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Her brother’s light eyes narrowed slightly. “And just what do you know about this man?”
She managed not to laugh, but only just barely. A few seconds ago, Elliott was quite willing to offer up a questionable gambler of some sort for her purposes, but now he was suspicious of the seemingly noble Lord Avery? “I know that he is exactly the sort of man I’ve always hoped I would find,” she replied. And as the words left her lips, she knew they were quite true.
There was so much she didn’t know about the handsome baron, so much that she would probably never know and that was quite none of her business; but he was kind and courteous and had come to her rescue when no one else was in the position to do so. And he’d quite admirably held his own against Grandfather, which was a feat not attempted by many. Honestly, Gregory Avery might very well be as sainted as his brother Tristan, no matter if he was in agreement with that assessment or not. And he was most definitely brave, perhaps the bravest man she’d ever met.
“I hope, love, that you’ll always think he is.”
Bella couldn’t imagine anything in the world making her think otherwise. Greg was her own personal knight in shining armor. “Have you seen Prissa?” she asked her brother. After all, it would be best for her sister to hear Bella’s news firsthand.
“She went shopping with that MacLaren chit, I believe.”
Yes, yes. Bella did remember that now. “If you see her…”
“I’ll send her your way, if I do.”
* * *
Damn it all. Greg scanned the Chatham drawing room, which was teeming with people. Aylesford had said he should come to dinner that evening to meet Bella’s family, but Greg had no idea the man meant every single person in England who shared a mere drop of blood with the girl. Were all these people her relations? And if so, why hadn’t one of them come to her assistance?
And then, he spotted her on the far side of the room. Bella, his temporary fiancée, so breathtakingly beautiful in a light blue gown that shimmered just slightly. She looked far from comfortable, however, as though she was afraid someone might talk to her. What kind of girl would be intimidated by her own family? Were all of these people as imposing as the Duke of Chatham? If so, that might answer…
Bella glanced toward the threshold and her eyes locked with Greg’s. The most beautiful smile lit her face, and he felt it deep in his soul. Greg couldn’t help but smile back.
“Avery, is that you?” came a somewhat familiar voice before Greg could even think about crossing the floor to his betrothed’s side.
Greg glanced toward the voice and…”Sarsden?” What the devil was he doing here? A bit of dread swirled around Greg as the end to his little ruse with Bella seemed as though it was very quickly about to unravel. After all, it had been just the previous day when the fellow had warned Greg away from matrimony. Perhaps the man would be gone before any formal announcements were made and he could buy himself some time before he saw the man again.
“Are you our mysterious guest?” Sarsden asked, as he stepped from a small group toward Greg and offered his hand in greeting.
Damn it all. Greg hadn’t thought he’d encounter anyone he knew tonight. Well, at least not at Chatham House. “I suppose I am,” he said, shaking the man’s hand.
Sarsden gestured to a portly fellow just a few feet away. “You remember Lockington?”
The fellow in question turned his head at the sound of his name and flashed a toothy grin.
That was Lockington? Greg hadn’t thought about his former classmate at all over the last fifteen years. Of course, there hadn’t ever been anything remarkable about him. “Yes, of course,” he replied, nodding in the other fellow’s direction. “It’s been an age.”
“Indeed, it has!” Lockington agreed, abandoning his group to join Greg and Sarsden. “Over a dozen years at least, I’m sure.” He offered his hand in greeting as well.
“And even more particular than he used to be.” Sarsden nodded toward Greg. “Weeks at Tattersalls and he finally bid on his first horse yesterday.”
“And won,” Greg added.
“Well, that’s the way to do it.” Lockington chuckled slightly. “Where’ve you been keeping yourself?”
“Nottinghamshire,” Greg replied. “Rufford Hall.”
The portly man shook his head. “Well, you’ve returned to Town just as London is falling quite apart.”
London seemed to be exactly the same cesspool to Greg as it always had, which was one of the reasons he never came to Town. “Oh? In what way?”
Lockington snorted. “Crime is running rampant. He shot a glance at Sarsden. “Walsingham had his pocket picked twice in as many days.”
“It happened again?”
“By the Opera House both times,” Lockington confirmed.
Sarsden shook his head. “One more reason to avoid the opera. At least it will give me a decent excuse the next time Zinnia begs to go.”
