgrace upon them.
“I live with my grandparents,” she said. “My grandfather is unable to walk or talk after a stroke. My grandmother is not one for social occasions. She struggles to hear.”
Elias had not been expecting a family history, but he listened as she continued to present a series of misfortunes.
“My two brothers passed away in their infancy before they could walk. My father, being so often away, was a mysterious man to me, and I have only one miniature portrait to aide my recollections. My mother died when I was twelve. Of grief, I believe.”
“Why, that is most unfortunate,” he said humbly.
As yet, Miss Templeton had said nothing to cheer him up.
“I do like Aunt Kitty, though. She has a jolly disposition, don’t you think?”
She flitted between the two groups of guests. Mrs Jarvis’s laughter rose above the voices.
“Most affable,” he agreed.
Mrs Jarvis’s red cheeks showed a passing interest in more than her guests. She frequently helped herself to the sherry.
Miss Templeton’s hand slipped along his arm, and her fingers curled around the cuff of his sleeve. Unlike her aunt, Miss Templeton’s cheeks were flushed with a different kind of hue. He wondered if she was aware of the effect she was having on him. It had been some months since he had parted company with his last lover, a Portuguese widow who had no interest in his life and served his needs more than adequately. They had parted on good terms.
What struck him, as Miss Templeton circled the room, was the lively tone of her voice and the bounce in her steps. She was very much alive and uncaring of the numerous pairs of eyes who tracked their movements, some of whom were not welcoming.
The harsh glares brought him to an abrupt standstill. He should not be allowing this to happen. “Miss Templeton, I thank you for your attentiveness; however, I should go now.”
She frowned. “Why? Have you been called away?” She rose up onto tiptoes and glanced over his shoulder to the door.
He shook his head. “No.” He withdrew his arm from her trembling hand. “I cannot let you become familiar with my person. I am not a good man to know.”
“Why ever not? Who says such a thing? You don’t seem especially difficult,” she said, somewhat impudently.
Elias masked a grin. Under other circumstances, he might find her impertinence endearing, an example of feminine vitality. In a solider, he would have stamped it out immediately. She was not to know how he felt inside, the way his breeches hid a swelling that had not happened in many weeks. He took a deep breath and focused on her green, oceanic eyes and not the rise and fall of her bosom.
“Because, my curiosity brought me to this house, and it is unfair of me to allow it to foster a relationship.”
“You’re speaking in riddles, Lieutenant Seton. I merely wish to gain your acquaintance. You are far more interesting to me than most men I have met since I left London.”
“I am? Somehow, I find that worrying. I should hope there is a better calibre of men in these quiet valleys and towns than myself.”
“You do yourself a disservice, sir,” she said, her nose pointing upwards. A charming nose.
“You are not acquainted with the facts of my situation.”
“Then why not explain?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Here? I think not.”
“Come to Bereworth Hall. My grandparents are exceptionally well-equipped not to hear.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I would expect greater respect for your grandparents.”
She blushed deeply. “Oh, but I do, sir. I merely point out that they will not intrude upon our conversations. If you seek privacy—”
