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The soft chime of the hall clock interrupted her reminiscence, and she rushed to finish her toilette. Patting a curl into place, she surveyed her reflection with approval. Her manteau was the very latest in French fashion. An airy creation of blush silk embroidered with a flowering vine pattern, it sported pleats that fell from her shoulders to gather in folds flowing into the back of her skirts. The color complemented her hair and complexion, enhanced the cream of her skin, and made her eyes sparkle like the finest sapphires.
Knowing her hair was a magnificent thing to behold in full sunlight, she’d left her curls uncovered. A parasol would keep the freckles at bay. If she forgot to open it every time they emerged from the shade, well, it would be worth it to show off her crowning glory. Eschewing rouge, she bit her lips and rubbed them with peppermint oil to plump them and bring out their color.
Innocent, yet tempting, was her goal.
With a surreptitious glance to be sure no one was about, Eden turned sideways and threw back her shoulders. The result was most satisfactory. Her décolletage was appropriately modest for an afternoon event; thus, her shape in profile would have to serve to remind him of what he’d seen displayed in evening attire. The Wexley ball was next week. If she played her cards right, he would ask to accompany her.
When Eden descended the stair, it was to find Tavistoke and her stepmother waiting for her.
“Your devoted servant, Miss Lowther.” The look in his eyes as he bowed was one of warmth. “I shall be the envy of all men this afternoon.”
Briefly, Eden wondered if her heart might not have just ceased beating. “You flatter me, sir.”
To her joy, his garb complemented hers as if he’d known what she would be wearing. A jacket of pale green watered silk clung to his broad shoulders and trim waist before flaring out in the latest fashion. The rich fabric was embroidered with small pink-flowering vines that just happened to be the color of her gown.
Inwardly, she cheered. They looked like an established couple.
Her stepmother, on the other hand, sallied forth in the equivalent of half mourning. Gowned in brown silk with little ornamentation, wearing scarcely any jewelry and a severe coiffure, her dour appearance was a silent expression of disapproval.
“How lovely you look,” Eden said sweetly, kissing her cheek. Her funereal garb would make no difference. In fact, it might even work to her benefit. If a man of Tavistoke’s reputation was willing to be chaperoned by such a stern-looking matron, it could only mean he was in earnest pursuit.
“Thank you.” Catherine’s tone was as flat as a crepe. “Shall we?”
The look on her face would have petrified a less stalwart soul, but Tavistoke bore it with impressive nonchalance. “Indeed,” he answered, following her out. “Rain has spoiled everyone’s enjoyment these past few days, but today the Fates have been kind in granting me sunshine.”
The twinkle in his dark eyes told Eden he wasn’t talking about the weather.
When she at last looked to the street, she nearly stopped in her tracks to gawk at the spectacle. A caravan of sorts awaited them. Behind his personal conveyance stood a pair of heavy-laden wagons bearing a small army of servants and all manner of baskets, boxes, and parcels.
“I thought we were to dine au grand air,” she said, laughing up at him. “This looks more like preparation for a siege.”
“I never go into a battle inadequately armed,” he murmured, holding her gaze until her cheeks warmed. Louder, he added, “Those who prepare well are less likely to be disappointed with the results. Just because we are to dine outdoors does not mean we must do so like savages.”
If he thought to impress their chaperone with the display, he was sadly mistaken. Despite her stepmother’s basilisk glares and short answers, however, he remained charming and solicitous throughout the journey to the Lathams’ London estate.
Upon arrival, they were caught up in a maelstrom of activity as Tavistoke issued commands for the contents of the wagons to be taken to the lakeside. When finished, he offered Eden his arm.
She took it without hesitation, earning a frown from her stepmother. Satisfaction filled her as Lord and Lady Latham greeted their party with unconcealed delight and curiosity. Before this day was over, all of London would know she and Tavistoke had arrived together.
Tavistoke sidestepped their hosts’ thinly veiled inquiries with practiced politesse, and together they proceeded to join the other guests.
“I see Lady Aldeford is in attendance,” said her stepmother. “I must speak with her. Eden, remember our discussion.”
“Yes, of course.” Eden glanced at her escort. Thankfully, he appeared oblivious. Her stepmother turned, and they parted company.
Together, she and Tavistoke progressed along the graveled walkway under the bright sun and the avid gazes of everyone they passed. She’d known their pairing would cause a stir, but this was beyond what she’d anticipated. Every woman fell to whispering to her neighbor behind her fan. Every gentleman eyed her with blatant speculation. Had she been a more timid creature, it would have unnerved her. Even so, she had to close her eyes for a moment and take a deep breath.
“Oh, come now,” murmured the man beside her, his voice a warm caress. “Their reactions can hardly come as a surprise.”
“I knew there would be some curiosity, but this borders on rudeness,” she replied with just a hint of acid.
“No smelling salts for you, I see.” An amused smile hovered about his lips. “A woman of courage, as well as beauty. Well done.”
“Courage is required to be seen in your company, but perhaps not for the reasons you imagine,” she told him. “Every unwed woman present would chee
rfully toss me in yon lake for dashing her hopes.”
“Have you?” But before she could dredge up a response, he spoke again, “You flatter me, madam.”
