“Always break it by hand,” she advised, before allowing him to carry the conversation unless he asked her a direct question. Then she replied succinctly while asking him nothing in return, a grievous fault in a dining partner.
However, despite being brought up to make an enjoyable dining companion, Purity would not deign to show any interest in him, not even to ask him if he was enjoying the weather. The newspapers and her own experience had determined he would not make anyone a good husband unless he found a woman willing to put up with his famously scandalous behavior. Thus, she hoped her purposeful slight demonstrated her disapproval.
Still, as the meal wore on, she had the notion he was interested in her for that very position of wife.Why else would he declare any such thing directly to her and in front of the Fenwicks?
Needing to make it crystal clear she would never wish to be his baroness, no matter his compliments or his kissing ability, she intended to remain as cool as possible. Yet throughout the dinner, he never let the conversation lapse into an awkward silence. He regaled her with stories of his time abroad, making sure to ask if or where she had traveled. He asked about her siblings. He even asked if she would take more wine with him when her glass was empty. He did it all with perfect manners, and thus, it was hard to find fault.
Until he did two things so egregious, she could almost believe he did them on purpose to rile her. Over the dessert course of cream-topped sponge cake,meringues a la crème,and thick brandy custard with a sugar glaze, which as it was her favoriteshe was struggling to eat slowly, he shifted his fork to his right hand.
She nearlytsk-tskedto watch him holding it like a shovel.Couldn’t he see he was the only one handling his utensil in such a barbaric fashion?
Purity was about to save him ridicule by instructing him when he leaned close —too close! —causing her to crane her head and look up at him.
Immediately, he smiled. “I was going to tell you something interesting, but now all I can say is you do look like a kitten after all.”
Heat crept into her cheeks. She could smell his complex fragrance, reminding her as it had all through dinner, of their kiss. But she was no sweet little animal. Therefore, she was stunned when he raised his napkin and wiped the end of her nose.
Gasping could be heard from all the ladies and some of the gentlemen who witnessed it.
Purity felt her mouth drop open and had to snap it closed.He had caused hercomplete and utter mortification!
Chapter Three
“Careful, Lord Foxford,” Lady Fenwick chided while Purity sat in stunned silence, feeling all eyes upon her.
“She had a dob of custard upon her nose,” her tormentor explained. “No gentleman would let that remain if he could do something about it.”
“A gentleman ought to simply tell a lady and allow her to take care of the matter herself,” Purity ended on a hiss, assuming her cheeks were now bright red. In a softer voice for only him to hear, she added, “You aren’t supposed to draw attention to such a thing, nor should you touch me unasked.”
“My apologies,” he said, without appearing sorry. He leaned closer again and whispered, “Next time, I shall wait until you ask me to touch you.”
Lord Fenwick, at the other end of the table, unaware of the quagmire of inappropriate behavior through which Purity found herself trudging, called out, “Well done, Foxford. I say it was the polite thing to do. You cannot leave a lady with cream upon her pretty face.”
To Purity’s amazement, a debate broke out over her dining companion’s action.Was he insolent or chivalrous?
Sighing deeply to calm herself, she sent her gaze back to her dessert and tried her best to ignore the entire discussion. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before, and such an occurrence was not covered in her favorite manners book,The Gentleman and Lady’s Book of Politeness and Propriety of Deportment, although she would skim it when she returned home to make sure. How the custard got on the end of her nose, she couldn’t imagine.
Then it dawned on her. There probably hadn’t been any.But why would Lord Foxford pretend?
A possible answer came after dinner when the guests returned to the drawing room. The men had eschewed sitting alone with cigars and brandy since the evening was intended for spending time with the opposite sex. The Fenwicks had made a few successful matches already, it seemed, by the pairing up that was happening around the hearth.
Purity thought she might speak with a flaxen-haired man standing by himself. He had a pleasant visage.
“Since we are now firmly linked as the two most outlandish dining companions,” Lord Foxford said softly at her elbow, “will you allow me to be your partner for charades or whatever entertainment comes next?”
Purity decided that had been his intent all along.
“I don’t want to be considered outlandish, nor do I wish to be associated with anyone who is.”
Regardless, since a brown-haired lady with a strand of rubies around her neck had taken the opportunity to attach herself to the blond man, Purity settled for one of two empty seats and let Lord Foxford sit beside her.
“I thought by your behavior at Lansdowne House—” he began.
“Shh,”she hissed, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention. “Whatever you thought, you were wrong. Afterall, I didn’t go there to meet with anyone, merely to admire some art. Unlike yourself! In any case, why are you pestering me if you are seriously looking for a wife?”
He remained silent, which was a good thing, but he was fiddling with his gloves on his lap.
“Put your gloves in your pocket,” she admonished him. “There is no need to have them out unless you intend to depart within minutes.”
