Chapter Three
A week after Lizalaunched her fourth season at what should have been a quiet tea, she paced the library. The tea had gone horribly wrong. There’d been only one person there she knew, a school friend. Liza, in an attempt to appear sociable, asked after the girl’s favorite pet pug. How was she to know the chubby little angel had been trampled by the girl’s horse the day before?
Really, though, upset as she was, the young woman needn’t have pointed at Liza and wailed. Everyone had assumed Liza had done something horrid. Whispers quickly spread that she was friends with Prudence, and so she must be a cruel prankster like Prudence. No one believed that her question had been asked out of innocence. Needless to say, she hadn’t made any new acquaintances, let alone met a gentleman.
The carriage ride home had included a lecture. Liza hadn’t bothered to defend herself. She’d long since learned that the length and vehemence of her mother’s lectures were determined by the distance they must travel, not by Liza’s level of culpability.
Which was why the trip back from last night’s ball had been particularly arduous, but not as terrible as the ride home from the theatre the day before. The theatre was closer, but the press of vehicles made traffic stand still for an interminable age. With the season a week old, her mother already nurtured an arsenal against Liza’s social ineptitude. Should they sail to Canada, Liza was mournfully certain her mother remembered enough incidents to detail Liza’s faults for the entire voyage.
Unable to sleep last night, Liza had settled on a dreadful, desperate plan. She did have one friend, one person she could speak to with ease, who didn’t seem to mind her chatter: Lord Thomas. Since he was her only friend, he would have to help her.
She stopped pacing and pressed a hand to her throbbing forehead. Could she really enlist his aid to find a husband? She squeezed her eyes closed in despair.
It took several slow breaths before she could pry open her lids once more. She resumed her pacing, slippers scuffing the thick carpet. As much as it would hurt to ask Lord Thomas for help in this matter, she had no other choice. There was simply no one else to whom she could turn.
A long sigh escaped her. If only Lord Thomas were in the market for a wife. He was kind, and tall, and never made her feel foolish. Involuntarily, she touched her lips, but then dropped her hand. Yes, she was desperate, but not desperate enough to take a man who was in love with his dead wife.
Even if his kiss was the most wonderful thing to ever happen to her.
“Good evening, Miss Milton.”
Liza shrieked and whirled. She stumbled, arms flung wide. Lord Thomas seized her arm and steadied her. She grabbed his coat sleeves and clung to them.
“Careful,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you must have heard me enter.”
She usually did. She would have, if she weren’t so agitated. “My mind was elsewhere,” she mumbled. She felt the strength of his arms through his coat. She snatched her hands away and clasped them behind her back.
“Was it?” he asked.
“Was what?” She stared up at him. He stood so near, just as he had on that night.
“Your mind. Was it elsewhere?” He looked at her in that intent way he had, but this time she was sure he saw her. She stood directly in front of him, after all. “What was so distracting?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Obviously, she couldn’t tell the truth. She wasn’t good at lying, though. She blathered even worse when she tried to lie. No, she couldn’t lie, or tell him she’d been thinking about the kiss, but she could say, “Marriage.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Marriage?”
“Yes.” She turned away, needing distance from him to clear her thoughts. She resumed her pacing. “I’m supposed to marry, you know. We all are. It’s what we do. As a society, I mean, as women. We must. There are houses and babies and place settings and—” She broke off.Close your mouth, Liza.
“I see,” he said, tone expressionless. “Does this mean you have found someone to marry?”
She dared a glance, but his face was unreadable. She threw up her hands. “No, that’s the trouble. I haven’t. I can’t seem to. All my friends are married and I don’t know anyone, and I need your help.” She pushed the words out before cowardice could stop them. She came around to face him, this time a safe distance from his lips.
His look of surprise turned into a frown. “You need me? To help you?” he said the words slowly, as if choosing them with care.
“Yes,” she cried. “You’re a man. You must know other men. At least some of them must be in want of a wife.”
His frown deepened. “I don’t know many people.”
“More than I do. Especially more gentlemen than I do.” She had to convince him. As much as it hurt to ask him, it would hurt more to be utterly alone. She clasped her hands. “Please, Lord Thomas. I’m on my fourth season.”
“You are?” He still frowned, but now seemed perplexed. “So soon?”
“It isn’t soon. Trust me, I have lived it. It’s more like forever.”
He pushed a hand through his hair. He must drive his valet to distraction. Such handsomeness, and a physique built to display finely tailored clothes, yet his hair was in constant disarray. Her hands ached with the desire to run through that hair. She clasped them behind her once more.
“You want me to help you find someone to wed?” he said.
