“Do not dim your own light, my dear,” Lady Hightower counseled.
Out of the corner of his eye, Percival could see Jeffries joking with Lady Cordelia. He wouldn’t mind dimming Jeffries’ lights this very moment.
“Are you quite well, Lord Harveston?” Lady Hightower asked. “You seem out of sorts.”
Out of sorts? It seemed that he was. What was wrong with him?
He cleared his throat. “Not at all, Lady Hightower.”
Before he could make his escape, he watched Miss Mayton leading her charge out of the room. Lady Cordelia waved to him.
He waved back.
“You know,” he said, hardly knowing where he was going with it, “I think I ought to escort Miss Mayton’s carriage home. The road between here and Portland Place can be…unpredictable.”
“Unpredictable?” Lady Hightower asked.
“Well, one never knows,” he mumbled. “Two ladies on their own…”
He sounded very foolish at the moment.
“Now, I see what you say,” Lady Hightower said. “Miss Bretherton’s father brought her here and her maid is here as well and I was meant to take her home, but goodness I am very tired. When I think of calling for my carriage, well, I wonder if it would suit if a hansom was called and you escorted the lady home? After all, her maid will be with her and with you protecting from danger atop your horse, I am sure it would be all right.”
Escort Miss Bretherton? He did not wish to escort Miss Bretherton!
“What do you say, Miss Bretherton?” Lady Hightower asked. “Do you suppose your father would approve the idea?”
“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” Miss Bretherton said.
“Excellent. It is settled then. Come along, we will retrieve your maid and call a hansom and you will be on your way.”
*
There had beensome delay in departing Lady Hightower’s house. Cordelia and her aunt waited for a quarter hour for their carriage to come round. It was longer than usual but not wholly unexpected—one could never be quite certain what went on after a coachman let one out somewhere. Sometimes, they lined the street and were easily in view, other times they went off somewhere. Miss Mayton had suggested that the coachmen must all get together in the stables and have their own party to pass the time.
Wherever Sandren had been, it did not seem as if it had been to a party. But then, their coachman generally did sport a stern mien.
Lady Hightower had come out with Miss Bretherton and Lord Harveston. Apparently, Lord Harveston was to escort the lady home.
The idea made Cordelia feel a little sick, which was the stupidest thing in the world. Why should she be discomfited to find Lord Harveston bowled over by the educated bishop’s daughter? Of course he would be, they’d probably traded a hundred facts already.
Once again, she felt she must be very conceited. What else could account for being put out that one was not admired by one who was not particularly admired? Did she suppose the whole world should be in love with her?
Cordelia paused. Where had that idea come from? Where did the idea of love come from?
As Miss Bretherton’s hansom trotted away with Lord Harveston dutifully following it, Sandren jumped down from his box and a groom opened the carriage door.
They were settled in a trice and on their way home.
“You gave a wonderful performance, Cordelia,” Miss Mayton said. “I was nearby Lord Grant and overheard him say to his lady, ‘that young woman knows what’s wanted at these sort of things.’ The applause wasquitepronounced.”
“I think my sisters were right in advising me,” Cordelia said, “people do like it to be short.”
“And Mr. Jeffries found the idea so amusing and he was so quick on his feet to congratulate you at the end. What did you think of him? Is he your Corinthian?”
Cordelia sighed and gazed out the window. “I am afraid not, Aunt. I was not struck by him at all.”
“That is a shame, but the heart will not tell tales.”
