Why the devil was he thinking of Lady Charity’s nipples? Or her lips? The color of either scarcely mattered, he admonished himself. She was not for him. And nor was he for her. Not any more than Miss Melanie Pennypacker was suited to him. Or, it increasingly appeared, any of the other ladies in attendance at this house party.
Of course, he had never felt a modicum of what he felt for Lady Charity for another lady. He could admit as much to himself now, here, in this moment of solitude. He turned left in the maze, then right, left, right, and so forth he went. The boxwood hedges were immaculately groomed. A man could easily get lost in this maze.
But then, he supposed that was rather the intent.
And in so losing himself, perhaps he might ultimately find himself?
Neville scarcely knew any longer. All he did know was that the clouds overhead, whilst gray, did not appear particularly ominous this morning.
As he turned another corner in the maze, he nearly collided with another early-morning riser. He stopped short of charging into the unfortunate lady, who he recognized instantly as Lady Louise Manners, Charity’s maiden aunt and her chaperone for the house party. Even if he had not already been acquainted with her, the undeniable resemblance Charity bore to her aunt would have given the familial connection away.
He offered a formal bow. “Lady Louise. Please do forgive me for being so graceless that I almost knocked you over. I imagined myself alone in the maze this morning.”
The older woman smiled at him. “You are forgiven, of course, Lord Wilton. I am pleased to see you, and I assure you that I am not so old and infirm that I would have toppled over had we collided.”
Damn.Had he made a muck of the conversation? He was not sure why it mattered, but the urge to make Lady Louise like him was sudden and strong. He could not shake it.
He felt awkward, which was rather an ordinary occurrence for him in social situations. Unless he was kissing Lady Charity, that was.But no, mustn’t think of that now, old chap.
“Why is a gooseberry tart like a bad sixpence?” he blurted.
Lady Louise quirked a brow. “I am afraid I do not know, my lord.”
“Because it is not currant,” Neville finished his joke. Truly! This was the second currant joke he had told since his terrible affliction had returned. He hastened to change the subject. “I did not mean to suggest you were either old or infirm, my lady. I must apologize for my lack of eloquence as well.”
“I was teasing you, my lord.” Lady Louise’s eyes, the same vibrant shade as her niece’s, sparkled with wit and amusement. “Surely you have been teased before?”
Yes. By none other than Lady Charity Manners.
“On an occasion or two,” he admitted, finding himself smiling back at her easy manner. Although they had chatted politely on an occasion or two, they had exchanged pleasantries. The weather, which forever seemed to be rain, et cetera.
“Tell me, Lord Wilton, why are you wandering about the maze so early this morning?” she asked.
“I was thinking,” he admitted.
“That sounds dreadfully serious.”
“It is.” He paused. “Er, it was.”
“Does that mean you are no longer thinking now? Have you decided upon your course?”
He raised a brow at Charity’s aunt. “Why should you think I was settling on a course?”
“You have the look of a gentleman making a large decision, as if the very weight of the world is heavy upon your shoulders, my lord.” The smile she gave him now was small, almost sympathetic.
Maternal.
His own mother had died when Neville had been a young lad. His only memories of her were the scent of her perfume and hiding in her skirts when his father was in the nursery. She had been a comforting presence in his life. Gone far too soon, but not forgotten.
Never forgotten.
“I suppose I do have a large weight upon my shoulders, my lady,” he acknowledged, something about the elder woman making him feel at ease. “I have been searching for a bride during this house party, and I have yet to meet with any luck.”
“A bride!” The corners of her eyes crinkled. “How exciting, Lord Wilton. I am certain the right lady for the role is here at Fangfoss Manor. All you need to do is be patient.”
He flashed her a rueful grin. “Patience has never been one of my virtues.”
He preferred his life to be orderly. For what he wished to happen to occur when he wished it. Which was one of the reasons he had chosen to attend the country house party—it had been an easy means of limiting the social whirl while securing himself a wife. But several weeks into his quest, and every candidate he had been considering had proven wrong.
