The implications of his words would be, however.
“If you are agreeable, write to me, and I will put my secretary on it at once.”
She did not know what to say. If etiquette existed for such a situation, no one had told her. Nor had he been explicit. He would leave that for his secretary, she supposed.
She smiled noncommittally and stepped around the pedestal. Ten feet away, Gareth stood, watching.
Lord Whitmere acted as if nothing at all were untoward. He bowed to her. He nodded to Gareth. He returned to the ball.
Gareth tucked her arm around his and escorted her out. “I trust he was not importuning you behind that statue.”
“I am not sure thatimportuningis the right word.”
“How so?”
They settled into the coach and it moved down the street. “He cajoled me to stay in town for at least another week, or fortnight. Or longer.”
“In order to enjoy the pleasure of his company, I suppose?”
“Mostly to further my artistic studies, and meet important artists and other connections. To hear him speak of it, there is no other place for an artist to be.”
“There is an advantage, that is true. Not an insurmountable one. Nor do men ask women to stay in town for altruistic reasons alone. I think you know that.”
“Yes.” Other than a crisp tightness in his tone, he did not sound angry or jealous.
Of course not. If she could have no expectations of him, he would not have any of her. Gareth would be very fair about that.
So why did she want to hit him?
“Behind the statue, he was proposing a solution to my exceeding my welcome in your brother’s house. An alternative, so I could stay if I choose. One of his properties is vacant. A house just north of Cavandish Square. He is prepared to let it to me at a very good rent.”
“How good?”
“A shilling a month. I am to write to his secretary, a Mr. Hoburn, about it.”
Silence. No anger. No curses. Just Gareth sitting there, as if they discussed the weather.
After a moment, Gareth said, still in that cool, noncommittal tone, “An advantageous arrangement.”
Her breath caught. Her heart felt sick and angry and horribly disappointed.
The coach pulled up in front of Langley House. Fighting her emotions, she found the poise to enter the house with him. In the reception hall, Gareth gestured for the night footman to leave.
“You were among the loveliest women there tonight, Eva.” He moved to kiss her.
She stepped back. “You knew what he was considering about me, didn’t you? You joked about a man trying to buy me with a carriage and servants and jewels, but it was not really a joke.”
She felt tears brimming. For all the compliments, she felt insulted—but by Gareth, not Whitmere. “Did the two of you sit and plot it? Did you tell him about us, so he knew I was no innocent? Were you acting as his procurer?”
The anger that flared in his eyes made her cringe. “Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
His expression fell. He reached for her. She veered out of reach and stumbled away, blinded by tears. “Do not touch me. Do not.”
She ran up the staircase. At the top of the third set, she composed herself and wiped her eyes. Then she entered Sarah’s sitting room.
Sarah dozed in a chair. Rebecca had fallen asleep over a book in another one. With her entry, they both woke up.
