Mother stared at her in bafflement. “Of course the title is most important. Once any young lady discards all theunsuitablesuitors from the chaff, she then turns her head to the most eligible of whatever is left.”
“First I’m ‘chaff,’ then I’m ‘whatever is left.’” Heath offered his elbow to his sister. “This is quite a motivational speech, Mother.”
“Meant to instruct me as much as you, I suspect,” Camellia said as she took his arm.
“There is no excuse for you staying on the shelf as if you wish to remain a spinster,” Mother chastised her tartly. “Regardless of your own desires, it’s rude to your sisters. You know the eldest must be the first to marry. If you do not bring an appropriate gentleman up to scratch in the next few weeks, your father intends to select a husband for you.”
Camellia blanched. “Can we please go back to picking apart Heath’s life choices?”
“Lovely,” he murmured to her beneath his breath. “Selflessly done.”
Mother sighed. “Heath knows his duty. When the time comes, he shan’t disappoint. Neither will you. It’s your sisters I’m most concerned about. Dahlia has all but ruined her reputation with that preposterous boarding school in the middle of a godforsaken rookery, and Bryony… I don’t even know where to begin with that child.”
“Nobody does,” Heath assured her. “Recall that she’s last in line. By the time it’s her turn to worry about settling down, her wild ways will have softened.”
“Nowisthe time to worry. It has been so since the moment each of you had your first Seasons.” Mother’s face went alarmingly purple. “Settling down is the entire purpose!”
“I promised to look for a bride,” he reminded her in soothing tones. “I meant every word. You’re right: a garden as beautiful as this might just be the place to find her. But it will never do to have one’s mother squinting sourly in one’s direction whilst one attempts to woo a fair maiden. I shall make my rounds in search of perfection, if you promise to try to enjoy the afternoon.”
Camellia dropped her hand to link arms with their mother. “Heath’s right, you know.”
“He’s not right,” Mother grumbled. “A lady does not squint, sourly or otherwise.”
“I meant that we should enjoy the afternoon while the sun still shines. A miracle at this time of year, is it not?” Camellia gave her a gentle tug toward one of the many long, sweeping avenues dividing the formal gardens. “A relaxing stroll can work wonders on one’s constitution.”
“Very well.” Mother frowned. “But I expect a daughter-in-law by the Season’s end.”
“Look, isn’t that Lady Jersey?” Camellia made a covert shooing motion at Heath as she herded their mother toward a wall of Society dames. “I’ll wager she’ll be delighted to see you.”
“A lady never wagers,” Mother said sharply, but already her attention was focused on Lady Jersey rather than rebuking her children.
“Thank you,” Heath mouthed to his grinning sister, and turned his boots toward the piazzas before his Mother could change her mind.
Perhaps thiswouldbe the day he met his future bride. Why not? The afternoon was unseasonably balmy, the sun uncommonly bright, the bustling crowd lively and cheerful. What better omen could a wife-hunting gentleman desire?
Unfortunately, Heath did not feel like a wife-hunting gentleman. He felt like an utter fool whose mind had never left the Carlisles’ ballroom.
From the very first, he had felt a strange sort of connection with Miss Winfield. Yet he had not hesitated to part company the moment she’d made her circumstances clear.
Heath had regretted that haste every moment since.
Perhaps he should not have been so quick to excuse himself from her company. Just because she was not a potential bride did not mean a gentleman must retreat from an innocent conversation. The moment Miss Winfield had walked away, Heath wished she had not.
What if therehadbeen a connection between them? He wasn’t thinking of an attachment, of course, but the dozens of wallflowers and other women he’d befriended over the Seasons. He could have spared Miss Winfield another moment or two, at least. Given himself a chance to discover what that spark might have meant. What if they never chanced to meet again?
“How do you do, Mr. Grenville?” came a quiet baritone from the edge of the throngs.
Startled, Heath blinked and broke into a grin. “Parson! How splendid to see you in Town. And you, Mrs. Blaylock. Is that a new bonnet? I must confess you’ve never looked finer.”
“Oh, you.” She fanned her cheeks. “You make all the old women feel like it’s their first Season.”
“Old women?” Heath shook his finger. “I have yet to lay eyes on one. I daresay you danced more sets than I at the Carlisle ball, young lady.”
Mrs. Blaylock laughed and shooed him with her painted fan. “Off with you, Mr. Grenville. Go find a proper young lady to flatter. Heaven knows you set all their hearts a-flutter.”
“Second only to the Lord of Pleasure,” put in a nasally voice with haughty accents from just behind Heath. “If the penny caricatures are to be believed.”
With a barely restrained sigh, Heath turned to face Phineas Mapleton, theton’s most dedicated gossip. “The earl’s name is Lord Wainwright, not whatever moniker some petty cartoonist decides to label him. I do hope you don’t give credence to such rubbish?”
