Page 73 of Appointment in Bath

James was flummoxed.

Ivo experienced a flicker of unholy satisfaction. It served James right, the overbearing tyrant. Judging by Miss Heywood (whose attention was presently fixed at the approximate level of James’s topmost waistcoat button) she wouldn’t be easily won. Blushes notwithstanding, the girl had a core of steel.

She didn’t eat animal flesh, for one—a compassionate gesture on behalf of her four-legged friends. And then, this morning, when Ivo, Jack, and Kate had accompanied the Heywoods for an impromptu ride and a bit of target practice by the gamekeeper’s cottage, Miss Heywood had admitted to being a member of a new society formed to protect animal welfare.

She wasn’t just singular, with mismatched eyes and a shy demeanor, she was, it transpired, a bit of a bluestocking.

Ivo could have crowed with laughter at his brother’s expense.

But he didn’t feel like laughing at the moment.

He continued pacing, his restlessness transforming into a palpable frustration.

Meg had said she would be here. She’d promised. He’d assumed she planned to arrange a ride with one of the servants, in a gig, perhaps. But it increasingly appeared her plan hadn’t come to fruition.

It wasn’t until a quarter past nine that Selby materialized in the doorway, a pained expression on his usually impassive face. “Miss Burton-Smythe, sir.”

A thrill surged through Ivo as Meg appeared in the butler’s wake. She wore a dress of pale, apricot figured silk, with elegant fan-pleats along the bodice, and full skirts that floated around her hips in a graceful swell of shimmering fabric. A gleaming tortoiseshell comb glinted amid the plaited coils of her Titian hair. And in her eyes—

Panic.

Ivo went to her at once, heart hammering against his ribs.

He vaguely registered Jack muttering something under his breath. The music came to an abrupt close. Kate and Heywood stopped dancing. So did James and Miss Heywood. The legs of the pianoforte stool scraped across the floor as Ivo’s mother stood from her instrument.

Ivo ignored it all, focused only on Meg. He gave her a foolish smile. “You’re here.”

“I shouldn’t be,” she said, so softly he barely heard her.

“Of course you should. You look beautiful, Meg.”

“Ivo—”

“Courage,” he said. Gently taking her hand, he drew her into the room and, with no little pride, presented her to his family. “Mother, father. Seeing as how we were short of ladies this evening, I took the liberty of inviting Miss Burton-Smythe to join us. Meg, you remember my parents, Lord and Lady Allendale? And doubtless you recall my sister, Kate, and my brothers Jack and James?”

His introductions were met with resounding silence.

Ivo’s temper rose. Is this how they meant to receive her? So stiff and cold? It was unpardonable. Couldn’t they see how sweet she was? How worthy? How very different from her hated father?

He held his mother’s gaze from across the room. Surely she, of all people, would offer a warm reception to the young lady he’d invited to Beasley.

Lady Allendale looked back at him steadily. A glimmer of reluctant understanding flickered in her sapphire blue eyes. She alone seemed to comprehend the feelings he’d kept secret from everyone else. Feelings he hadn’t yet shared with Meg. Feelings he’d only recently begun to recognize for himself.

There was no more skirting about the matter. Meg had his heart absolutely.

It was unplanned. Unintentional. Dashed bloody inconvenient, truth be told. But it was the reality of things. And Ivo wouldn’t be sorry for it.

“Miss Burton-Smythe,” his mother said. “This is indeed a surprise.”

Meg curtsied, her face blazing with warmth. “M-my lord, m-my lady. I was honored t-to receive your invitation.”

Ivo inwardly winced at the fierce reemergence of her stammer. She was frightened and anxious. That much was apparent. There was little he could do to reassure her, other than remain at her side, still holding her hand, silently offering his support. She may feel alone in a drawing room full of Beresfords and strangers, but she wasn’t. He was here, and so long as he had anything to say about it, Meg would be treated with the respect she deserved.

“Miss Burton-Smythe,” Lord Allendale said, with a bow. “How fares your father?”

Ivo leveled a hard glance at his pitiless sire. Had it really been necessary to mention Sir Frederick so early in the evening? Or at all?

Lord Allendale returned Ivo’s glance with the same icy promise as James was presently conveying. There was going to be a conversation later, that look informed Ivo. A conversation Ivo wasn’t going to enjoy.