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“Your Grace, you must walk me in,” Lady Leicester said, at the threshold. “You are the guest of honor.”
“Of course, Countess.” Harry walked over and held his arm out for the lady. “Allow me.”
They sauntered to the dining room as the others followed. After escorting Lady Leicester to the head of the table, he found his seat to her right. He couldn’t help but watch Louisa enter the room accompanied by an elderly baron. A sliver of disappointment trickled through him as she took her seat at the opposite end of the table where he could only watch her from afar.
“Are you well, Your Grace?” the countess asked with a look of concern. “You seem a bit forlorn.”
“Forlorn? I do hope not,” he replied as a footman placed a bowl of cream soup in front of him. “Just a flickering thought about my sister. I haven’t seen her for some time.”
Lady Leicester glanced down the table toward Louisa. “Of course, that is all that is on your mind. I do hope you have decided to marry again. Society has become a bit dull. If you are ready to enter the marriage mart again, I can only imagine the excitement of all the mamas.”
He sipped his potato soup and then nodded. “As a matter of fact, I have.”
The conversation at the table quieted and then buzzed with whispers.
“Excellent news, indeed, Your Grace,” she said with a sly smile. “And as I always try to hold the first official ball of the Season, it is certain to be a crush.”
“Unless I am married and gone back to the North before then,” he said with a smile to make her think he teased her. And tomorrow he intended to make sure Louisa understood his plan. Now, if he could only stop glancing down the table at her.
But as he did once again, she lifted her wine glass in salute with a smile at him. His heart pounded in his chest. That was the most flirtatious look she’d ever given him. Louisa flirting with him? His imagination was playing tricks on his mind now.
THE NEXT MORNING, HARRY walked the length of the Serpentine and back, waiting for Louisa. It was nearly noon. She should have been here by now, unless she decided against meeting him. Thinking back on last evening, he realized that she hadn’t answered him when he told her to meet him. Then again, he hadn’t given her a chance. He’d moved away from her to prevent talk before she had the opportunity to reply. He’d assumed her nod was consent.
Or might she be avoiding him? There was the possibility that she found his list a bit rigid. But the next duchess needed to be perfect. After Sabita, he wanted no gossip regarding his next wife. He had to think of his daughter’s future.
The March wind whipped around him. Pulling his overcoat tighter around him, he glanced farther out into the park, hoping to find her.
Harry patted the pocket of his waistcoat, which held the names of five more gentlemen that should be suitable for her. Hopefully, her list would be well thought out with ladies who would accept his daughter and find him to be agreeable. Turning around for one last look, he spotted her, and the breath rushed from his lungs.
“Where have you been?” Louisa asked in a hushed but annoyed tone. “I’ve been here for over an hour looking for you.”
“I was here the entire time. Did I not say to meet near the Serpentine?”
“No, you did not.” She glanced back at her footman, who had accompanied her. “I don’t have much time now. I promised John we would leave by noon.”
“Shall we sit?” he asked, pointing to a small bench near the water.
“Heavens, no. We must keep walking to make it look as if we just came upon each other, not that we planned to meet here.”
Apparently, Louisa was only sensible about her reputation in town. He pulled out his paper with the names he’d discovered. “Very well, then. I did a little more investigation before creating this list.”
She grabbed it from his hand and scanned it. “Brentwood is a dimwitted fool.”
“I went to Eton with him, and he excelled.”
“No, you attended with James. He passed away when you were in India. His brother Nigel has the title now.”
Harry closed his eyes for a moment. Damn. Would he ever get this right? “You’re correct. Nigel is a dimwitted fool. Still, there is no need to get testy about it.”
“I am not testy! It is dreadfully cold.”
He stifled a smile. “Of course not,” he said in a condescending tone.
“Oh, do be quiet, Harry.” She perused his list again. “I suppose Deering might be acceptable.”
“You don’t sound certain.” They walked along the Serpentine a few more feet before she stopped.
“He is not the most....”
