I should like to call on you, Lady Amelia. I believe that a match as ours could be advantageous to both our families.
“I...” She faltered, searching for words that wouldn’t be either encouragement she didn’t mean or rejection that seemed unnecessarily cruel. “That is very kind of you, Lord Ashbourne. I should be... I would not object to further acquaintance.”
The phrasing was careful, noncommittal. His smile was oddly contained, something about it sending a twinge of distrust to the pit of her stomach. She shook it off quickly. She ought not, she knew, punish this man for her own experiences. He had no hand in them.
“Excellent. Might I perhaps take you for a promenade in Hyde Park? Tomorrow afternoon, weather permitting?”
“I—yes. That would be acceptable.”
Would it? Would it truly? Or are you simply going through motions because Tobias insists you must?
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Even as the guests enjoyed a spot of tea, she could see no sign of Tobias. Had he gone home? Without telling her? Surely he would not. She focused on the sweetness of the tea, rather than his absence.
She maintained her composure through it all, smiling and nodding and saying precisely nothing that could be construed as either confirmation or denial. She smiled and laughed as she allowed herself to be swept into the menial conversations about menial things—gossip mostly, about who is wearing what and who the victim of the latest scandal is.
Relief coursed through her when she finally made her way to the carriage. She released a deep breath once seated.
The relief lasted approximately thirty seconds.
“How was your afternoon?”
She nearly leapt out of her skin. Tobias sat in the opposite corner, cloaked in shadow despite the late afternoon light. His posture was deceptively casual—one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, arms folded, that particular smile playing about his lips that meant absolutely nothing and everything simultaneously.
“I didn’t realize you were still here,” she managed once her heart had stopped its violent gymnastics.
“I was quite bored, but thought it would be rude to leave you here alone, in the midst of the vultures.” His tone was light, pleasant. So why did she feel as though she’d been caught doing something illicit? “I do hope the ladies had better conversations than what I was forced to endure. Apparently, there’s considerable debate in Parliament about agricultural subsidies. Riveting stuff.”
He was deflecting. She recognized the pattern now—that particular brand of charming nonsense he deployed when avoiding something serious.
“It was... educational,” she said carefully, arranging her skirts to avoid looking at him directly. “Mrs. Hartwell was her usual delightful self.”
“Ah. Battering Ram Hartwell. I trust you survived her tender mercies?”
Despite everything, she felt her lips twitch. “Barely. Though Lady Pemberton proved an excellent ally.”
“Did she indeed?” Something shifted in his tone—nothing she could identify precisely, but enough to make her glance up sharply.
He was watching her with an intensity that made her skin prickle with awareness. His casual pose hadn’t changed, but tension radiated from every line of his body like heat from sun-warmed stone.
“She introduced me to Lord Ashbourne,” Amelia said, unsure why she felt compelled to mention it. Tobias nodded. “I saw. What do you make of him?”
Amelia hesitated. What was there to say? “He was... pleasant.”
“Pleasant.” Tobias repeated the word as though testing its flavour. “How remarkably enthusiastic.”
“He asked if he might call upon me. Take me for a promenade in Hyde Park.”
“And you accepted.”
It wasn’t a question. She lifted her chin fractionally. “I did.”
Silence descended, broken only by the clatter of wheels against cobblestones and the muffled sounds of London traffic beyond the carriage walls. Tobias’s expression had shuttered—that careful mask he wore in company settling over features she’d learned to read with devastating accuracy.
“He seems rather eager,” he remarked at last, his tone studiedly casual. “Perhaps a bit too eager.”
The criticism stung more than it should have. “You disapprove?”
“I’m cautious.” He shifted slightly, uncrossing his legs, though his arms remained folded. A defensive posture, she realized. Protection against... what? “A man that polite is usually hiding something.”
