“I’ll stay behind,” Felicity volunteered. The quandary allowed her the perfect opportunity to excuse herself.
“But you’re the reason we came!” Tabetha said from where she’d already perched herself in the plush vehicle.
Felicity glanced at Bethany, who stood beside her looking torn. “I can stay with you.
“No, no, you go on.” For as long as they’d known one another, Bethany had secretly adored Lord Chaswick. And even though the baron was something of a rake and likely would never glance twice at her dear friend, Felicity knew Bethany would enjoy such an outing more than most.
“I will come to Westerley Crossings for tea tomorrow,” Felicity said.
Bethany stared at her with eyes the same blue as her brothers, clutching her reticule in front of her. “You promise?”
“Of course.” Felicity was going to have to visit at some point. She reassured herself that if her mother came along, she could avoid speaking privately with Lord Manningham.
She turned to Mr. Spencer, who stood off from the others, pacing and bouncing as she’d often seen him do. When he met her gaze, she sent him an inviting smile.
The Earl of Ravensdale’s second son immediately realized Felicity’s intent. “I will remain as well. As you’ve already prepared for an outing, my lady, what do you say to a lazy stroll?”
“Not so fast, Spencer,” Manningham stepped forward. “I believe you have a duty to perform for Westerley.” He flicked a curious glance toward the carriage. “I’ll walk with Lady Felicity.”
“And what exactly has my brother roped you into, Mr. Spencer?” Tabetha narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Come along, Mantis, I am no one’s duty.”
But rather than be cowed by Tabetha’s suspicions, Mr. Spencer sprang into action. “Right you are, Mantis.” He leaped onto the barouche and took the empty seat beside Tabetha.
Smiling tightly, Manningham stepped away, allowing Chaswick to assist Bethany into the vehicle and then, with a wave, sent them off.
A weighty discomfort settled in the silence that ensued.
“Let’s walk.” It was Manningham who broke it, offering his arm.
Already, she’d been inexorably rude to him, and he’d done nothing to deserve it.
Her guilt won out. “Very well.”
She could walk with him, and make inane conversation, even. Perhaps they could move past that night in the orangery and pretend it never happened.
But the moment she slid her hand into the crook of his arm, her innards flipped, reminding her that the night in the orangery, had in fact, happened. Pretending such an event away would require tremendous effort.
And more than one week.
Neither spoke again until they’d covered half the distance of the lane leading to the road.
“I cannot believe you are still embroidering his monograms on handkerchiefs.”
His comment was most unexpected. But of course, he would have seen the carefully folded stack.
She sighed.
“My mother insisted I finish the dozen. I’m going to give them to Lady Bethany.”
“But they are a gentleman’s style.”
“Yes, well. I could always add some lace.” This conversation was ridiculous.
“Careful.” He steered her around a steaming pile, doubtless left by one of the pair that had just departed. As such a large and muscular gentleman, he’d never seemed as sophisticated and cultured as the sort with whom Westerley consorted. It had been an unfair assessment for her to have made.
Like other titled bachelors, it seemed that Manningham possessed an equally inflated sense of honor. More, it seemed, than she’d credited her former betrothed.
Would there ever come a time that she didn’t compare all gentleman to the Earl of Westerley?
