Chapter Seven
THE DAY AFTER LADY Cinthia’sdisturbing visit to the school, Emilia sat in the courtyard once more, as she often did. Her drawing tools lay in their usual arrangement. The page before her, however, remained blank. She would study the row of blossoms she wished to capture, focus on the page, and then her mind would wander.
She let out a sigh. Truth be told, the only thing she wished to sketch was Mister Banbrook’s countenance. His strong jaw, his fathomless grey eyes. She wondered if she could capture his fleeting look of amusement. He was even more handsome when he permitted himself to be cheerful.
She shook her head to dispel his face from her mind, and narrowed her gaze on the flowers. The pink blooms where what she wished to draw. Flowers. Not a man who had no wish to wed, had failed in his promise to take her for a ride in the park and who, she suspected, loved Lady Cinthia. Emilia poised her hand over the page.
Could she count on Mister Banbrook? Even if he wasn’t for her, she still required his protection from Viscount Dunreid, and his aid. True, she’d danced at the second dance, a fine improvement over the first, but she hadn’t snared a suitor. Mister Banbrook had promised to help her find one.
Should she write Sir Stirling again? Ask for a new savior? But if she did that, would she ever see Mister Banbrook again? Not seeing him again seemed quite unacceptable. The thought hurt more than his failure to appear the previous afternoon.
Light footfalls broke into her awareness. She swiveled to find Mary approaching. Emilia wondered what new torment the girl was there to announce.
“Miss, there’s a gentleman asking if you’re in. A Mister Banbrook. He says he’s here to collect you for a ride in the park.”
Emilia stood, unable to suppress a sudden smile. “He’s in the large parlor? Please tell him I won’t be long.” She began stowing her drawing tools.
“I will, Miss. He’s in the small parlor, Miss.”
The small parlor. Emilia frowned. He wasn’t titled.
“Will you require one of us girls to accompany you, Miss?” Mary asked.
Emilia’s hands stilled. She didn’t want to be accompanied by one of Lady Peddington’s spying servants, even if Mary always seemed kind. “Did he arrive in an open vehicle, or closed?”
“A curricle, Miss. A very fine one.”
Emilia raised her eyebrows at that observation. How fine was very fine? Mister Banbrook dressed impeccably, but then the English always did, even if they ended up in debtor’s prison to do so. Yet Mary said he waited in the small parlor. Was he wealthy?
“Given he’s arrived in a curricle, I feel I shall be well enough chaperoned by the community at large, but thank you for the offer.”
“It’s my duty, Miss.”
“Thank you,” Emilia repeated.
The maid left and Emilia finished stowing her drawing tools. She tried not to appear in an unseemly hurry as she carried them to her room, where she would collect gloves, shawl and bonnet. Her feet, however, seemed to wish for a happy pace. Her heart beat easier knowing Mister Banbrook hadn’t abandoned her.
Once properly attired for a ride in the park, Emilia went to the small parlor to find Mr. Banbrook seated on the same settee Lady Cinthia had used. He made the delicate piece look small, almost child-sized. In one flowing movement, he stood and executed a graceful bow.
“Miss Glasbarr. I have come for our agreed upon outing to the park.”
The perfect neutrality of his tone halted her in the doorway. She hadn’t expected warmth, of course, but he seemed almost as if he contained ire. With the English, a cool façade could mean so many things, but his grey eyes were intent on her and not overly convivial in cast. His gaze moved to her throat. She touched her neck, worried something was there.
“Thank you?” She winced at the question in her voice.
“It is my pleasure,” he said in those same cool, clipped tones.
Is it? She wondered. She would more believe the opposite. “I do realize ye must be busy, Mister Banbrook. I mean, you must have other things to do with your day than escort young misses about. If you don’t have the time to take me, I—”
He held up a staying hand. “I do have the time.” Some of the tension left his features. “I was looking forward to a ride in the park with you, Miss Glasbarr.”
Was? Did that mean he wasn’t any longer? How could his attitude toward her have cooled so when she hadn’t set eyes on him since the second ball? “Thank you,” she repeated.
His gaze returned to her neck. She wished for a mirror. Had she broken out in hives? She felt nervous enough to have.
“Shall we?” He raised his eyebrows.
Emilia realized she blocked the doorway. Her face heated as she turned and led the way to the foyer. She mumbled thanks to the butler who opened the door to permit her escape into the cooler air of the street. Her attention fell on a magnificent matched pair of Cleveland Bays.
