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Of course that didn’t explain why she had brought the notebook—which had never before left the Hotchkiss cottage—with her in the first place.
She’d waited until nearly four, when the guests would probably be outside enjoying the warm country sunshine. Lady Danbury had mentioned tennis and tea on the south lawn. It wasn’t precisely on the route Elizabeth would need to take in order to retrieve her notebook, but there was no reason that she could not make a special trip to find Lady Danbury to ask her if she’d seen the notebook.
No reason except her pride.
God, Elizabeth hated this. She felt so desperate, so grasping. Every time the wind blew, she was certain it was her parents up in heaven, retching as they watched her debase herself. How horrified they would be to see her this way, making up flimsy excuses just to attend a party to which she had not been invited.
And all this just to make the acquaintance of a man who probably stooped.
She groaned. She’d been standing at the front gate, leaning her head against the bars for twenty minutes. If she waited here much longer, she was liable to slip through and get her head stuck, just like Cedric Danbury at Windsor Castle.
There could be no more putting
it off. Holding her chin up and shoulders back, she marched forward, purposefully skirting the area near James’s cottage. The last thing she needed right now was an audience with him.
She slipped through the front door of Danbury House, her ears perked for party noise, but all she heard was silence. The notebook was in the library, but she was pretending she didn’t know that, so she moved through the house to the French doors leading out to the back terrace.
Sure enough, a dozen or so stylishly clad ladies and gentlemen were milling about on the lawn. A couple of them were holding tennis racquets, some were sipping punch, and they all were laughing and chattering away.
Elizabeth bit her lip. Even their voices sounded elegant.
She nudged out onto the terrace. She had a feeling she looked as timid as a mouse, but that was really of no matter. No one would expect Lady Danbury’s companion to stride brazenly into the party.
Lady D was holding court at the far side of the terrace, sitting in an overstuffed chair that Elizabeth recognized as belonging to the blue room. The velvet-covered monstrosity was the only piece of indoor furniture that had been removed to the terrace, and it definitely played the part of a throne, which Elizabeth imagined was Lady D’s intention. Two ladies and a gentleman sat with her. The ladies were nodding attentively at every word, the gentleman’s eyes were glazed over, and no one seemed to think it odd that Malcolm was lying on Lady D’s lap, belly up with his paws splayed out like an X. He looked like a little kitty corpse, but Lady Danbury had assured Elizabeth time and again that his spine was fantastically flexible and that he actually liked the position.
Elizabeth edged a little closer, trying to make out Lady D’s words so that she could interrupt at the least disruptful moment. It wasn’t very difficult to follow the conversation; it was more of a monologue than anything else, with Lady Danbury as the star player.
She was just about to step forward and try to catch Lady Danbury’s attention when she felt someone grasp her elbow. Whirling around, she found herself face-to-face with the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Golden hair, cerulean eyes—“handsome” was far too rugged an adjective to describe him. This man had the face of an angel.
“More punch, if you please,” he said, handing her his cup.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry, you don’t understand. I—”
“Now.” He smacked her on the rump.
Elizabeth felt her color rise, and she thrust his punch glass back at him. “You are mistaken. If you’ll excuse me.”
The blond man’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Elizabeth felt a wary shiver scoot down her spine. This wasn’t a man to cross—although one had to think that even the most ill-tempered sorts couldn’t get that upset over a glass of punch.
With a little shrug, she dismissed the incident from her mind and made her way to Lady Danbury, who looked up at her in surprise. “Elizabeth!” she exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing here?”
Elizabeth schooled her features into what she hoped was a winsome, apologetic sort of smile. After all, she had an audience. “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, Lady Danbury.”
“Nonsense. What is the matter? Is there a problem at home?”
“No, no, it’s nothing so dreadful.” She stole a glance at the gentleman at Lady Danbury’s side. His coloring was rather like James’s, and they seemed to be of a similar age, but his eyes somehow looked years younger.
James had seen things. Dark things. It was there in his eyes, when he thought she wasn’t watching him.
But she had to stop fantasizing about James. There was nothing wrong with this gentleman here. Looking at him objectively, she had to admit that he was devastatingly handsome. And he definitely didn’t stoop.
He just wasn’t James.
Elizabeth gave her head a mental shake. “I fear I’ve left my notebook here,” she said, looking back at Lady Danbury. “Have you seen it? I do require it before Monday.”
Lady D shook her head as she sank her hand into Malcolm’s copious ecru fur and rubbed his belly. “I cannot say that I have. Are you certain you brought it? I’ve never known you to bring that sort of thing before.”
“I’m certain.” Elizabeth swallowed, wondering why the truth felt so much like a lie.
