Page 28 of Wit, Wiles and Courtship

“Mr. Quarles, we are glad that your plans have changed and that you could join us.” Lady Milton went to the side of the room, where he seemed to be brooding, and brought him to the center. “I am sure you were relieved, as well, for you must not like to be separated from your bride so early in your marriage.” As this was rather unanswerable, he replied what was expected of him in an expression that looked less than pleased.

Lady Milton turned to the guests. “We have the tables set out for whist, although we also have piquet cards if it should suit some of you to play in pairs.”

“I am sorry,” Miss Winkley was heard to say, though it had been meant for Abigail’s ears. “I am not skilled at whist.”

Mr. Pollard was the first to speak. “I think many of us will be just as happy to play commerce, if that suits you, Miss Winkley.”

Bernice had appeared happy when he arrived. She was looking her best, with a becoming gown of pink crêpe that brought color to her cheeks and which fit her beautifully. But her lips straightened at his show of gallantry, and Camilla suspected her tendre for Mr. Pollard was suffering a check. She could readily understand her, for few could compete against a girl as lovely as Miss Winkley.

“Miss Milton?” Mr. Pollard now turned to Bernice. “What would you enjoy playing?”

Bernice went pink and her smile reached her eyes. “I think commerce is an excellent idea, for it does not require any skill and is fun besides.”

Camilla exchanged a glance with Joanna and guessed from her keen look that she had understood the subtleties of the exchange. Bernice was smitten, and her case did not seem hopeless. She was happy for her.

“And I will not disappoint any partner,” Miss Winkley said modestly.

“I cannot think you would disappoint any partner, for they have only to look at how lovely you are,” Abigail said with a titter. “Do you not think so, Mr. Pollard?”

“Hm?” Mr. Pollard wrenched his eyes away from Bernice and settled them on Abigail. He looked confused and tried to respond becomingly. “Why, of course anyone here must be delighted to have you as their partner.”

“Then you shall have her,” Abigail crowed. “I hereby declare Mr. Pollard and Miss Winkley to be partners for the evening.”

Joanna’s eyes narrowed at such obvious petty behavior, and Camilla began to suspect Abigail had invited a lovely woman for no other purpose than to draw away any attention her own sister might receive. Like bringing a honey pot to attract every winged creature. The only consolation was that Miss Winkley did not seem so unkind.

Camilla was angry on Bernice’s behalf. “There is more to a woman than her appearance,” she muttered under her breath. Pembroke had been standing beside her and he heard.

“I agree with you, Lady Camilla.”

She glanced quickly at him. Neither his tone nor expression held any mocking, but for reasons she could not explain to herself, she was unreasonably cross with him. “Is that so? And yet, you always seem to set a great store by a pretty face, given how you flit from one to another at Society events.”

The words were out, and it was too late to retract them. His face took on an expression of faint surprise, and she feared the look of hard irony that would follow. Besides the fact that it was extremely improper of her to comment on any tendency he might have with the fairer sex, she had revealed her jealousy. The hard look never came. Instead it was something akin to curiosity.

“You speak as though you have been observing me.” Suddenly a flash of his teasing returned, as if he wished to lift the heavy curtain that had come between them. “Have you been observing me, Lady Camilla?”

She would have apologized for her lapse had he not gone on to tease her. To do so now would bring the serious tone to the conversation back.

“I observe you as much as I might any other gentleman,” she assured him. “You must not imagine I am studying you any more than any other specimen of your race.”

His regard held, and she felt his lurking smile underneath. To her frustration, she wanted to smile back. Then he cut through the rumble of various conversations to address the crowd.

“Well, Mr. Pollard will have to enjoy the opportunity to partner with Miss Winkley at another time, for I do believe a game of commerce will permit everyone to play, and at any skill level.” He smiled at Bernice. “And, of course, it needs no partners.”

Chapter 11

Before Rowe entered Lady Milton’s house that night, he had been regretting not only having accepted the invitation, but pushing his friends into accepting it as well. His mother had arrived later than anticipated and was in a mellow mood due to her fatigue from the journey. She expressed her desire to take soup in her room and retire early. He hadn’t needed the invitation to the card party as an excuse, had he but known it, for he could easily have slipped off to the club without giving offense. However, accept the invitation he had done and could not pull out now. Particularly not after he had had to cajole the others not to leave him alone and prey to Lady Milton’s clutches. He could not pull such a mean trick by condemning them to the same.

These were his thoughts as he stood in front of the door. Then he had stepped into the drawing room and caught sight of Lady Camilla. Why a glimpse of her should change his prospect for the evening, he could not say. After all, he had known she would be there. But there she stood with that stubborn moue of haughtiness on her face that he wanted to persuade into something brighter. Surely he could remove it and get a glimpse of her smile, never mind that coaxing a smile from her had lately seemed an insurmountable feat. Had she not eagerly met his friendship with an open nature up until and throughout Elmscote? If her tongue was sharp at times, it only delighted him, never disturbed. And it was never directed his way except to tease. How he missed that now that he was left with only the aloof, indifferent Lady Camilla.

Perhaps it was the attraction of her family, full of life and laughter in such contrast to his own. He remarked it afresh each time he went to the Poole residence. Maybe it was the blend of her sweet face with her dry humor so that he never knew what to expect. He could not say what it was that made him want to be near her, only that he missed what they had had before. As he greeted his hosts and the other guests, his mind was partially engaged in puzzling this out.

He remembered holding her hand while he tended to her wound. It had fit perfectly in his own, and if that thought had struck him at the time, it was only to dismiss it. When he leaned down to help her to stand and walk with the support of his arm around her waist, he had become aware of something else. She was not like the London Society twigs. The feel of her beside him, solid and warm, had been comforting. And it was with regret that he had settled her into the carriage with no more excuse to have his arm around her.

This he had put out of his mind, for it was not a thought he was ready to dwell on then. Now it came rushing back with all of the remembered sensations. And with these came the pleasure of sparring with her. This medley of Camilla’s attractions was a curious thing for his mind to fixate on now since he was not intent on wooing her. It was time to bring his attention to the party—and crowing victory over a certain young lady.

He gestured to Sam Weatherby. “You had better let me shuffle those cards. You’re an ill hand at it.” His grin softened the autocratic words.

“If you will shuffle, then you will deal.” Weatherby handed the pack over and turned to sit beside the beauty, but Gerry had outstripped him.