I should very much like to call on you this Saturday evening if your calendar is not full. Even if it is, I should still like to whisk you away from your other suitors. It is most advisable to choose a worthy mount. Apollo likes to let loose at a run, as do I. Shall we?
Regards,
Malcolm Winfield,
Lord Havenwood
She pressed the cool paper against her heated face, smiling so hard that her cheeks ached. He’d made good on his word. His interest had been no vague imagining, and here was the proof. Aglow with infatuation, she took a few breaths to compose herself, then went out.
Lord Eastleigh stood. “I see from your smile your letter brought good news.”
“Indeed, sir. It did.”
“Oh,” he said, lifting her hand, “it seems you’ve injured yourself.” Sure enough, a slow trickle of blood ran between her thumb and forefinger and dripped onto the pavers. “One must be careful opening letters, Miss Sullivan,” Lord Eastleigh chided. “Some of them can cut like knives.”
After the teapot had been drained for the day and their final caller departed with hat in hands, Eliza sat at her desk to compose her response to Lord Havenwood. She sought the right words, studying the plaster ceiling and its latticework frieze. When she finally put her pen to paper, she grasped the barrel too tightly, snapping the nib within the first few strokes of her writing. She crumpled the ink-splattered paper into a ball, attached another nib, and, after dipping it into the inkwell, began again.
Lord Havenwood,
I would very much enjoy entertaining you Saturday evening. Come after dinner, at eight o’clock. I’ll pack a picnic and we shall ride to the meadow to watch the sun go down.
Fond regards,
Miss Elizabeth Sullivan
Eliza sat back, her rickety chair shrieking its displeasure. Did she sound too easy, too presumptuous? She wished courtship weren’t such a game. He interested her far more than any of the others, but she mustn’t seem entirely wanton, either. How quickly her mood had changed—from recalcitrant spinster to nervous maid—all because of a pair of wicked green eyes and a clever turn of phrase. She crumpled the letter in her hand and started yet again.
Lord Havenwood,
I would be pleased to ride out with you on Saturday evening. Come after eight o’clock.
Regards,
Miss Elizabeth Sullivan
There. Simple, polite, and succinct. Before she could talk herself out of sending it, she sealed the envelope and addressed it. With a sigh, she flexed her fingers around the bandage she’d applied to her paper cut and turned to the pile of calling cards on her desk, trying to recall the faces belonging to the names. There was a sharp knock at her door. Without looking up, Eliza muttered a hasty “Come in.”
Lydia padded in on stocking feet and sat on the foot of Eliza’s bed. “Look at all your cards! Is there anyone else you’d like to invite for tea?”
“Only Lord Havenwood. I’ve just written my response.”
“I do wish you’d consider entertaining others, even for propriety’s sake,” Lydia said. “I’m having two of the gentlemen I danced with over tomorrow—one of them is a barrister and the other a navy lieutenant. Isn’t it funny how the British saylieutenant?” She giggled and stretched her arms overhead with a voluptuous yawn. “Lord Eastleigh is intriguing, isn’t he? He’s completely smitten with you. I’ve invited him to dinner Saturday evening. I learned today while you were inside that he has three estates and may soon acquire another!”
“That’s all very well, and while he may be rich, his arrogance is off-putting. He also strikes me as something of a playboy. He’s every bit of thirty, yet unmarried. We’d be ill suited, I’d warrant. He sparks nothing in me but anxiety and irritation.”
“I’ll admit, he’s a bit brash for my tastes, but perhaps you should give things a chance. What did you think of Mr.Dix and Sir Tate? I found both to be polite and steady.”
“And boring.” Eliza flopped down on the lumpy mattress next to Lydia, kicking her slippers off. “Mr.Dix is so soft-spoken I could barelyhear him, and Sir Tate is but two moons from the morgue. Besides, you’re one to talk. All I’ve heard since this courtship business began is Dr.Fawcett this, Dr.Fawcett that.” Eliza rolled onto her back, gazing up at the faded velvet canopy. “I’m afraid no one else has intrigued me in the way of Lord Havenwood. I was surprised how intensely I was drawn to him—it was positively magnetic, Lyddie. Like I’d been hit with a galvanic charge!”
Lydia frowned. “You’re being impulsive. For someone who was so contrary to courtship and marriage just a day or so ago, you’ve gotten yourself nearly betrothed to him. Don’t the rumors bother you? Polly told me more. It’s all scandalous. Every last thing.”
“I really don’t care to know what she said. She’s a gossip and I’d rather hear the story from Lord Havenwood himself before I make any judgments.” Eliza turned onto her side and linked her fingers with Lydia’s. “I’m learning to trust my gut, sister. I feel he’s only misunderstood and perhaps a bit lonely. There’s something maudlin in his eyes—it makes me want to learn more about him. And that house! It’s really something, isn’t it?”
“Something haunted and falling down! Remember—a bit of a rivalry between suitors would do no harm. I’ve a feeling Lord Eastleigh won’t be easily persuaded from courting you. You’d do well to consider his attentions, if only to annoy Polly Whitby.” A slow smile spread across Lydia’s lips. “I hear she’s struck on him.”
Eliza laughed and sat up. “Now thatwouldbe entertaining. He’s certainly pretty to look at, and Iamon a tight schedule. Have him round for dinner if you’d like on Saturday, but I’ll be riding out with Lord Havenwood afterward.”
“By yourself?”
