“Of course,” Lady Campbell said, and Maxwell already knew that news of their situation would be spread through thetonby dusk.
At least he need not take the trouble of announcing himself or his situation; the entire world would know it before his next engagement.
Lydia bobbed a neat curtsy. Somehow, despite the situation of her parents, she had grown into a sweet-mannered girl.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” she murmured.
Lady Campbell tried to hide her smile behind her fan and gave a brief introduction to the other members of the picnic. Fortunately, before she could get too enmeshed in the gossip of the day, Simon Fitzroy, the Marquess of Bloomsby, waved and approached.
“Marrow,” Simon called, the old nickname a relic from their Oxford days. “What brings you here? I had no notion you were in London.”
“Duty calls.” Maxwell stepped away from Lady Campbell and gestured at Lady Rivenhall and Lydia. “This is Lady Rivenhall, and her daughter, Miss Lydia Parsons. They are staying with me for the Season. My ladies, this is the Marquess of Bloomsby, a friend of mine.”
Simon bowed. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, my ladies.”
“The pleasure is ours, my lord,” Lady Rivenhall murmured, sinking into a curtsy.
Lydia smiled. “Indeed, my lord.”
“You must be introduced to my wife,” Simon said in that good-natured way of his. “She is invited to everything, you know.” Quiet pride of his pretty, sociable wife shone in his eyes. “Ah, there she is.”
Upon spotting his wife, Anna, in the shade of a tree, Simon waved her over.
To his shock, Maxwell noticed she was accompanied by Lady Thalia, dressed this time in a pale rose gown that perfectly complemented her flushed cheeks and dark curls.
All cream and chocolate, that one.
He had rarely come across a lady who so tempted him to take a bite. The last time they had encountered one another, he had behaved as a brute, beating another man in front of her, and she had not hidden in fear.
Her defiance had aroused him almost to the point of madness.
He would have more control today.
“Darling, this is Lady Rivenhall, and her daughter, Miss Lydia Parsons. Ladies, this is my wife, Lady Bloomsby,” Simon announced, taking her arm and displaying her to the small group. “Is she not quite the prettiest lady to walk the streets of London?”
Anna blushed and gave her husband’s arm a playful slap. “You can hardly claim so in front of other ladies, dearest. It is ungenerous.”
Joyce gave a thin-lipped smile. “I can be forgiving when the slight stems from a husband’s ardor.”
Lady Thalia avoided Maxwell’s gaze. He spared her only the briefest glance. Their shared history and accidental meeting the other night were no reason for him to pay her any special attention.
“This,” Simon said, with a kind smile for Lady Thalia, “is my wife’s cousin and dearest friend, Lady Thalia. Lady Thalia, this is Lady Rivenhall, and Miss Lydia Parsons.”
Lady Thalia curtsied obligingly. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Lydia’s eyes widened when she heard Lady Thalia’s name, and Maxwell knew before she opened her mouth that she would say something impulsive and foolish.
“Heavens,” she said, turning to him with childlike curiosity, “is that not the lady you were going to marry, Your Grace?”
Lady Thalia started, a flush springing to his cheeks. Maxwell gave Lydia a sharp glare, and she colored, seeming to sense she had said something out of place.
“Lydia,” Joyce chided. “You cannot ask such things. Especially in a public setting such as this one.”
Lady Thalia relaxed, reaching out a graceful hand. “It’s quite all right, Miss Parsons. I expect you have heard my name before, have you not?” She glanced at Maxwell, her gaze searching, and he wished he were not at such liberty to note the almost caramel hue of her eyes in direct sunlight. “We were engaged, but?—”
“Our arrangement ended. For practical family reasons,” Maxwell finished for her, in part out of concern she would forget the story they had put about after their engagement ended.
“Precisely,” Lady Thalia said. “The Duke and I parted on good terms.”
