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Chapter Four
He was late. Eliza took an impatient sip of watered down ratafia and made one more irritated scan of the small crowd milling about the Marchioness of Filburk’s garden. It’d taken a fair amount of convincing to procure an invitation from the famed dragon, and the woman only relented after Eliza had called in a favor that the woman owed. That Dalton apparently couldn’t be bothered to arrive on time likely was not helping Lady Filburk’s estimation of both him and herself. At the very least, the party gave her an opportunity to observe the preparations the marchioness had made and perhaps incorporate them into her own plans for the ball. As promised, Dalton’s former gardener arrived within the week and went straight to work on attacking the chaos her garden had become. Aside from a rather queer expression on his face when she’d expressed her condolences for Dalton letting him go, the man proved quite agreeable to her plans and was confident that he’d have things in working order in time for the ball, even giving a few suggestions of his own that she hadn’t considered. The garden issue, something that had been weighing on her for the past month alone, was now resolved and Dalton’s part in doing so had softened her to him immensely.
At least until today.
He had about ten more minutes before he went from fashionably late to unpardonably rude, if the man even showed up at all. But just when she was beginning to lose hope, a commotion sounded near the terrace doors. She glanced over to see Lady Filburk greeting a gentleman on the terrace. The marchioness moved to the side and gestured at the grounds, revealing the face of the man, who smiled politely at whatever the woman was going on about.
Lord Dalton.
“Oh, thank the heavens,” Eliza muttered with another healthy swallow of her drink. It appeared that he wasn’t so feckless after all. He began walking in her direction, cheerful air not abating, and she felt just a smidge of guilt for doubting him.
“Good Afternoon, Lady Aircourt. A fine day for a garden party.” He stopped a good few feet from her person, and she was almost sad for the polite distance between them.
“Yes, indeed. I am enjoying myself very much.” Now that he was here, at least. That surprising thought was rather embarrassing, but Eliza wouldn’t fool herself and pretend that the flutter of her chest once she realized he had arrived could be attributed to anything other than pleasure at being in his company.
He slid a tad closer, enough that no one overheard his soft reply. “I wanted to thank you again for securing this for me. I am sure it wasn’t easy to convince Lady Filburk. The poor woman looked like she’d eaten a sour grape the moment she laid eyes on me, and I’m sure just about everyone here feels the same.” That last sentence was coupled with a wary glance at their surroundings.
Eliza could hear the whispers around them and knew their peers were just as shocked to see her conversing so easily with him as they were at his attendance in the first place. She watched the handsome smile strain on his face, his blue eyes crinkling with anxiety, and decided to offer at least a modicum of support. “Well, you can count me out on that front. I am glad to see you making a respectable appearance in public. Stay placid, and there will be nothing they can do to harm you.”
“I am sorry I forced you to associate with me. I should have thought of that before approaching so openly.”
She shook her head. “I can merely use the excuse of being polite. Everyone knows I’m not one to make a scene in public. It certainly isn’t my fault you approached me.” Sometimes it felt rather condescending, the Ton’s penchant to write her off as someone of endless patience and magnanimity, as if she couldn’t be expected to have a head outside of entertaining others. But that veneer did prove useful in getting her out of a scrape or two, today included. “Besides, how are you to prove yourself by standing around with no one to talk to?” It was actually the very reason she’d come. Leaving the poor man to attend alone would be throwing him to the proverbial wolves.
“I hadn’t thought of that. I had no plan at all beyond arriving here and hoping for the best.”
“The Ton never gives its best.”
“No.” He looked around again with a small grimace as attention only continued to focus on them. “No, I suppose it does not.”
But Eliza stubbornly held on to serenity. “Remember, placid.”
He gave her a tight nod, but nonetheless kept a false air of cheer around him. They stood together for several minutes, the silence only punctuated by the occasional whisper directed their way. The attention had never made her feel more like a sideshow attraction, and she imagined Dalton felt even worse. A footman passed by and Eliza handed him her empty glass before eyeing her companion expectantly. After he didn’t take the obvious hint, she stepped closer with a soft clearing of her throat. When he flinched subtly at the sudden sound, she knew he was likely beginning to panic under the scrutiny. They needed to move. “Shall we take a turn about the gardens, My Lord?”
“Aren’t I the one who should ask?” he replied with a raised eyebrow and held out his arm.
“No one can hear us. We shall pretend you still retain all the social graces required and asked me in a perfectly charming manner.” She took his arm and did her best to ignore the warm feeling of muscle beneath his coat. “Let us be off.”
**
Short of the night he eloped with Francesca, this little garden party was proving to be one of the most terrifying moments of his life. Even Lady Aircourt’s soothing presence on his arm did little to dispel the rampant anxiety running through him. The stares of the other attendees felt like daggers in his back and he was sure that every move he made today would be carefully dissected over several breakfast tables come tomorrow morning. If not for his companion, James might have already fled.
“Pardon?” he asked, after realizing she had attempted to speak to him.
Lady Aircourt didn’t appear to take offense, only looking at him with calm patience. “I was saying that your former gardener arrived a few days ago and has been a monumental help. I am confident that the garden will be ready in time for the ball.”
“I am glad.” He fought for something more to talk about, lest the hum of the whispers overtake his nerves entirely. “What were your plans for it?”
Her eyes lit up with genuine excitement. “Oh, many fun things.” He watched with rapt fascination as she described her grand plans, her bald exuberance entrancing him enough that their peers were all but forgotten. He’d never had an interest in the intricacies of the English garden, yet from Lady’s Aircourt’s lips, the topic was the most fascinating thing he’d ever discussed. Her confidence was infectious, and he found himself relaxing as they continued to stroll around the grounds. He should likely extricate himself from her soon, lest they be seen spending too much time together. The last thing James wanted was to taint her reputation, even if the thought made him melancholy. She was the only friendly face in the entirety of England at the moment, and was proving to be a lynchpin of support. But the lady had only agreed to help him this far, and he knew he would need to traverse this treacherous society on his own. The thought was terrifying.
“Your ball will be magnificent this year.” He almost wished he could attend.
As if sensing the train of his thoughts, she frowned. “I was thinking…”
“Hmm?”
“If you keep up your good work, it may be acceptable for you to attend.”
“Good work?” he replied with a wry glance around them. From the horror of everyone else at his presence, it would take more than just a few garden parties to rehabilitate him enough to darken her doorstep so publicly.
