She watched him closely and nodded. “If I don’t marry soon, I’m to be sent to Wales. I have this aunt…”
“Ah. A difficult one, I take it?” It wasn’t hard to imagine some dragon of a lady waiting in the wings to take Miss Goodnight on as her personal companion.
“Well, yes.”
Justin White, Marcus surmised practically, would match up with Miss Goodnight quite well. A solid sort. And yet not a pushover. “You realize he’s just inherited, don’t you? All sorts of gels will be setting their cap for him.”
“Precisely why Rhoda insists I act quickly, while we’re here at Eden’s Court.”
Marcus had been acquainted with Justin White for several years now, on and off. They’d initially met at Oxford. Aside from the casual encounter here and there, he didn’t know much about him, other than the obvious: Godly, quiet, reasonable, some relation to Prescott. Marcus believed it was through the dowager duchess.
White, of course, hadn’t frequented any gaming hells nor had he attended parties hosted by the demimonde. Which would explain why they’d never strengthened their association. For all he knew, the man viewed Marcus as a sinner beyond redemption.
He’d make the perfect husband for Miss Goodnight.
But could she snare the newly titled earl?
Looking at her in that moment, shocking the hell out of himself, he had no doubt that she could. She continued watching him out of those soulful brown eyes of hers. So close that he could see golden little flecks and thick long lashes.
“I don’t suppose you think I can.” Miss Goodnight sighed loudly and dropped her eyes.
Marcus shook himself mentally. “Not with that attitude.” His fingers itched in a way they hadn’t itched before with this little bluestocking. “You’ve acquired the dress, your hair is all done up and whatnot, but if you don’t think yourself good enough, you’ll never reel him in. Or anyone worthwhile for that matter.”
She straightened her spine at his words. “Tell me how. Tell me how to act as though I’m good enough, because to be perfectly honest, I have no idea how to go about doing that.”
Marcus chuckled at this, drawing a frown from her. “I’ve never had cause to doubt your imagination. Surely, you canimagineyourself good enough. And then simply act upon it.”
Apparently, this gave her food for thought. “I believe what you say actually holds some merit.” Her gaze turned all soft and distant looking. “Yes, yes.”
At that moment, a cluster of distant voices carried in from the foyer. Surprisingly, he’d not considered the inappropriate nature of their meeting. Because this was Miss Goodnight. Her unassuming nature had lowered his defenses against inadvertently crossing into dangerous territory—dangerous to a bachelor, that was. In as casual manner as possible, he rose and crossed to the window.
“Ah, Marcus. I see you’ve discovered my scotch.” Prescott entered with the duchess. Behind them, Carlisle and another fellow strolled in. Must be Lieutenant Landon, Prescott’s comrade from his army days.
Both men nodded in his direction and then their gazes turned toward the settee.
Toward Miss Goodnight.
Fluttering Eyelashes
Emily ought to be pleased with the results of her conversation with Lord Blakely and yet… she felt disappointed. Flat. Perhaps his taking away her spectacles had something to do with it. She’d not wanted to relinquish them, but her head ached something fierce from peering through just one. Given the opportunity to have them repaired, she couldn’t very well argue with him, could she?
Anyone else and she would have refused such an offer. How was she to know they wouldn’t simply forget all about them? She trusted Lord Blakely with them, though. He might be a rogue and a scoundrel, but he would handle the matter most expeditiously.
He seemed to comprehend what they meant to her.
Surprising that.
He’d certainly bolted away from her when the others arrived. He’d realized, obviously, the danger of being alone with her. She refused to dwell upon his horror at the notion of marryingher. She knew better than anyone her lack of appeal and yet… It had hardly been a flattering moment.
Emily gazed toward the sounds of those entering the room. Blond and dark, definitely Sophia and her duke. And then two others… Perhaps Mr. White? His lordship now. She must remember. Many men would likely take offense at such a mistake.
“Lord Carlisle,” Sophia said. “Lieutenant Landon. May I present you to my dearest of friends, Miss Emily Goodnight?”
Three fuzzy but colorful blobs of people stood before her. Sophia, wearing a sparkling blue gown. Of course, she’d be looking utterly gorgeous. Lord Carlisle, considerably taller than Sophia, easily identifiable with his blond hair and soothing presence. And then another man, not as tall as Carlisle but stout. An energy emanated from this one. His features escaped her, of course, but she would easily remember him by the shocking orange color of his hair. How this man had kept alive while at war, she’d never guess. Surely, he’d stood out like a beacon?
Both men bowed.
“Miss Goodnight? A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” This from the lieutenant.
