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“I know at one point you had asked for Miss Drake’s hand.” He paused for a moment having second thoughts. But this was the right thing to do. He knew far more about Blakely than Collingwood. “Well, she is a fine lady and a dear friend. I was wondering if you would ever reconsider.”
“Reconsider? Your Grace, she rejected me.”
“Yes, but I believe she regrets that decision and would be receptive to a courtship now.” At least, Harry hoped she would. Blakely might bore her with horses, but he would be an excellent husband, loyal and stable, and she deserved that, and so much more.
Blakely shook his head. “After having time to consider things, I do believe Miss Drake made a sensible conclusion. We would not have suited. She’s a bit high-spirited for me.”
“High-spirited?”
“You know, always speaking her mind about things. And a bit of a bluestocking, if you ask me.”
“Of course, she is knowledgeable,” Harry replied slowly. Blakely’s description of Louisa was precisely what made her so unique amongst the ladies of quality. Perhaps the viscount, like so many gentlemen, didn’t wish to marry a woman who might be a partner instead of an ornament.
“And in truth, I find my heart has completely recovered from that chapter and moved on to another.”
“Oh, I apologize then.”
Blakely nodded with a smile. “I should return to the ballroom.”
“Good luck with your new lady.” The smell of the cheroot remained as Blakely strolled away.
“How could you!”
Harry cringed at the angry tone of Louisa’s voice from the other side of the hedge. She was never meant to hear what Blakely had said about her. Before he could apologize for the viscount’s comments, she strode down the path. Following behind her, he whispered just loud enough that she might hear, “Slow down.”
Ignoring him, she continued until she tripped over something, landing on the grass with a muttered curse. Harry swiftly assisted her to a bench.
“Are you hurt?”
She yanked her elbow out of his grip. “Hurt? Of course, I am hurt. How could you think for one moment that I would reconsider Blakely?”
Harry sighed. “I meant, physically.”
“No.” She glanced down at her grass-stained skirt with a sigh.
“I am sorry you had to hear what he said about you. I deliberately removed him to the back of the gardens so that no one would overhear.”
“You think I am hurt by what he said?” The acid in her voice contradicted the sadness in her blue eyes.
Confused by her tone, he said, “Of course.”
She stayed silent for a moment either to gather her thoughts or her wounded feelings. “What Blakely said about me is nothing but the truth. And nothing I am ashamed of or would ever change. He was correct. We would have been a dreadful match. What I am offended by is your lack of sense on the matter.”
“My lack of sense?”
“I told you in December why I did not marry him.”
His anger slowly burned. “I am doing my best to find you a gentleman of good standing. You didn’t seem terribly excited about Collingwood, and in my opinion, Blakely is a far better man. Higher standing in Society and far wealthier.”
She rose from the bench and walked toward the brick wall separating the Marchtons’ gardens from another family of lesser consequence. “I suppose you are right,” she whispered. “I should settle for any man who will take me at this point in my life.”
“Louisa, you are far from desperate.” Guilt flooded him. How was he supposed to find her a husband when she was everything he’d wanted in a wife but now could not have?
“Am I not? Look at me,” she demanded. “I have grass stains on my gown, and my hair is falling from its coiffure. What man would want me?”
He shouldn’t have looked over at her. Seeing her in such disarray made his heart pound. Her ivory gown did indeed have a rather large stain near her right knee, her hair had once again started to fall out of its upswept style, and all he wanted to do was kiss her.
No!
