Page 45 of To Follow her Heart

Mr Burton’s face lit up as he took in her words, such happiness softening his features that Matilda felt a rush of warmth for him and she smiled for real. Perhaps she could do this; perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.

“You’ve no idea how pleased I am to hear that,” he said. He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her fingers.

“Mr Burton,” Matilda admonished, glancing about to see if anyone had seen.

“Sorry.” He laughed, thoroughly unrepentant. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

Matilda smiled tightly and looked away. There was an ache in her throat. The touch of his lips to her skin had been pleasant enough, certainly there was no sense of revulsion at his attention, but… she felt no fluttering of her heart, no excitement at the thought of those lips upon hers, his hands on her. She felt… nothing.

She remembered another man, and the way the barest touch of his finger against hers had sent her nerves leaping, every fibre of her being aware of him, alive and pulsing for him… longing for him.

Fool.

“Miss Hunt, Mr Burton.”

They both turned as Jerome hailed them and gestured that it was their turn to play.

“Back into the fray,” Matilda said gaily, forcing herself to sound light-hearted and happy, like a woman who was being courted by a handsome and eligible man… like she ought to sound if she had an ounce of sense in her stupid head.

***

Jasper stood by the refreshments table, sipping a glass of lemonade and wishing for something a deal stronger. He watched with increasing unease as Jerome and Miss Campbell laughed and teased each other. They were as good-natured as puppies, their happiness infectious and their easy friendship natural and so simple. Yet it wasn’t simple at all.

Jerome was ever thus, a likable easy-going fellow mostly, until he lost his temper. This was rare, it was true, but Jerome had a very strong sense of right and wrong, and if you were wrong he’d tell you so, usually with a dreadful want of tact. Sadly, his ideas of right and wrong and society’s rarely coincided.

For example, he saw no reason not to enjoy his burgeoning friendship with Miss Campbell. Except that society—and in this instant, Jasper—could predict certain pitfalls.

Miss Campbell was a nobody, born of a far from an illustrious family. When her parents died she had been made a ward of the Earl of Morven and given a reasonable, if not generous dowry. Not that Jasper would stand in his brother’s way if he fell head over ears in love, he wasn’t that much of an ogre. The problem was, Jerome was not in love with Miss Campbell and was unlikely to be. Jerome was a romantic. He fell for damsels in distress, usually frail blondes with large eyes and a tendency to swoon at the drop of a hat.

Miss Campbell was… robust.

With a generous figure that was all curves and abundance, and a forthright nature that had her speaking out when she’d do better to hold her tongue, Jasper could see that Jerome looked at her in the same manner he might one of his male friends. She was someone he could joke with and tease; someone who would not take offence but enjoy the banter. This was rare in a woman and Jasper could understand the appeal. He could also read the look in Miss Campbell’s eyes, a look to which Jerome was totally blind.

The blasted imbecile.

This meant that Jasper would have to intervene and explain a few things which no doubt would put Jerome’s back up and Jasper firmly in the doghouse. Well, it was his permanent abode when Harriet was around anyway, he may as well get comfy there.

“That was an excellent shot, my lord.”

Jasper turned to see Lady Frances had moved to stand beside him. She accepted a glass of lemonade from a footman as she watched Mr Burton go forward to take his shot.

“Thank you,” Jasper replied. “I used to play all the time, but it’s been a while now. I’m relieved to discover I haven’t lost the knack.”

“Indeed not, you are most impressive.”

Jasper glanced at her and she turned her face away, shyly lowering her lashes. Alarm bells sounded. He searched about him, surreptitiously hoping to catch someone’s eye and subtly indicate that he was in distress, to no avail.

So, now that Luke had made his intentions plain, she would return her attention to him, Jasper realised with a sigh. Though Mr Derby had made it abundantly clear the marriage would still go ahead, no matter Luke’s ideas on the subject, Jasper didn’t doubt that her pride was smarting, and he would make a fine conquest. How satisfying to turn to Luke and Mr Derby and tell them they were no longer required. Any earl would do, it seemed, though she had highlighted her interest plainly enough before now.

Jasper looked around to see Mr Derby and his daughter, Sybil, sitting with Jasper’s mother, Mrs Drake, and Harriet’s Aunt Nell. He was nodding at something Jasper’s mother was saying but Jasper doubted he was attending the conversation, his attention fixed on Luke and Miss Connolly. Happily, the pair were behaving just as they ought… perhaps too well, as everyone knew how they felt about each other. The sooner they were far from here the better. He hoped the plans he’d made with Luke last night would serve them well.

He sighed as he realised he envied them, running away to be together against all the odds. That was something worth fighting for. Good grief, he really had to get a grip, or he’d start letting his hair grow long, wear ridiculous neckcloths, and write dubious poetry.

“I was looking at the picture gallery last night,” Lady Frances said, drawing his attention back to her.

He’d knew he’d been rude to have ignored her and not spoken for so long, but he was somewhat bereft of small talk and didn’t wish to make the effort. What a wretched fellow he was becoming. Her voice was soft and musical, the well-modulated tones of a perfect young lady.

“Indeed? I’m not a great connoisseur of art, not like my father was,” he said, trying his best to be a good host but not encourage her flirtation. “But even an ignorant devil like me can see there are some wonderful paintings there.”