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CHAPTERTHREE
The following morning,Tillie stood next to the breakfast banquet in the morning room clenching her plate of egg souffle as her mother’s voice grated in her ears.
“My daughter’s family lines are impeccable.”
Tillie was almost afraid to turn and see to whom this line was being delivered. She’d heard her mother utter the words many times. Though Tillie considered herself a talented person, she didn’t have any of the sort of talents a mother might tout to potential suitors. Her dancing was poor, her pianoforte playing average, her skills at conversation decidedly ill-suited to polite society.
So her mother’s only fallback was lineage.
“I’m very aware, my lady.” Came the soft but masculine reply. Who had spoken? Did she dare turn to see? She peaked over her shoulder, the air leaving her lungs in a soft groan. Viscount Bancroft.
“My dear,” her mother called, seeing her subtle attempt at garnering information. Why was it that her mother could ignore all sorts of looks from Tillie but this tiny glance she caught? “Come say hello to our distinguished guest.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. Bancroft had to be the man her mother thought to pair her with. Tillie slowly pivoted, plastering a smile on her face. She might as well speak with him so she could learn the best method of disposing of this unwanted suitor. At least now she knew and could stop running from potential encounters. That made her life easier and safer. Carefully, she set down her plate on the buffet, preparing to be her most offensive self.
Could her mother list that in her accomplishments? Likely not.
“My lord,” she said as she first turned and then curtsied. “Have you recovered from your journey?”
His nose wrinkled as he assessed her, obviously not enjoying what he saw. “I never mind travel. It’s an excuse to sit quietly.”
Her brows rose. Sitting quietly had never been one her strengths. “I can see the merit in that. Do you use your quiet time to read?”
His brows drew together. “Reading?” His voice held a note if incredulity. “I suppose reading would be quiet, at least on the outside. But it’s very loud on the inside.”
She blinked twice. Did he not like books? “I suppose that’s true. At least if you’re doing it right.”
“Right?” he asked. “What a silly concept. Reading correctly. How does one read incorrectly?”
Her lips parted as she attempted to decide what to say. She’d more or less agreed with him. A rarity for her but she was still testing his points of weakness. “I thought you found reading too loud?”
He tsked. “That isn’t what I said.”
She gave a little curtsy as she tried not to smile. Apparently, she didn’t need an elaborate plan to frighten him away at all. She’d simply irritate Lord Bancroft until he no longer wished to court her. Which should have made her happy. Except that Alex came through the door, giving her a smile and coming directly toward them.
Speaking of men who considered her offensive…
“Good morning,” he called coming to her side. “It looks to be a beautiful fall day.”
“It certainly does,” she answered, glad he was here even though she’d prefer he not see how much Bancroft disliked her already. What was wrong with her? Of course, she wished to rid herself of Bancroft and it didn’t matter what Alex thought.
But a memory of the night before stopped her thoughts She’d always found Alex pleasing, but last night, pressed to the strength of his chest…he’d muddled her senses and she flushed with heat to think of it now.
“I thought we’d take a tour of the grounds,” her mother added. “Perhaps picnic by the south field—”
“Picnicking?” Viscount Bancroft curled his nostrils in distaste. “On the ground?”
Her mother frowned. “On blankets, of course.”
“Still. There are bugs and…dirt.”
Tillie gave her mother a long look. Even the marchioness had to know that Bancroft was ill-suited to Tillie. She loved the outdoors and honestly, bugs. “Which insects bother you?” she asked with a bright smile. Alex or no, it was time to get rid of one squeamish viscount. “Flies? Mosquitos? Beetles? Is it size or number of legs that bother you most?”
“Tillie,” her mother hissed.
She knew precisely what she was doing but she’d started now, pretending not to understand. “What? Have you or have you not taught me to take an interest in a gentleman’s conversation?” Then she turned back to Bancroft. “My personal favorite are arachnids.”
“Arachwhat?” he asked looking absolutely appalled.
