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aking to her?
‘I beg to differ, Laurel. We are both going to be in Bath for the foreseeable future. I imagine neither of us wishes to lock ourselves away for fear of encountering the other and if our relationship appears strained when we do meet it will cause comment. People will begin to recall the whispers of an old scandal and that can do your standing in Bath no good. Neither would I relish it. It would interfere with my own plans.’
‘Lady Laurel, to you, my lord,’ she retorted and got a faint, mocking smile in return. It would serve him right, him and his plans, if she slapped his face as he deserved.
‘And might I enquire what those plans are, Lord Revesby?’ Phoebe, who had apparently got a grip on her flustered nerves, gave Laurel a reproving look. Not in public, it said.
‘Marriage, Lady Cary. One of the things that will assist my father’s recovery is my making a suitable match. He has been alone too long and he will enjoy having a family around him.’
‘You will be in London for the next Season, I imagine,’ Phoebe remarked.
Laurel wondered where her stomach had dropped to and why it should. Why did she care who Giles married? He was no longer the man she had thought him, if he ever had been. But a family? A brood of small Gileses.
‘Perhaps, Lady Cary, if it takes me so long to find the right bride. But this is June, the Season is over for this year and Bath has its charms, I find.’ He was not looking at the dance floor where quite a number of ladies of marriageable age were being led out by their partners for the opening set.
He was looking at her, Laurel realised. What? No!
Beside her Phoebe made a small sound. Before either of them could say anything a gentleman in his late forties stopped and bowed slightly. ‘Lady Cary, good evening. Might I crave the favour of an introduction to your companion?’
‘Of course, Sir Hugh. Laurel, my dear, Sir Hugh Troughton. Sir Hugh, my niece, Lady Laurel Knighton, who has given me the great pleasure of coming to share my house with me. Laurel, Sir Hugh was a colleague of my late husband’s in the War Office and is in Bath to accompany his sister who has been unwell. I do hope Miss Troughton is feeling a little better, sir.’
‘A very junior colleague,’ he said, bowing over Laurel’s hand. She rather liked his smile and the openness of his plain face under a thatch of brown hair just greying at the temples. ‘Thank you, Lady Cary, my sister is finding the fresh air and the waters very helpful. I expect we will be returning to town next week. And...’ He looked enquiringly at Giles.
‘Revesby.’ Giles stood up and offered his hand.
‘Delighted.’ Sir Hugh shook it energetically. ‘I had heard you were coming home.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I have had the pleasure of reading many of your despatches. Very useful indeed, as I am sure you are aware. I think there is a letter on its way asking you to come in to Whitehall for a debriefing at your earliest convenience.’
‘I am attending my father who is unwell, but I will give whatever help I can, naturally.’ Giles spoke equally quietly. ‘You will doubtless let me know if there is anything more urgent.’
‘Excellent. Now, mustn’t bore the ladies with this, er, diplomatic talk. Lady Cary, I do hope you will do me the honour of the second set? And Lady Laurel, the third?’
When they both agreed Giles said, ‘And perhaps I can hope for the reverse? Lady Laurel, the next set? And Lady Cary, the third?’
His tactics are excellent, Laurel thought, irritation vying with admiration. I have already accepted an offer to dance and therefore etiquette forbids me from refusing another gentleman, whoever he may be. If I wish to claim a strained ankle or exhaustion, I will have to wait until I have partnered him for at least one dance.
‘I would be delighted,’ she said, smiling at him.
‘Such sharp teeth you have, Laurel,’ he murmured. ‘I still have the scars.’
‘Where?’ she asked, startled. Beside her Phoebe and Sir Hugh were in earnest discussion of the best choice of physician for his sister.
‘On my right calf. Surely you recall. You must have been about ten and you were furious with me because I had climbed the apple tree at the Home Farm to fetch my kite and refused to pick apples for you. You bit the only part of me you could reach.’
‘Goodness, yes.’ A chuckle escaped her at the memory. ‘How I made you yell.’
‘You were a little savage.’ The way he said it sounded almost approving.
‘You were most disobliging. “It isn’t our tree. It would be theft,”’ she quoted. ‘Scrumping isn’t theft.’
‘Try telling that to Farmer Goodyear.’
A discordant note from a tuning violin jerked her out of the happy childhood memories back to the present. This was becoming far too cosy. Why Giles should be so amiable she could not imagine, not after those gritted-teeth remarks in the Pump Room. And surely that significant look when he had been speaking about marriage to Phoebe had only been to provoke her?
‘As Mr Goodyear went to his just reward eight years ago, that is unfortunately not possible,’ Laurel said, deliberately sounding both pious and humourless. She needed to stop being charmed by reminiscence into relaxing, because the man was after something, she was certain. Or up to no good. Vengeance served very, very cold, perhaps.
From the way his mouth twitched she was not convinced that Giles took her remark at face value, but he sat back and watched the dancers, leaving her to recover her equilibrium. She shifted a little in her seat so that she could watch his profile covertly. Now she was over the first shock of seeing him again she was able to find more traces of the youth she had known beneath the handsome skin of the man he had become. The shape of his jaw and his nose and the arch of his brows were recognisable as she studied him. His hair had lightened from a honey-brown into blond, perhaps from the sun, because his brows were darker, as were his lashes. Those blue eyes, of course...
But the sensual curve of his mouth, the way his skin was tight over the bones of his face, his height and the breadth of his shoulders... Where had they come from? He must top his father by four inches and he looked hard and fit without a surplus ounce on his body. That might be expert tailoring, of course, but she very much doubted it.
