With a shrug, she turned her head away, offering him her profile as she stared out across the lake while wisps of hair toyed against her cheek. “I have always favored my own company, for it allows me the peace and quiet that my soul seems to crave. I am not a social creature, Sir, and as a result, I have never made much effort to be noticed.”
“You are a wallflower then?”
She scrunched her nose a little in response to that question. “Yes. I suppose I am.” Meeting his gaze again, she added, “I am also quite fond of books. In case you were wondering.”
He hadn’t been, but was glad that she’d chosen to share the information with him nonetheless. Wanting to cheer her, he said, “Then I am the most fortunate of men.”
“How so?” she asked when he hesitated.
“Well... not only have I noticed you before anyone else, but I am also certain that you will be able to speak with me on matters of greater consequence than most.” Seeing her eyes brighten, he decided to try a bit of banter. “Unless of course your preferred reading material happens to be romance, in which case I am entirely doomed.”
She laughed, just as he’d hoped. Good lord, it seemed like a lifetime since he’d last heard someone laugh. The sound spilled over him, brightening his spirit as it lifted away the darkness.
“I must confess that I have read all of Jane Austen’s books.”
He couldn’t help but frown. “Then you have probably acquired some high expectations—expectations that no mortal man can ever hope to live up to.”
“I am not so certain of that,” she told him seriously.
Unconvinced, he stared out across the lake, his mood no longer as light as it had been a moment earlier. “Romance novels have nothing to do with reality.”
She was silent a moment before saying, “Perhaps if you read some of these books yourself, you will find that the heroes win the heroines through virtuous acts like honesty, loyalty, common decency, and a healthy dose of insightfulness, none of which are beyond the reach of any man.”
“Point taken.” Shifting, he turned more fully toward her. “But you must not forget that in these novels the heroes always happen to be outrageously wealthy and... extremely handsome—a state of being which certainlyisbeyond the reach ofmostmen.”
“Aha! So youhaveread MissAusten’s books! Admit it!” She punctuated her words by jabbing him playfully in the chest with her finger.
A shock of heat darted through him. Unprepared for it, he instinctively stiffened; astounded by the effect that simple touch had had on him. What was it she had said? With difficulty, he put his muddled mind in order and, realizing that she was staring at him expectantly, said, “I suppose I might have stumbled upon a copy or two when I had nothing else with which to occupy myself.”
She smiled wryly. “Then you are probably also aware that much of the romance in these books is derived from the possibility that a woman of few means can—by proving her worth—attract the attentions of a notable gentleman. In turn, he allows his heart to lead him into marriage regardless of what Society might think of the matter. The stories are clearly based onCendrillon, which of course is the perfect formula for any fairy tale.”
He couldn’t help but be intrigued. “How so?”
She expelled a deep breath. “Because it suggests that the impossible can be attained if we are willing to fight for what we want, make the necessary sacrifices and simply believe...”
Her optimistic outlook was endearing, though he was not so sure that he agreed with it. “You do not consider it wrong for women—or even men—to suppose that the path to happiness is that simple? That there is a secret formula that, if followed, will result in a happily-ever-after?”
“Based on a few observations I have made, I have concluded that love matches are more possible than we allow ourselves to believe. Especially among the middle and lower classes where financial alliances are not so prevalent.”
“So what you are saying is that the less wealthy someone is, the more likely they are to marry for love?”
“It should not be the case, but I daresay that it is.” She fell silent for a moment as if pondering an idea. “Perhaps the greatest problem among our set is our expectation.”
Determined to keep an open mind, he tried to follow this hypothesis. “You think that marriages are doomed to fail before they even begin because couples enter into them with preconceived ideas?”
“Precisely,” she said, her eyes brimming with the awareness of mutual understanding. “Aristocrats are raised to believe that love is secondary to wealth, status, and a desirable title. They are taught that they will one day marry for the latter and that they will likely live separate, though comfortable, lives as a result.”
Richard considered this. He could clearly see the point she was making and found himself agreeing with her view. “Perhaps if they were not so biased from the start, then they would have a greater chance of finding common interests, resulting in more time spent together, which would inevitably lead to some measure of respect and perhaps even love.”
“At the very least they would probably be more happy than not.”
Impulsively, Richard reached for her gloved hand and enfolded it in his own, amazed by the sizzling energy spreading from that simple point of contact. “You must give me a name—some means by which to address you properly.”
A moment of silence passed between them before she said. “When I ordered my gown for this evening, I was inspired by a painting in my bedchamber. I believe it is meant to represent Eleanor of Aquitaine, so I suppose that you can call me Lady Eleanor, if you wish.”
“Then you may call me Signor Antonio,” he said, supplying her with the same name he’d given Lady Duncaster.
With a secretive smile upon her lips, she said, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Signor.”
