“I used to shake with terror,” he told her, still speaking for her ears only. “I was born to a London merchant who just happened to have enough money to purchase a pair of colors for me when I insisted that I wanted to be a soldier.”
“Oh.” She looked at him with interest. “But your title?”
She would swear he almost blushed.
“That was just daft,” he told her. “Three hundred dead men deserved it more than I did, but the Prince of Wales waxed sentimental over me. It sounds impressive, though, wouldn’t you say?LordTrentham?”
“I do believe,” she said, “there is a story lurking behind that... daftness, my lord, but you look as if you would be embarrassed to tell it. Is Lady Trentham also of the merchant class?”
“Gwendoline?” he said. “Good God, no—pardon my language. She was Lady Muir, widow of a viscount, when I met her at Penderris last year. And she is the daughter and sister of Earls of Kilbourne. If you prick her finger, she bleeds blue. Yet she chose me. Silly of her, would you not say?”
Oh, goodness, Agnes liked him. And after a few more minutes she realized what he was up to. He did not, perhaps, have the sort of polished conversation the other gentlemen had to set ladies at their ease, but he had found another way. Ifshewas a bit uncomfortable, despite the fact that she was a lady born, he was saying, in so many words, how did she thinkhefelt in similar situations, when he was a man of the middle classes?
Wise Lady Gwendoline, to have chosen him, Agnes thought. The lady herself, seated opposite and to their left, was absorbed in something Sir Benedict was telling her.
And then Lady Barclay at his other side touched his sleeve, and he turned his attention to her.
“Agnes,” Lord Ponsonby said from her other side.
She turned toward him, startled, but he was not addressing her. He was making an observation.
“A f-formidable name,” he said. “I am almost g-glad I was unable to keep our appointment.”
She hardly knew where to start.
“Formidable? Agnes?” she said. “And did wehavean appointment, my lord? If we did, I was unaware of it. I was not there anyway. I had more important things to do this morning.”
“This morning? Andwheredid you not go this m-morning?” he asked.
What an elementary blunder to have made. She attacked her fish with a vengeance.
“Why formidable?” she asked when she became aware that he was still looking at her, his knife and fork suspended above his plate. “Agnes is a perfectly decent name.”
“If you were Laura,” he said, “or Sarah, or even M-Mary, I would scheme to kiss you again. They are soft, biddable names. But Agnes suggests firmness of character and a stinging palm across the ch-cheek of any man audacious enough to steal a k-kiss for the second time, when she can be presumed to be on her guard. Yes, I amalmostglad I was unable to m-meet you. Were you r-really not there? Because I might be? But the daffodils will not bloom forever.”
“It had nothing whatsoever to do with you,” she said. “I had other things to do.”
“More important than your painting?” he asked. “More important than m-me?”
Oh, good heavens, they were at the dinner table. Anyone might overhear snatches of their conversation at any moment, though it was doubtful. And how had she got embroiled in this? She was not his flirt and had no intention of alleviating his boredom for the next two and a half weeks by becoming one.
“More important than me, then,” he said with an exaggerated sigh when she did not answer. “Or should that beI? More important thanI. One feels very p-pedantic sometimes when one insists upon using correct g-grammar, would you not agree, Mrs. Keeping?Who is there? It is I.It sounds mildly absurd.”
She did not look at him. But she did smile at her plate and then laugh.
“Ah,” he said, “that is better. Now I know how to coax a l-laugh out of you. I merely have to speak correct grammar.”
She picked up her glass of wine and turned toward him.
“Are you feeling less savage this evening?” she asked him.
His eyes went still, and she wished she had not reminded him that he had said that yesterday morning.
“I expect to be soothed by music,” he said. “Is your s-sister as talented as Vincent claims?”
“She is,” Agnes told him. “But you may judge for yourself later. Do you like music?”
“When it is well performed,” he said. “V-Vincent performs well, though I like to tease him to the contrary. We do t-tease one another, you know. It is one of the endearing aspects of true friendship.”
