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“So, what do you recommend? If not another Riley, what shall I read next? I consideredMourning WilloworThe Man of Field House, but I am curious as to your thoughts,” he said.
“I have read the latter and it was decent, but not my favourite. As toMourning Willow, it is a work I am eager to read as well,” she answered.
“And are you nearly finished with the book you are currently reading?” he asked.
“I am sure to be finished within the coming days,” she said.
“Excellent. Then I suggest we readMourning Willownext and then, if our paths cross again soon, we may discuss it,” Crispin said.
Lady Mary very nearly paused in her steps, but quickly caught herself and moved along with the music. He could see in her eyes that she was struck by his idea and that she was excited by it, precisely as he had hoped.
“I think that is a very good idea. I have not known very many people who will read something along with me. I have had little opportunity to share my thoughts on any particular novel. Miss Lambton enjoys reading, but of a different sort,” she explained.
Crispin knew that meant she enjoyed the rather silly novels loved by most of the women he knew; Miss Lambton was precisely the sort of sweet woman for whom those novels were marketed.
“Then I am glad that I shall be the one who can entertain you while we read them. If you are to attend future balls such as this one, I am certain we shall have the chance to share our thoughts about the work,” he said again.
The idea of seeing her again was exciting to him. Crispin was beginning to wonder if he could possibly find a way to pay a call to her home in the following days. And yet, as eager as he was, Lady Mary appeared distracted or bothered.
When he tried to follow her gaze, he sensed that she was still glancing towards Lady Charlotte and her mother, Lady Rachel.
Once more he was curious as to what had happened between these two women and why there were in an apparent conflict, but he wanted her to feel at ease. As the music came to a conclusion and he had to part from her for the second time, Crispin accepted his fate, knowing that he would not be able to dance with her anymore that evening.
With a bow, he resigned himself and when he looked her in the eye again, he smiled.
“Thank you for another wonderful dance and furthering our earlier conversation. I look forward to reading the book and discussing it with you when we meet again,” he said.
“As do I,” she replied, demurely.
“Until next time,” Crispin said.
“Until next time.”
With that, he turned away and wondered when he would see her again.
