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And be most excellently on display ourselves, Laurel thought, reluctantly making her way through the throng.
Phoebe swept on and secured the chairs under the noses of two ladies wearing alarming toques, nodding with plumes.
‘Should I not give up my chair to one of them?’ Laurel whispered.
‘Certainly not. Those are the Pershing sisters and a more disobliging pair I have never met. Now, let me see who is here.’ She looked around, tutting when she failed to locate who she wanted. ‘I must find the Master of Ceremonies and introduce you so that he is certain to include you in all the invitations. And there is Lady Bessant.’ She waved. ‘She will come over soon, I have no doubt. Her son was widowed nine months ago. Such a nice man, so suitable. A trifle stolid, to be sure, but—Oh, and Mrs Terrington, who has three grandsons and two of them are passably intelligent. And over there—’
Laurel ignored the remarks about available men and tried to pay attention to everything else: this would be her new world and she must learn names and faces quickly. As she glanced around several of the younger ladies looked towards the door and some of the mamas came, very subtly, to attention.
An eligible gentleman is coming, Laurel thought with amusement. And then Giles entered, talking to a shorter man.
‘Ah, now there is Mr Gorridge, the Master of Ceremonies, just coming in with—oh, no, it is Lord Revesby again.’
‘And they are coming this way,’ Laurel said, with a sinking certainty that she was their objective.
‘My dear Lady Cary, you must forgive me for not calling earlier. I have only just heard of the arrival of Lady Laurel.’ The Master of Ceremonies was effusive, bowing over her hand, assuring her of his attention if he could be of the slightest service to such a distinguished new arrival in Bath.
Laurel murmured all the right things, agreed that she would certainly wish to subscribe to the concert programme, admitted to enjoying balls, confessed that she was not at all attracted by card play and made him laugh indulgently when she wrinkled her nose when he asked if she had tried the waters yet. And all the time she was aware of Giles seeming to fill her vision while he waited silently, a pace behind Mr Gorridge.
‘And you must allow me to introduce to you the Earl of Revesby, newly arrived in Bath, just as you are, Lady Laurel.’
‘Lord Revesby made himself known to me this morning,’ Laurel said with the coolest smile compatible with good manners. Whatever happened she must not make a scene, not here with all of Bath society watching. ‘We were childhood...acquaintances.’
‘Neighbours, of course.’ Mr Gorridge would have acquired an encyclopaedic knowledge of the aristocracy and gentry in order to perform his office, she realised. ‘But it has been some time, I think, since you last met, given that his lordship has been nobly and courageously serving his country in the Peninsula.’
‘Really? Nobly and courageously serving?’ Laurel arched her brows in polite surprise. ‘I understood that Lord Revesby had been ornamenting the Court at Lisbon. But perhaps that is more onerous than I had imagined. Possibly one had to wear a dangerous wig? Or elaborate Court livery?’
‘It had its moments, to say nothing of lethal wigs,’ Giles murmured. The Master of Ceremonies gave them both a nervous glance, apparently unsure whether these were witticisms, and bowed himself off to attend on a querulous dowager countess who was gesturing at him impatiently with her fan. ‘May I?’ Giles asked to join them.
Chapter Five
‘There is nowhere to sit,’ Laurel began.
Of course, with his luck, just then a chair beside them was vacated by a gentleman who was announcing to his wife that he was off to the card room before the orchestra began its infernal caterwauling.
Giles sat down without waiting for Laurel’s assent. On her far side Phoebe was clearly flustered at the sparking hostility. She said nothing though, perhaps as much at a loss as Laurel to know how to snub a perfectly respectable member of the ton in the middle of a Bath Assembly. A perfectly respectable, exceedingly handsome war hero, if Mr Gorridge’s remarks were to be believed.
‘We began on entirely the wrong foot this morning,’ Giles said, leaning forward so that he could address Phoebe across Laurel.
It gave the younger woman an excellent opportunity to admire the breadth of his shoulders and the crisp line of his recent haircut across the tanned skin of his nape. She told herself she could hardly avoid looking, not without turning away very rudely.
‘Ladies, I must apologise for approaching you directly the other day, and without an introduction. I imagine it must have been disconcerting to receive the impression that you were being, perhaps, stalked, Laurel.’ The expression in those blue eyes was perfectly serious.
Why is he being conciliatory? Laurel wondered. Why is he here at all? He could avoid me perfectly easily and that would be more comfortable for both of us.
When Phoebe uttered incoherent phrases about quite understanding and doubtless the best of motives and Laurel maintained her chilly silence, Giles added, ‘I can only excuse it because of the sense I had at that first meeting at Beckhampton that we were already acquainted, Lady Laurel.’
‘Acquainted? Certainly we were. I was apparently a hysterical girl and you... Words fail me.’
‘Oh, thank heavens for small mercies,’ Phoebe murmured beside her.
‘We must discuss that disaster in private,’ Giles said. ‘Neither of us can afford the appearance of a disagreement in public.’
‘We have no reason to discuss anything.’ Laurel wondered where the feeling of panic was coming from. She should send him on his way, firmly and coldly. They had nothing to discuss. Nothing. ‘We have no reason to meet, in public or in private.’
If only he wasn’t such a stranger and yet so familiar. The more she was close to him the more she heard the echoes of the past in his voice, saw it in those compelling eyes. And if only he wasn’t such an assertively male creature. Yet he was not behaving like his own father always had—loud, cheerfully dominating the world around him. Giles’s manner was perfectly controlled, his voice even, his movements elegant. He was being the perfect gentleman—or perhaps the perfect courtier she had assumed he had spent his time being in Lisbon. Only, perhaps not...
What had Mr Gorridge meant? Noble and courageous. Had Giles fought? But he hadn’t been in the army... Why was he even spe
