“He is looking now,” Amelia told Eleanor, smiling softly.
“Oh, Heavens, I must not look!” Eleanor squealed, covering her mouth with a gloved hand as she laughed quietly. Before Amelia could say anything more, a loud laugh rang out through the garden, and Amelia’s attention snapped to Cassandra, whose eyes were fixed on the Duke of Blackthorn. He looked her way if only due to the volume of her laughter before he glanced away.
Is he disinterestedAmelia thought, biting back a triumphant smile.
But then Cassandra’s focus narrowed on another man who stood near the garden’s fountain, surrounded by a group of ladies who clearly were rapt with attention.
“Is that Lord Ambrose Spencer?” Amelia asked, pointing out the young man.
Eleanor nodded. “He and I danced during my last Season. He is ever so graceful, and very desired. He is also known as the most famous rake of the ton.”
“How come he did not secure a match?”
“I am uncertain,” Eleanor confessed. “I think it was simply a case of other more affluent gentlemen beating him to it. He does not seem short of options now though.”
Amelia nodded, her focus returning to Cassandra, whose head was bent close to Beatrice as the two whispered to one another, looking back at Lord Ambrose.
Perhaps she will turn her attention to him,Amelia thought.I cannot endure much more of her sickly sweet veiled insults.
Soon, servants began to gather, silently signifying that it was time to serve the guests, and that they ought to take their seats at the decorated tea tables set up. Guided to their seats by more servants, Amelia was panicked to find Eleanor being pulled from her to sit two chairs down, but was relieved to know that Bernadette sat down next to her, in between the two girls.
A shadow fell over Amelia, and she smiled, hoping that she was lucky enough to sit next to the Duke of Blackthorn once again. Lifting her gaze, her relief at being seated near her mother was short-lived when she looked up into the face of Lord Ambrose.
Her mouth went dry as he looked down at her, a grin on his face.
“Miss Hawthorne.” He bowed in greeting to her, and she curtsied, anxiety creeping through her. After the scandal sheet, being placed next to the ton’s most notorious rake was not what she needed, but she took her seat nonetheless.
“Lord Ambrose,” she murmured back as they both sat down.
More voices joined their tale. The Duke of Blackthorn sat opposite her, between his own mother, and Cassandra, who faced Lord Ambrose. Beyond the dowager duchess, Lady Daphne sat alongside her mother, with the other parents filling in the gaps. Lord Percival sat further down on the edge of the table, watching them all with keen eyes.
Amelia did not like his presence one bit but turned her focus to His Grace, shyly meeting his eyes from across the table. There was a curl of warmth snaking through her stomach, grounding her in beneath his attention. But when she turned back to focus on whatever tale Lord Kensington had continued telling, she found Lord Ambrose’s attention on her. Her breath caught, more from being startled, rather than the intensity of his blue eyes. Blue, not the darkest of browns, like the duke’s.
“I must say, Miss Hawthorne, that you have been written to be described as plain but I find that you are not quite as bad on the eyes as they say,” Lord Ambrose told her, and for a moment, all Amelia could do was blink.
Bernadette leaned forward. “Lord Ambrose! I beseech you to hold your tongue and not speak to my daughter in such ways.” But the damage was already done. Cassandra sniggered under her breath and Lord Ambrose looked confused.
“Forgive me, Lady Hawthorne, for I did mean it as a compliment.”
Amelia’s mother only hummed at him, narrowing her eyes.
Moments later, as tea and cakes began to be served, Lord Ambrose leaned in. “I did mean it as a compliment, Miss Hawthorne. My words may be clumsy but should you ever find yourself at my father’s residence, I can assure you that our time together shall not be.”
It took Amelia a moment to understand the flirtatious meaning beneath his words, and when the meaning took root in her, she flushed deeply, uncomfortable.
“A kind offer, I am sure,” she said politely, laughing nervously as she leaned back towards her mother.
***
Graham could not help but watch as Miss Hawthorne was spoken to by Lord Ambrose. He had heard the rake’s insult, and he was angered by the carelessness. Miss Hawthorne should have never been written about in the first place, let alone calledplain, and to have even brought up the gossip column was, in itself, an insult.
But Graham found himself on gripping the edge of the table tightly, unable to intervene lest he add more fuel to the fire of rumors.
He watched from afar as Lord Ambrose said something else, sending a pink blush spreading over Miss Hawthorne’s cheeks.
“Is the tea to your liking, Your Grace?”
The voice that pulled his attention away belonged to Lady Cassandra, the very bane of his existence that day. He had already made his decision before her behaviour in Hyde Park. However, as he and Owen rode away, he heard the tone in which she spoke to Miss Hawthorne, even if he couldn’t make out the exact words.
