Furthermore, there would be no more guesses from her. She would simply tell him she’d run out of guesses and then begin giving him the names of ladies who would make excellent wives. Honestly, that’s what they should have done from the start. Whose idea had it been to play a guessing game?
Meredith took a deep breath. Exhaling, she scoured the ballroom for Griffin one last time.
He wasn’t there.
A quarter hour later,she was still searching for him. Griffin wasn’t in the foyer or the drawing room. He certainly wasn’t in the ballroom, and Lord Hemworth’s study had been vacant when she’d walked by.
She’d already looked nearly everywhere in the house. It was time to go outside. Perhaps he was in the gardens.
She entered the Hemworths’ grand library and marched over to push open the French doors that led out to the balcony that wrapped around the back of the house. When she stepped into the cool night air, a slight breeze ruffled the wispy hairs at the nape of her neck. The scent of lilies floated along the breeze. She breathed it in. Her favorite scent. She scanned the space, seeing a familiar, tall figure at the far edge along the stone balustrade. Griffinwasthere, outfitted in his all-black evening attire. He looked so handsome and so…alone.
“There you are,” she called as she made her way to stand next to him. “What are you doing out here?”
He turned to her, and his face softened in the way it always did whenever he looked at her. It was comforting and familiar. Just like Griffin. She always felt safest when she was in his company. A lump formed in her throat when she thought of a day in the not-too-distant future when he would be married and no longer hers.
“Getting some air,” he replied. “How is Gemma?”
“I’m happy to report that the last time I saw her she was dancing with Lord Timberly.”
“Timberly? Good chap.” Griffin nodded. “Is he invited to your dinner party?”
“Yes,” Meredith assured him. “And she seemed to enjoydancing with him, though I’m certain she shall return to her wallflowers directly afterward.”
His smile faded. “There’s no talking her out of it if her mind is made up.”
“Yes. She has the Southbury Stubborn Streak, I’m afraid.”
Griffin rolled his eyes. “As ifyou’renot stubborn.”
“Not nearly as stubborn as you are. Here. Your cravat is askew.” She reached up to fix the neckcloth for him, and the scent of his familiar cologne caught her nostrils. Their eyes met and she couldn’t look away. A shudder went through her body. Was it her imagination or did a tremor go through his? She quickly fixed the cravat and stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself as she turned to stare out into the inky darkness.
She shook herself. “What were we discussing?”
“I believe you were telling me my cravat was askew,” came Griffin’s deep voice.
She shook her head once more. “Before that.”
“You were telling me I’m stubborn.”
“Oh, yes, and Gemma is equally stubborn, which is precisely why the dinner party is a good idea. If we leave it to her, she’ll spend the next five Seasons finding matches for everyone but herself.”
“That sounds like Gemma,” Griffin replied, chuckling.
“I’ve sent the invitations. All to eligible bachelors, of course. And a few well-chosen ladies.”
“Thank you,” Griffin said, inclining his head.
“Hopefully, Gemma will use the dinner party to learn more about the gentlemen and who she is most compatible with.”
Griffin lifted his brows. “You’re quick to look for matches for both Gemma and me, but what about you?”
Her head snapped to face him. “What do you mean?”
“Why aren’t you looking for a husband of your own?” Griffin’s voice was tight, harsh.
Meredith’s eyes went wide. “What? You know perfectly well that I—” God. She was as nervous as a hare in a trap. But perhaps this was just the opening she needed to make her intentions clear. “I will never marry again.Never.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “Yes. You’ve said many times that you don’t intend to marry again, but why is that, Mere?Reallywhy?” His voice sounded nearly accusatory.
