“The same to you.”
A grin played across his mouth as he exited the pub into the street. No matter how much he wished otherwise, a prominent part of his motivation was a burning desire to see Mrs. Adare again. Since his meeting with her that morning, he had a renewed sense of purpose in his life. There was never a dull moment in her company, and he could hardly wait to see what she would do next.
Chapter Seven
“Are you certain you don’t wish to stay in London for a few more days?” Lady Nora addressed Elizabeth as they stood in the receiving line at the Nattering’s ball.
Elizabeth was curious to explore the city but had never had the opportunity. Her desire to do so weighed with her responsibility to Waverly and the estate. She shifted on her feet; awkward and unsure in her borrowed finery. The place was a perfect crush, and they’d been standing on the stairs for some time waiting for entry.
Nora moved up another step closer to the landing. “Yes, and Lord Randell’s annual black and white ball is the perfect way to kick off the season.”
The sound of the man’s name pricked her temper, but she forced a smile for her aunt’s sake. Elizabeth had heard about the party, but never received an invitation. If she stayed in town, she could attend his ball and search his house for clues. “It sounds perfect.”
“Excellent. Then you will stay?” she asked.
Elizabeth nodded, her mind spinning with the possibilities. She had explored his London residence and had made some puzzling finds in his correspondence. Maybe she could find outright proof in his London home.
“Oh, thank goodness we are next,” Nora said.
“Thank goodness, indeed.” She had been introduced to countless people since entering the doors, their names crowding in her head. While it was warm, she was conscious of the air on the heated skin above her low-cut bodice. She wasn’t used to wearing such revealing garments. As a country woman, she often wore rough clothing unbefitting a lady.
Lady Nattering—a tall, thin woman with bulbous eyes—and her son Lord Nattering, who resembled her in looks, bowed to them as was proper. “Lady Colburn. Who is this vision you have brought with you this evening?” he asked in a manner that put Elizabeth instantly on alert.
“Lady Nattering, Lord Nattering, allow me to introduce my niece, Mrs. Adare.” Her aunt beamed with pride; her arm looped through Elizabeth’s.
Lord Nattering stared at her with too much interest in his watery blue eyes. His gaze came to rest on her bodice for a split second before he corrected himself. “Mrs. Adare, other than Lady Nora, you’re the most beautiful woman present.”
“Surely I am not,” she said, forcing the smile to stay in place. “I dare say every woman in the room is beautiful in her own way.”
“Not only are you beautiful, you’re also kind to those less fortunate.” By the way his lips quirked, he was not to be dissuaded by her attempt to defuse his compliments. “You, Mrs. Adare, are a blooming rose in a field of daisies, a delicate bud of exquisite gentility.”
She winced at his ridiculous statement. Surely he wasn’t serious? But she could tell by his earnest expression that he was. Stifling a curse, she looked down at her feet, playing coy. She would rather face a hundred smugglers with weapons than one London dandy. “Thank you. I should go. Come, Lady Nora.”
Before he could respond further, she bobbed a quick curtsy and rushed into the ballroom, dragging her aunt with her. Once out of earshot of her host, she burst out laughing. “Oh dear. Do gentlemen really talk like that?”
“Yes, they do,” Lady Nora said, amusement brightening her eyes. “It is part of the courtship process.
“I see.” She had never been courted, not really. Harold had married her out of obligation, and they’d lived together for a year before he died an untimely death. “I am sorry, but I would find it hard to keep a straight face.”
“That is because you have never been properly courted. Except Lord Langdon showed you marked attention.” The gleam in her gaze didn’t bode well for Elizabeth. She couldn’t tell her aunt the truth, however.
Lady Nora gripped her elbow and steered her into the rectangular room. The walls were covered in mirrors, the light reflecting the chandeliers. She ran her palm down the soft material of her borrowed ball gown. Every time she glimpsed herself in one of their reflections, she could hardly credit the woman in the pale pink dress was her.
Her cousin Farnsworth approached their party. Tall, with broad shoulders, he was a younger version of his father, with a bold nose and angled jaw, except for his eyes. Like her, he had inherited the shape of her grandmother’s eyes. Elizabeth tensed at the sight of him. Their interactions in the past had been strained. If she were honest, most of the animosity was on her end. She’d been jealous of his inheritance and the bitterness had manifested into petty bickering.
