“I believe you dropped this,” he said, holding out the cloth.
She took the scrap of linen, brushing his hand as she did so. Had she done so deliberately? Had she felt the same tingle of awareness at their touch that he had? “How kind of you. Thank you.” Her bright smile suggested he’d managed an impossible feat rather than simply returning her handkerchief.
“You’re quite welcome.”
Those emerald eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head. “Aren’t you Philip Carstairs?”
His concern that she’d dropped the handkerchief on purpose fell away at the question. Why was it almost a relief that she didn’t address him using his title? “Yes.”
“I’m Lady Eliza Chadwick. You know my brother, Winston, of course.”
Recognition dawned. He couldn’t help but study the poised beauty before him and compare her to the quiet and shy girl he remembered. Winston Chadwick, the Marquess of Linford, had been one of his best friends since university. “Indeed. He mentioned you’d returned.”
His attention shifted to the older woman at her side. “And this must be your aunt. Linford speaks highly of you.” He nearly grimaced at the lie. His friend didn’t care for his Aunt Frieda and was less than pleased by her arrival even if he enjoyed having his sister home again.
“Your Grace.” The older lady dipped into a curtsy and nudged Lady Eliza to do the same.
Without any sign of embarrassment at the not-so-subtle reminder of proper deportment, Lady Eliza smiled again as she gracefully curtsied. “Forgive me, Your Grace, for my deplorable lack of manners. Please accept my condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you.” Her words dimmed his appreciation of the moment, a reminder he didn’t want.
How interesting to realize he’d been enjoying their conversation until then. She truly was a beauty with light brown hair and those compelling eyes. But it was the way she looked at him with genuine pleasure and interest that caught his attention. So often, he only saw a calculating gleam in ladies’ expressions as if they were wondering how to capture a duke. How much worse would that become once the Season was in full swing?
Rumor spoke of a literary league whose sole focus was catching a husband. The lengths some ladies went to marry well never failed to amaze him. He made a mental note to ask his friend, Lord Bolton, if he’d heard about that group.
It was refreshing to know nothing of that sort would cross Lady Eliza’s mind. Then he realized the probable reason it wouldn’t—their age difference—and was less than pleased. She must be nearly ten years younger than he, which made him feel positively ancient.
He couldn’t allow himself to be intrigued by her. In addition to being too young for him, she was also his best friend’s little sister. Two lines that could not be crossed.
“It’s a lovely garden, is it not?” She glanced around at their surroundings.
“It is. An enjoyable party, as well.” Yet he continued to look at her, drinking in her smooth skin and even features as he tried to reconcile her present appearance to the young girl he used to know.
He caught himself a moment too late. He glanced to where his Aunt Eleanor stood watching a short distance away and could almost feel her disapproval. “If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my aunt.” Too late, he realized the excuse was an idiotic one. As if he weren’t a grown man.
“Of course.” Lady Eliza nodded, those green eyes fixed on him as if she waited for him to do something. Unfortunately, he didn’t know what that might be. “It was a pleasure to be reunited with you, Your Grace.” She curtsied again. Slowly.
For some reason, he found the movement oddly arousing. Or perhaps it was the lady herself. He liked the way she’d said ‘reunited’ as if they had a past.
“I wish you a good day.” With a frown at his wayward thoughts, he dipped his head and turned away, determined to put the intriguing Lady Eliza from his thoughts. Fate had given him no choice.
Chapter Two
Ifonlyhecouldkeep Lady Eliza from his mind Philip thought with a smothered groan less than a quarter hour later. For what must be the tenth time, he dragged his attention from where she stood across the garden back to Lady Alice Graham. Or was she Lady Constance? He couldn’t seem to remember since they looked so much alike.
Like his cousin, Markus, had said, the two younger sisters could very well be twins. Then again, Markus rarely had anything good to say about anyone, which was one of the many reasons they didn’t get on very well. While Philip appreciated his aunt and uncle’s support, their son had always gone out of his way to stir trouble for the family.
All three of the Graham sisters were blonde-haired, pretty ladies, but the youngest two also had pale eyebrows and lashes that made their thin faces appear ethereal, a look he didn’t appreciate. He couldn’t help but compare it to Lady Eliza’s vivid beauty.
“The flowers are nice,” one of the sisters said, though her words were nearly a whisper. She seemed to have trouble meeting his gaze. Perhaps she was shy. If so, that meant he needed to make more of an effort to speak with her so he might actually come to know her.
“Yes, they are. Do you have a favorite?”
“Oh.” She turned to look at him and blinked. “I’m sure I couldn’t say.” A hint of a blush rose in her pale cheeks.
Truly? Was the question so difficult?
Reminding himself to be polite, he studied the ones before them. “I think I like dahlias the best. They’re quite bold.” Which was how he liked his women. Then again, he had never spent much time with innocents. That was yet another area of his life that was changing.
