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“It will be better suited with friends.”
The woman opened her mouth, but Justine was already moving. “Can it wait, madam? I’m very tired.” She was out the door before they could form a protest, much less a lecture.
She went upstairs to her rooms. She dismissed Seviana and readied for bed alone. She crawled under the coverlet with the book William had given her. She ran her fingers down the spine before opening it.
She was smiling. She couldn’t wait to see him again tomorrow.
She was even looking forward to seeing Prince Michel, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WHENWILLIAMTOLDEwan he wanted a clean waistcoat for a picnic, and rejected the first three his valet showed him, the big man looked at him as if he was unquestionably mad.
Well, maybe he was—he wouldn’t rule out anything at this point. He had never doubted Ewan’s sartorial selections, donning whatever he brought out, even when the colors seemed a little off. He had never worried that he should look as handsome or virile as any other man. He never lay awake at night, thinking of a single woman, recalling every bloody word she said.
Ewan was standing before him, his mouth agape, a waistcoat in each hand. “I donna mean to offend you, Ewan. But these—” William gestured vaguely to the two waistcoats “—will no’ suit today’s occasion.”
“And the occasion, milord, is a...picnic?”
He didn’t have to make it sound preposterous. “Aye, MacDuff. A picnic. Is there something wrong with attending a picnic?”
“No, milord, no’ at all. I want only to clarify so that I might find the right waistcoat.” He turned around and stomped off to the dressing room.
It was true that a picnic was something William would never have concerned himself with before now. When he was younger and the lassies wanted picnics, yes, of course, he went, along with all the young gentlemen in and around Hamilton. That was different—they were like hounds after the skirts, would have done anything for a touch of a hand or a bat of an eye.
But this? He’d not been on a proper picnic with a woman in ages, as he, like MacDuff, viewed them a complete waste of time. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t think this one would be, too—but someone had to keep an eye on this Prince Michel bloke, and he certainly couldn’t trust Lady Aleksander to do it. One had only to look at who she’d presented to the princess thus far to know she could not be trusted. While Prince Michel mightseema perfect candidate, and presented himself to be quite the gentleman, William refused to trust him after one meeting. He wouldn’t trust himself after only one meeting.
He could have done a better job of it, which is precisely what he’d written Robuchard only yesterday.
The candidates are abysmal! You have paid too much for this service! A trained dog might have made better selections on smell alone!
Ewan had refused to carry the note to the telegraph office, insisting that comparing a lady to a trained dog was not the best approach, and complaining once again about William’s punctuation. So William had begrudgingly amended.
The candidates are abysmal. You have paid too much for this service. I could have made better selections based on smell alone.
His full opinion, which he would very much like to offer tosomeone, was that Lady Aleksander’s selections for the crown princess were not good enough.
Ewan returned with a pale yellow-and-green-plaid waistcoat that went perfectly with his dark green coat. “That will do, Ewan,” William said, pleased. “I knew you’d come round to a picnic.”
Ewan frowned and helped William into it. And he kept frowning as William went through a selection of hats, finally settling on a bowler, which seemed to him the most appropriate for a day in the sun. He understood that Ewan didn’t recognize him, and frankly, he didn’t recognize himself.
He couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her. He couldn’t keep himself from contemplating the many ways he might end this wretched matchmaking. That was not what he was here to do, quite obviously, but he couldn’t help but think of himself as the perfect match for her, knowing full well that he wouldneverbe considered for many reasons having to do with family and the wee mess he’d gotten himself into in Scotland.
But that didn’t stop him from thinking. Imagining. Dreaming.
In his eagerness, he set off a half hour early, and was, therefore, the first to arrive. He handed his horse off to a groom, and as he was walking up the steps, the front door swung open and the butler emerged. He was relieved to see Lady Aleksander behind the butler, and not a wall of Bardalines. He found that couple’s presence to be oppressive in more ways than one.
“My Lord Douglas!” Lady Aleksander said cheerfully, then looked at the watch pinned to her breast. “You’ve arrived earlier than we expected.”
Self-consciousness began to finger-crawl its way up the back of his neck. “Aye, the weather is so fine, I thought I’d get an early start.”
Her smile suggested she did not believe his flimsy weather excuse. “Isn’t it? A perfect day for a picnic. Do come in, my lord.”
He handed his crop and hat to the butler, straightened his yellow-and-green-plaid waistcoat and followed her into the salon. Once inside he said, “I was expecting the Bardalines to meet me at the door and attempt to turn me around.”
She laughed. “Are you disappointed?”
“No.”
