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CHAPTERSEVEN
The next afternoon,Tillie plastered yet another smile onto her face as she waited for Viscount Bancroft to hit his ball. The day was warm and fine and so the party had moved outside where a group had begun to play croquet.
Her mother had artfully suggested she pair with Bancroft and so…
He cleared his throat as he once again assessed the angle. “I don’t know…” he murmured.
“Me either,” she replied, meaning, not his shot, but the viscount himself. She wasn’t certain she could keep from throttling him if he didn’t use his mallet soon.
Finally, he straightened and executing a series of awkward moves, where he stretched one arm and then the other, stuck out a leg, bent half to the side, and flexed his wrist, he took his shot, missing the hoop entirely.
“Drat,” he cursed, tugging at one of the high points of his collar.
Tillie stepped up to her own ball, hitting it through the next hoop and starting down the court. She’d give anything to be on a walk, or up in her lab, or out in the south field…
Was that where Alex was? She’d not seen him as they’d stepped outside for games. She craned her neck, scanning the rolling field that led to the gardens, her eye catching him as he walked with a lady on his arm.
Her heart jumped into her throat.
A petite red-haired woman, she looked up at Alex even as he stared down, the intimacy of their conversation undeniable.
She clenched her mallet’s handle as wild thoughts flitted through her mind. Tillie would wager that woman was sweet and demure—and well-connected. Did she dance beautifully and play pianoforte admirably?
She tore her gaze away, focusing on Viscount Bancroft. Alex had made her no promises. He was a childhood friend, no more. He’d been nice to her the past several days and it was undeniable that he cared about her future, but he had his own to find.
She knew all that…logically.
But illogical jealousy had her choking on emotion as Bancroft stepped up to play again. “You know, I’m not much for games or physical activity but this is…pleasant.”
Tillie blinked at him. “What are you for? What do you do, my lord?”
“For fun?” he asked, straightening away from the ball again.
Tillie nearly cried out with frustration. “Yes. For fun.”
He scratched at his chin. “I like clothing.”
She sighed. There was a surprise.
“I have a dog I’m very fond of.”
“How lovely, what kind?”
“A Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.”
Finally, they agreed upon something. “What is his name?”
“Prince,” Bancroft answered. “He’s got the best assortment of pillows you have ever seen, and I match his handmade collars with them when he’s lying on them.”
And they were back to having no common ground at all. “How lovely.”
For the next half hour, she heard about how the viscount also had matching clothing tailored for him and his dog. Tillie admired the man’s commitment.
And it was the first time she’d seen him animated on any topic, which was nice to see. But no woman was getting between this man and his dog, least of all her.
Which made her think…
If he had his own pursuits that took up most of his time, would he care that she was off doing hers?
