She paused to run her fingertips over a lovely, royal purple dahlia, its ruffled petals tipped in pure white, spiraling from a yellow center like a starburst, and all at once a crushing sadness rolled over her, like a grim, dark cloud shutting out the sunlight and stealing every lingering bit of warmth, and… oh, it was unbearable, this wretched place, and dear God, were thosetearsstinging her eyes?
“Are you aware Lord Melrose is in London, Miss Templeton?”
Lord Melrose, inLondon? She halted in the middle of the pathway, alarm fluttering in her chest. What in the world was Lord Melrose doing in London? He was meant to be in Buckinghamshire, wooing Emmeline! “Is he, indeed? How does Lord Melrose do?”
A tiny, inexplicable smirk curled the corners of Lord Boggs’s lips. “Not well at all, I’m afraid. Indeed, he appeared to me to be a trifle despondent.”
“That’s a pity, my lord. I’m sorry for him.”Oh, no. What had happened? Had Emmeline refused poor Lord Melrose once and for all, and sent him back to London with a broken heart?
“Yes, it’s all quite terrible. I can’t say for certain, of course, as I am not in Lord Melrose’s confidence, but I believe I heard something about his being disappointed in love.”
“Disappointed?” Was it finished between him and Emmeline, then? Had she put an end to his courtship, and her sisters were afraid to tell her? Was that why Euphemia hadn’t written?
“Oh, dear. I see I’ve upset you, Miss Templeton. I’m desolated to give you even a moment’s concern, but it’s likely all gossip, without a shred of truth to it. I daresay you’d know better than I possibly could how things go between your sister and Lord Melrose.”
But shedidn’tknow. She didn’t know a blessed thing, and what other explanation could there be for the resounding silence from her sisters, if the worst hadn’t happened? What would become of Emmelinenow, and poor Lord Melrose, who’d offered himself to her so earnestly, and been so hopeful all would come right in the end?
“My dear Miss Templeton, I see you are greatly distressed, and I most humbly beg your pardon for my carelessness, but surely you know all hope is not lost?” He took her hand, and pressed his thumb into the center of her palm. “I promise you all will work out as it’s meant to in the end.”
This time, she did wrench her hand from his, her stomach roiling at the familiarity of his touch, the suggestiveness of it. “Forgive me, Lord Boggs, but I find myself rather fatigued, and must return to my bedchamber.”
She had to find Lady Fosberry at once. Her ladyship would know what to do.
“But of course, Miss Templeton. A rest will do you wonders, I’m certain.” He offered her another preening bow, a gleam in his watery blue eyes. “Until dinner, then, my dear.”
ChapterTwelve
“What delightful giblet soup this is, Lord Cross! Really, my lord, can you think of a single thing in the world more pleasing than a tender giblet?”
Hundreds of things, chief among them,silence.
“And such delicious vegetables! I’m certain I’ve never tasted more flavorful stewed peas than these, my lord, and these partridges are perfectly divine!”
Lady Cecil’s eldest niece was flirting with him. Either that, or she was having some sort of fit. It was difficult to tell which.
How the girl—a chit whose name he couldn’t have remembered if he’d had a pistol pointed at his temple—had ended up seated to his right at the table was a puzzle, likely orchestrated by the same dark forces who’d seen to it Juliet was seated as far away from him as physically possible, while they yet remained in the same room.
She was tucked so thoroughly away at the other end of the table he’d have to stand atop his chair to see her. Perhaps he would have, manners be damned if she’d looked in his direction even once throughout the entire meal, but she hadn’t.
Nor did she look at anyone else.
She sat quietly, her face pale, and her gaze fixed on her plate. She hardly ate a thing, despite the efforts of Lord Boggs, who was seated beside her, and paying her such marked attention Miles nearly overturned the dining table just to make itstop.
“Why, I’m perfectlymadfor boiled mushrooms! Aren’t you, Lord Cross?”
“Not in the least.” No one was mad for boiled mushrooms, for God’s sake.
But the more liberally his dinner partner partook of the wine served with each course, the more enthusiastic she became, and the more determined to engage his attention. His head was pounding by the time the second courses were brought in, and she… what thedevilwasher name? was shrieking about—
“Eels! Why, I’ve never tasted such mouthwatering eels, and these artichoke bottoms! Have you ever had nicer artichoke bottoms in your life, Aunt?”
“No, indeed!” Lady Cecil was more shrill than usual, her voice echoing in every corner of the dining room. “Do you keep a French chef, Lord Cross? I daresay you must, for no English cook could have produced plumper artichoke bottoms thanyours, my lord!”
He didn’t have a word to say on the subject of artichoke bottoms, so he said nothing, but his silence didn’t discourage Lady Cecil and her niece, who regaled him with eager compliments from one arduous hour to the next, while his footmen carried in dish after cursed dish, until dinner had dragged on into an eternity.
He’d never spent a more miserable evening in his life.
By the time the final course had been cleared and the ladies had retired to the drawing room, he seized his chance, and rose to his feet. “You’ll see to the gentlemen for a while, won’t you, Barnaby?”
