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“Wha . . . What?” He sputtered the question. “How in the devil can I help you find a husband?”
A chill skittered up his spine, and he rose from the chair in one fluid motion. “Now see here. I thought you said you had no intention of compromising me into a marriage.”
She waved him off as if he’d said the most ridiculous thing in the world. However, it certainly didn’t seem ridiculous to him.
“Heavens, no. But as you can clearly see, it has become a challenge for me to find my way back into society. I thought with your influence, you could recommend me to some eligible gentlemen of your acquaintance.”
“Wouldn’t a woman better serve in that capacity?”
“Do you really think many women would be willing to help me after I staged a compromise with the beloved Duke of Ashton?”
She had an excellent point.
“Besides, I’ve heard you’ve taken a position at the duke’s clinic. If you appear to have accepted me, given your close relationship with Ashton, perhaps others would be more willing to forgive and forget.”
Another well-reasoned argument. And yet . . .
“I still don’t understand what I can do to help. Do you expect me to go around mentioning you as a prospective bride to every unattached man I know?”
She exhaled an audible sigh, her body closing in on itself. “No. I suppose not. Itwouldappear rather suspicious.”
“Quite.”
Her face brightened. “But perhaps if you made it known that my father has increased my dowry?”
His thoughts turned to Lady Honoria, and the interminable afternoons spent between them with nothing of interest to share. Such a difference from his time with Emma—err—Miss Pratt.
A rather unsettling idea flitted through his mind. “What if I enlisted Lady Honoria’s help as well?”
“Lady Honoria?” Confusion followed by a flicker of—was that regret?—passed over her face. “Is there an understanding between the two of you?”
“Not exactly an understanding yet. However, I have been calling on her regularly.” Why did those words stick in his throat?
She winced. Or did the flickering candle in the dim room play tricks on his eyes? “I see. Then forgive me for putting you in such an awkward position. Forget all about my request.”
She rose, smoothed her skirts, and turned to leave.
“No, wait!” he called, tempted to reach out and grasp her hand. “Allow me to speak with Lady Honoria. Perhaps being seen in both her and my company will assuage some of the wagging tongues and start smoothing the path to your acceptance back into society.”
“If you insist. However, I doubt Lady Honoria would be pleased to assist the likes of me—especially if it involves her own suitor. I wish you joy, Mr. Marbry.” Her voice shook as if flustered.
“Dr. Marbry, Miss Pratt.” He delivered the reminder gently, not wishing to cause her more discomfort.
Her gaze lifted to his. “Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall return and leave you to it.” She secured her mask back in place, hiding her face.
With a whisk of lemon verbena trailing in her wake, she quit the room, her head held high and shoulders squared as if she were heading back into the fray of battle.
Timothy thought it most fitting.
After waiting several minutes for Miss Pratt to return to the ballroom, Timothy donned his mask and peeked around the corner to ensure no one lurked to witness his own departure. His mind reeled from Miss Pratt’s—damned if he could only stop thinking of her as Emma—unusual request.
Absurd?
No doubt.
Was he considering it?
Oddly, yes.
