“Such a pity. There can be few young ladies who do not enjoy dancing. Had you been present at Chelmsford's recent masquerade, I would certainly have asked you to dance,” he paused, “With your guardian's permission, of course.”
“Would you have consented?” Harriet asked of Ralph.
He was reaching for another slice of toast.
“For a friend? Of course! You would be safe enough,” her brother chuckled.
Jeremy beamed boyishly. “You see. Perhaps I can take this opportunity to reserve the first dance at the next event where we are both present?”
Harriet hid her blush behind a teacup. The idea of being held, even in the formal clasp of a ballroom frame, by Jeremy, was intoxicating.
“It will not be for at least a month, and the season will be over by the time my business has concluded,” Ralph put in between mouthfuls of toast, “but if there are any events scheduled by the time I return—then I'm sure Harriet will so promise.”
“I am not so sure I care for dancing overmuch,” she said instead.
“No, as I feared. I think you would be as well seeking a partner elsewhere, old chap,” Ralph shrugged.
Jeremy's eyes were like a physical touch made more intense by her brother's presence. It made the expression in those eyes and the physical response it produced in Harriet even more illicit, forbidden, and therefore… exciting. Under the table, she felt a touch and realized that Jeremy's foot was nudging hers. She pulled her foot away and stood, using the excuse of reaching for a pot of honey.
“Allow me,” Jeremy said, rising also.
He touched the honey at the same time as Harriet, their fingers meeting around the ceramic pot. Harriet snatched her handaway, fleeing from the rampant desire that ignited within her at the contact.
I must get hold of myself!
“What brings you home so soon, brother?” she asked Ralph, resuming her seat and patting down her skirts.
“Some papers I needed to collect from my solicitor in Chelmsford. Too important to entrust to the post. I met Jeremy at White’s, and he said that he was returning to Penhaligon, so I offered him a lift. He hasn't seen Oaksgrove since the refurbishment.”
“And I have a dinner engagement tomorrow evening with the Suttons,” Jeremy added, adjusting the cuff of his coat. “Actually, I find myself quite alone for the appointment. If you are free, Harriet, perhaps you would like to accompany me? The Winchesters do love bridge, we could make up a four.”
“I'm afraid not, sport,” Ralph said firmly, “I return to London tomorrow morning so would not be available to escort Harriet. It is quite out of the question.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jeremy tried hard to keep his eyes from Harriet. Even dressed as plainly as she was, she was a magnet to his gaze. The simplicity of her dress merely emphasized her beauty. He kept stealing glances whenever Ralph's attention was directed elsewhere. In those split moments, he found that her eyes were seeking his, too. Well, before they were darting away the moment she met his gaze.
So, she was not permitted to be at the Chelmsford ball, indeed. Ralph does not allow her to attend such things without his company. Surely that must chafe. It is not much different from being kept a prisoner. It could yet be something I could use to my advantage to persuade her—to offer her a taste of freedom.
Ralph talked about business a great deal. When he wasn't embroiled in finance and logistics, the conversation veered to the restoration of his house and the gardens. Jeremy found himself painting on a smile of polite interest, nodding and making the right noises to veil his sheer boredom.
Reuben and Nash may be rakes and inveterate carousers, but their company is at least enjoyable. Ralph has become an utter bore since inheriting the Earldom of Oaksgrove.
The door to the breakfast room creaked open, and the Dowager Countess swam inside. Jeremy rose as she took a seat at the head of the table opposite her grandson.
“You were speaking of the gardens earlier, Oaksgrove?” Jeremy latched onto the faintest opportunity to shift the conversation away from ships, finance, and insurance.
“Yes, we have employed a most capable man to redesign them. The work is not entirely complete yet, but I am most satisfied with the progress thus far.”
“The water-gardens are what are still under construction, Your Grace,” the Dowager Countess put in, “we have workmen traipsing through all day in order to get them finished. I suppose it will be worth it when the work is complete.”
“I should like to see these gardens for myself,” Jeremy nodded somberly. “I have a mind to redesign the gardens at Penhaligon.”
There was a knock at the door as Ralph was opening his mouth to speak. The butler entered and approached his master with a tray bearing a letter.
“Hand delivered from Chelmsford. The messenger awaits a reply. I understand it has been communicated to him that the matter is urgent,” Beecham announced.
Ralph snatched up the letter and unfolded it.
