Page 45 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

‘I am. I must introduce you to my wife.’ This was the moment for which he had been waiting, proving that she had been wrong all those years ago about his lack of prospects.

He looked around, but could see no sign of Florence. Ah, there—dancing a country dance with a young gentleman he did not know. She looked as if she was enjoying herself.

‘It seems she is otherwise engaged,’ Eloise said, fluttering her eyelashes in that way he had always found so alluring, but now found patently false. ‘She looks…quite…nice.’

The hesitation was deliberate. Eloise had always known she was a diamond of the first water, an incomparable. That was something Florence would never be. And he was glad.

‘The on dit says it was a rather short engagement. Love at first sight, perhaps?’ She raised an eyebrow.

He ignored the question. He wasn’t about to add fuel to any gossip.

‘I am sure I will meet her sooner or later,’ she continued. ‘But, my dear Graydon, you must call on me soon. How I missed you when you went off to Canada. I gather you have done very well for yourself. I would love to hear all about your adventures. A proper coze, the way we used to in the old days.’

He blinked. Had he hearsd her aright? Was she inviting him to call on her alone?

He glanced over at Florence. Who was that fellow she was dancing with? She looked as if she was enjoying herself far too much.

‘I am sure my wife and I will be delighted to call on you and Lady Swann.’

Her smile faltered then brightened. ‘Yes. Yes, of course. Do bring your wife. My sister will be delighted.’ The falseness in her voice grated on his ear. He had understood her meaning correctly, then. What the devil could she be about?

How odd that, instead of feeling vindicated, he felt sorry for Eloise. While she was as beautiful as he remembered, it seemed to be all on the surface, and there was an underlying air of desperation he found disconcerting. He bowed and moved on towards the antechamber where he would find the refreshments.

A gentleman stepped into his path. ‘Good lord!’ the fellow said. ‘Gray, it is you. Someone told me you had returned from making your fortune in Canada. I scarcely recognise you, old lad. The colonies must have suited you very well.’

Graydon stared at the short, brawny-shouldered man with a homely face and the joy of familiarity welled up. ‘George Redfern, by God. It is good to see you. You’ve filled out since I last saw you. How are you, old chap?’ He shook hands with his school chum. ‘Well met, my friend. It has been a long time.’

‘Too long.’ George glanced over his shoulder. ‘I see you are still entranced by our goddess.’

As youths new on the town, they and their peers had called Eloise their goddess, all vying for her notice, a smile or a dance. He had been so proud of the fact that it was he who she had favoured the most. Or at least, he had thought she did.

‘Nonsense. I am a married man. And she a married woman.’

George’s face broke out in a grin. ‘I never heard of that stopping anyone before.’

Distaste churned in his stomach at the flippant response. He ignored it. He didn’t want to appear to be a prude. ‘Don’t tell me you are worshipping at her feet still?’

George grimaced. ‘You know she never looked at me twice.’

Not exactly an answer. Though a hopeless romantic, George had never been a favourite with any of the ladies. He was a good man, but there was no escaping it, he was ugly. By his own admission, he had inherited all the worst physical traits of both sides of his family: lack of height and a face only a mother could love, with a hooked nose and a disproportionally large chin. Added to that, being a second son without hope of any sort of inheritance had made him the most ineligible bachelor of their generation.

And yet the best friend imaginable.

Guilt assailed him. Not once had he written to George. After his stupidly public declaration to Eloise, he’d been so humiliated, he’d cut himself off from every one he knew, including his best friend. ‘I should’ve kept in touch.’

George shrugged. ‘No need. I’ve heard all about your doings over in Canada.’

‘How so?’

‘M’mother lives in Bath. She knows your mother, who bragged about your successes to anyone who would listen.’

Graydon groaned. ‘Mothers.’

‘Crown the whole, don’t they?’ George grinned from ear to ear, exposing a set of crooked teeth. ‘Fancy a brandy? There’s a nice little snug around the corner.’

Graydon winced. ‘I can’t, old chap. I promised my wife a glass of ratafia, and I will have to be here to take her home, whenever she is ready.’

George shook his head in mock sorrow. ‘Poor sot of a married man. No life of your own.’