Edmund grimaced as if in pain. “I don’t have any lady friends.”
The next morning Edmund took her for a drive in Hyde Park. “It’s not a busy time of day in the Ring, but if I should spy any acquaintances of mine, would you like to meet them, Caro?”
“No, Edmund, no. Please.”Pleathe.
Her brother frowned. “Fine. We’ll take the closed carriage and have Russell drive us.”
And so Caroline’s first glimpse of Hyde Park in thirteen years was through a carriage window as her brother sat back and brooded. This had been a mistake. How was Caroline ever going to find him a wife unless she forced herself to be brave and meet people?
“I’m sorry, Edmund. We can take the open carriage when we g-g-go for a drive again.”
A faint trace of a smile on his face. “Good.”
They returned to the town house and after luncheon, she went to her room, planning to take a nap because tonight—tonight!—her brother was taking her to the theater. But as Jones was unlacing her stays, a knock came at the door. A footman passed the message that his lordship needed her ladyship down in the drawing room.
Her brother needed her? Perhaps some discussion of tomorrow’s plans. He had said they might go to a bookseller’s soon.
Jones helped her put back on her black bombazine, and she went downstairs, thinking she should make a list of the books she wanted. Lavinia followed her.
Caroline saw her brother when she entered the drawing room.
Then she sawhim.
The rogue.
Damnation. She should have foreseen this possibility and prepared herself.
Phineas was facing away from her, but she knew that broad set of shoulders, that silver hair, those round buttocks interrupting a smooth fall to the vent on his tailcoat. Surely, with so much care to a perfect fit everywhere else on his body, that peek at his rear afforded by his tailcoat was intentional? Damn him and his tailor.
“Caro, do you remember my friend Phineas Edge, the Earl of Burchester? He says he danced with you at a ball when you were seventeen. Phineas, this is my sister, Lady Caroline Haskett.”
Her brother crossed to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. How kind of him to do that. They were not a family who expressed physical affection, but perhaps that might be changing now. His hand there made her feel a bit bolder. She drew herself up. She was equal to this encounter.
Phineas turned and grinned. Lavinia immediately went up to him and put her nose in his groin.
“Oooh,” Phineas said, looking down and backing up slightly just as Caroline barked out, “La!”
The bloodhound begrudgingly moved her nose away from Phineas’ bulge and looked at Caroline as if to sayAre you sure? This seems very nice.
Caroline snapped her fingers and pointed at the floor and Lavinia very slowly walked over to Caroline and lay down, looking even sadder than usual.
“The bloodhound’s name is La?” Phineas asked.
“Lavinia,” Edmund said.
“Ah. Miss Lavinia. Lady Caroline.” Phineas bowed.
Caroline curtsied and suddenly discovered she was wrong. She was not equal to this encounter. She could not sayLord Burchester. She could not. Only a few seconds later did she remember she might have saidmy lordinstead. Still, her sudden onslaught of anxiety was so great she likely would have muffedmy lord, getting hung up on theemofmyfor an eternity.
However, Phineas let no more than a moment pass before speaking again. “First, let me offer you condolences on the death of your father. I know that must have been a very great loss.”
She blinked.
He went on, easily, smoothly. “Your brother tells me you have been enjoying London and have already visited the art exhibition at the Pall Mall gallery. However, he said you were not able to see all the paintings. It’s a shame because there are some particularly fine ones near the end, and, perhaps, at some point, with an appropriate chaperone, you might allow me to escort you back to the exhibition so I might point out my favorites and, of course, I would be delighted to discover which ones were yours.”
She would never go to an exhibition with him. Once there, what would she say? How would she say it?
However, in typical Phineas fashion, he did not wait for a response from her but carried on speaking in his buttery, low voice.
