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With a growl of disgust, he picked apart the cravat again. “Goddamn fingers. Been broken one too many times.”
“Calm down.” She put a hand on his arm, turning him away from the mirror and toward her. “Let me? If a simple knot will serve, I can do it. I did Father’s for years.”
He closed his eyes and exhaled roughly as she wound and tied the cravat, tucking under the ends. “There.”
“Thank you.” His eyes fluttered open, and his sheepish gaze found hers. “You do look beautiful, by the way.”
“As beautiful as tulips?” She smoothed her hands over his shoulders and lapels. Even if she had to feed him the compliments, she would take them. She was that desperate for reassurance.
“A thousand times more.” He kissed her brow, then offered his arm. “Shall we?”
As they stepped out into the street, Meredith felt herself go pale. She’d wished she’d thought to fortify herself with some courage of the liquid variety.
“Ashworth?” The low voice came from behind them. “Ashworth, is that you?”
Chapter Eighteen
Meredith froze. Here it was, her first social test. That smooth, cultured voice could not possibly belong to a servant or shopkeeper. She would be introduced. She would have tospeak. And before all that, she would have to somehow turn around in this voluminous red gown and manage not to tangle herself into something that resembled fresh sausage links.
Following Rhys’s lead, she pivoted to face the newcomer. The tall, thin man bowed in greeting.
Rhys returned the bow, more fluidly than Meredith would have expected. “Corning,” he said. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
So curious, that she’d not seen Rhys bow before. All throughout their day in Bath, she’d noted an aristocratic grace to his movements that wasn’t often on display in Buckleigh-in-the-Moor. Well, and to whom would he be bowing there? He was the lord. Everyone in Buckleigh-in-the-Moor ought to be bowing tohim.
It was at that moment—several seconds too late for etiquette—that Meredith remembered to curtsy. Damn, damn, damn.
“Unexpected indeed,” Corning said. “I wasn’t aware you were in Bath.”
“I wasn’t,” Rhys replied. “Until just last night.”
They all stood there awkwardly for a moment, staring at one another. Meredith took in the understated luxury of the man’s garments. They’d just come from the draper’s that morning; she knew what such fine cloth cost. She knew that kind of quality tailoring came even more dear.
For his part, the newcomer’s curious, mildly horrified gaze flicked over Meredith’s red silk gown.
Oh, dear. She’d justknownshe must look like a whore.
Shifting his weight, Rhys brushed a protective touch over her lower back. “Mrs. Maddox of Devonshire, allow me to present Lord Henry Twill, Viscount Corning. I served with his younger brother in Portugal.”
Good Lord. He must be a duke’s son. The man inclined his head, and Meredith curtsyed again, more deeply this time. Panicked thoughts tumbled in her mind. Words stuck on her tongue. How did one properly address a duke’s son, anyhow? As “Your Grace” or “my lord”?
In the end, she couldn’t say anything. By way of compensation, she forced a wan smile.
“Mrs. Maddox, is it?”
She nodded mutely. She was a fool. It seemed anything she could utter would indict her as a fraud—but in the end, her silence made the confession on its own.
“Charmed.” His tone communicated anything but.
Whatever mild degree of interest the man had shown in her cooled instantly. He pointedly turned his gaze, and it was as though she’d ceased to exist.
By mutual unspoken agreement, they parted ways with Lord Corning soon thereafter.
What a disaster. Meredith wondered if she could ever move amongst such people and not feel like an impostor. If she were to marry Rhys and become Lady Ashworth, she supposed she would have to learn to do just that. But she wasn’t equal to the challenge tonight.
“Do you know,” she ventured, “I’m not certain I really feel like going to the theater. Will you be terribly disappointed if we don’t?”
He looked at her, as if to gauge her sincerity. “Not at all,” he finally said. “Did you want to go back to the hotel?”
