Lord Waverly cleared his throat.“Now, now, sister dear.No need to embarrass the fellow.We all make fools of ourselves in front of pretty girls from time to time, even when those girls are impudent and crass.”
“That isn’t —” Jonathan stopped himself.This was beyond the pale.“Miss von Ostenfeld obviously had a considerable education, one that any English lady would be lucky to receive.Her refinement showed in every fiber of her being.Any fool made of me was entirely my own doing.”
“Quite the defender, aren’t you?”Waverly laughed.“Careful, Bowen.People will think you’re smitten.”
Jonathan had had enough.“People may think what they like.”This time, his closed countenance and glaring gaze worked.The conversation moved mercifully onward to other topics, such as the theater, the races at Newmarket, the shocking cost of maintaining a London household.He contributed where necessary and retreated into his own thoughts where possible.
Smitten, indeed!
He hadn’t spent the past few days remembering the precise angle of her jaw in the moonlight, or the way her voice had softened when she’d accepted his apology on the terrace.
He certainly wasn’t disappointed that he hadn’t seen her again, knowing how little time was left before she departed London.
He was lying on all counts.
Sometime around the dessert course, while he ate some overly firm blancmange, he decided his parents ought to throw a dinner party and invite a few select members of the KGL.If the officer had a wife or sister, she should come as well.Of course.
When dinner finally ended, Jonathan made his excuses as quickly as courtesy allowed.Lord Waverly walked him to the door with the careful dignity of the thoroughly inebriated.
“Good man, Bowen.Very good man.I shall tellanyonewho asks me.”
Good or otherwise, Jonathan didn’t give a fig.He only hoped by morning his host would remember to tell King George that Jonathan was the right man for the job.
Then Waverly clapped Jonathan on the shoulder.“About that map, the one in my study.Do you really think it’s the Thames?”
“I’m certain of it, my lord.”
“Hm.Well.Can’t win them all, eh, wot wot?”He swayed slightly.“Do come again.My sister likes you.Says you’re refreshingly honest.”
Jonathan rather doubted that was what Lady Waverly had said in private, but he smiled and bowed before escaping into the cool night air.
Why on earth couldn’t he get Lise out of his mind?Climbing onto the seat of his phaeton, determined to rid her from his thoughts, he decided to go to his club.With Finch or another of his friends, he’d fall into one of his usual distractions.A cigar and a few rounds of faro.
Of course that would work.
Chapter Four
The Earl of Castleton’s home, at least the public rooms, were magnificent.Understanding that Lord Bowen had grown up here and would one day, in all likelihood, take up residence here again — with his countess — Lise could almost understand why he’d disparaged her.She was, after all, a country girl from the outskirts of Eutin, and he’d had no way of knowing her father was from established wealth, nor how impressive was their von Ostenfeld estate.
But her father was no earl.
As she went into the dining room on the arm of one of the KGL soldiers with whom she was already familiar, she tried not to stare at the gilt-bronze chandeliers casting prisms of flickering light across pale-blue damask covered chairs and silver platters.It wasn’t as though she’d never seen their like before.
Except she hadn’t, not close up.In the ballrooms, the chandeliers had been high overhead.Here, the branched and tiered clusters of candles hung over the long table, and the splendid cut crystals were mesmerizingly close, casting rainbows on the wine glasses.
It must be a trick of her imagination that they sparkled as beautifully as the prized Bohemian crystals in her parents’ dining room in Eutin, although these lamps were certainly finer than those at the other Mayfair dinners she’d attended.
Her father wouldn’t like to know how these chandeliers outshone their single brass one above his dining table, but only due to the sheer number of candles and glass.
Lise also tried not to look for Lord Bowen.He wasn't casting rainbows, but he'd caught her attention more than anyone else she'd met during her visit.He'd entered the room ahead of her, escorting a titled woman, introduced to her over a glass of wine as Lady Hartwell.And from what Lady Ashworth had said at Lord Spencer’s ball, that title made all the difference here in London.
At the party’s beginning, in the drawing room, where the walls and furnishings were dark blue, cream, and gold, Lord Bowen had been friendly, both with her brother and with her.But then, he’d been equally congenial to all the KGL in attendance, three others in fact, and to his parents’ other guests, as well.Lise was fooling herself if she thought the viscount’s smile brightened when she’d entered with Henrik.
Liveried footmen moved with choreographed precision as the dinner began.The staggering number of courses surpassed even the most generous St.Nicholas Day feast at home.She counted twelve dishes for the first course alone, a symmetrical display along the table’s center of soup, fish, game, ragout, and vegetables of every color.There were also a few sweet offerings.Gooseberry tart, flummery, baked custard, apples with cinnamon, as well as wine jelly.And yet, there would be a dedicated dessert course at the end.
Directly across the table, Lord Bowen was seated between Lady Hartwell and his own sister-in-law, Mrs.Bowen.The viscount was sneaking glances at her through the maze of glassware and candlesticks.Lise knew this because every time she risked a quick look, she met his eyes.
In the next moment, they both would look away.It was maddening.And amusing!
