He returned his focus to her. “Is there no one else who—?”
She was shaking her head. “No. My aunt is only a few years younger than he and is a spinster who is quite content to eschew society other than the occasional visit to the apothecary to see if there is anything new that might cure her latest ailment.”
He gave a mock grimace, but she wasn’t sure it was completely false. “I should hate to get to that point in my life, where I no longer find the enjoyment in anything but my complaints.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “I would have to agree with you, my lord, but I fear I am rather accustomed to hearing it, not only from my relations, but from our servants as well.”
He lifted his brows. “Don’t say your ladies’ maid is…” He paused as if trying to find the right word without being overly offensive. “Aged?”
“Lillian is five and sixty.”
“Ah. That would explain the drab gowns, then,” he muttered.
Dulcenia stiffened. “I realize that there were not many people in society who might have approved of my attire, but there are some who believe that there is more to a person than their outward appearance. If you’ll excuse me.”
She clenched her fists in the folds of her dress as she quit the parlor. It was one thing to be looked down upon by Lady Jane Allen, but to be openly insulted by LordDollhouse—well, she wasn’t about to stand there and allow it. She might not be the most sought after debutante in theton, but she still had her pride.
“Miss Hargove.” She ignored the sound and kept walking. “Miss Hargove!” She heard the rush of footsteps and then felt a hand grasping her elbow.
She shook off the marquess’s hold. “I’ve had enough conversation for one evening, my lord. I should like to retire.”
He exhaled heavily and set his hands on his narrow hips. She pursed her mouth together, irritated that she should even notice such a characteristic.
“You took my statement the wrong way.”
She snorted. “How else might I have taken it? When someone calls my dressesdrab, that it should be a compliment to my taste?”
“Did you pick them out?”
She glanced away. “No, I didn’t. My aunt said the color was suitable for a modest lady.” She returned her gaze to him. “But that’s not the point. It shouldn’t matter if I made the selection or not. You might as well have said that my complexion is sallow, or that my hair resembles that of a bird’s nest. They are all just as insulting!” She put a hand to her forehead and softened her tone, for she could tell her irritation was causing her voice to spike. “It might be something to consider for the next lady you intend to court.”
Again, she turned to leave, but his next words gave her pause. “Who says there will be anyone else?”
Chapter Four
Carew couldn’t say what had possessed him this evening.
He realized the moment he’d mentioned her attire that it had been rather crass of him to say. But now he was practically telling her she was the only one for him?
He must be losing his mind. He thought he was sane when he’d left London, but the moment he encountered Miss Hargrove again, he had been behaving rather strangely.
She didn’t turn to face him, but merely asked over her shoulder, “Why would you say something like that? We both know that this courtship is only a façade to placate Lady Osbourne. When the house party is over, I have no doubt that we shall each go our separate ways.”
He frowned, unsettled for some reason. It must be this sudden, creeping madness, for while that had been Carew’s plan all along, he was starting to wonder about the lady. It was already apparent that she was a good conversationalist and didn’t mind speaking her mind. That might put most men off, but he had never been intimidated by an intelligent female. It was obvious she had a fascination with art as well, but without the means to pursue her interests, she had merely put them aside because of her father. It was commendable of her to think of his needs, to be sure, but who would care for her when she needed someone?
Had anyone ever offered their shoulder for her to cry on?
Carew told himself that he wasn’t that man, that he wouldneverbe that man for any woman other than his mother and two younger sisters, and yet, he felt compelled to step up and be Miss Hargrove’s champion. Even now, he couldn’t help himself from approaching her and laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.
A shudder passed through her. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” he asked softly.
She inhaled slowly. “Touch me.”
Carew closed his eyes momentarily. “I wish you were commanding me to do so, instead of telling me to go away.” He dared to rest his other hand at her waist. “Unless you don’t truly want that.”
“Stop this,” she ordered, but it lacked the same conviction from earlier.
