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“Blast!” Miranda said.
Lord Cartwright glanced at Timothy and tilted his head to the table where Honoria sat. “I understand you’ve been keeping company with Lady Honoria.”
Discomfort itched at his neck. “Yes. Well . . . umm.”
“Don’t misunderstand,” Cartwright said. “I like her. You could do a lot worse.” Then he muttered something which sounded like, “Trust me.”
Truer words, but Timothy still found his eyes seeking Priscilla where she sat paired with Mr. Ugbrooke. The man looked as though he’d been drinking castor oil, his face pinched and dour. Priscilla turned slightly, catching Timothy staring at her, then laughed perhaps a little too loudly at something Mr. Ugbrooke had said.
Lord Cartwright’s voice pulled him back to the matter at hand. “Your play, Marbry.”
The two hands progressed in much the same manner, and when they switched tables, Timothy found himself once more in a group which included Priscilla. Honoria insisted Priscilla pair with Lord Highbottom, leaving Timothy to pair with Lady Charlotte.
Lord Highbottom made a disappointed face. As Timothy had suspected, arranging an attachment between Priscilla and Highbottom had a colossal chance of failure.
When they took their seats, Timothy had to admit, he also had a modicum of disappointment at the pairing, but seated with Priscilla on his left eased it considerably.
On the right, Highbottom kept nudging Timothy’s knee under the table. Surreptitiously, he scooted his chair to the left, only to have his long legs bump into Priscilla’s instead.
“I beg your pardon,” he whispered.
A blush blossomed across her cheeks, but she kept her gaze down and her lids shuttered. Her long eyelashes brushing against her fair skin only drew his attention more.
“Lord Highbottom,” Lady Charlotte said, placing a card on the table. “I understand you purchased a new curricle.”
Highbottom’s gaze shot to Timothy. “I did, my lady. It’s most grand. Fast, too.” He winked in Timothy’s direction.
Red flashed in Timothy’s vision at the lovely smile Priscilla sent to Highbottom. “I would so enjoy a ride through Hyde Park in such a vehicle. Were a gentleman to ask me, of course.”
“Hmm,” Highbottom muttered, not bothering to acknowledge her thinly veiled hint for an invitation.
Timothy mentally crossed off another suitor from Honoria’s list, leaving Mr. Ugbrooke and, God help him, Lord Nash.
Time passed in a blur, and the party disbanded around three. Timothy gladly returned to the comfort of his home, where he didn’t have to worry about unmarried women and finding them husbands.
Slouched against the sofa in his bachelor townhouse, he pulled at his neckcloth. There had been times during the card party when he’d have rather been dressing a gaping wound than sitting so close to Miss Pratt and not be able to touch her as he wished.
Why couldn’t he feel such attraction to Lady Honoria? She impressed him, for certain. Her delicacy at handling the situation when Priscilla had suggested a footman join them at the card tables was admirable, to say the least.
When the guests had dispersed and left for their homes, he’d lingered, thanking Honoria for her kindness. However, they both agreed that they could safely remove both Lord Felix and Lord Highbottom from the list of prospective suitors.
It should have been a relief, but the later pairing of Priscilla and Lord Nash had caused Timothy great distress. Although seated at a different table than Timothy, the constant giggles from Priscilla and the low seductive chuckles coming from Nash had Timothy’s blood boiling.
Timothy ripped the cravat from his neck, grasping the ends of the white cloth between his hands, and imagined wrapping it around Nash’s throat.
Maybe he needed to move forward with his plans to propose to Honoria. He hadn’t even attempted to kiss her. If they were engaged, wouldn’t she expect such familiarity?
In truth, he hadn’t missed sharing such gestures of affection. A sad statement for one who hoped to seek a contract of marriage. He needed to get his mind off Priscilla and on to something else, something that made him feel productive.
He slipped the cravat back around his neck and tied it, not bothering to create the elaborate folds his valet, Rivers, had managed earlier that day. No one would care at the clinic.
Work would divert his traitorous thoughts.
Arriving at the clinic provided the diversion and much more. People spilled from the waiting area out the front door. He hurried to the examination rooms, searching for Harry or Oliver regarding the enormous influx of people.
“Thank God you’re here,” Oliver said, as he finished bandaging a patient’s hand. What appeared to be soot blackened the man’s face.
“What happened?”
