“Lord Prestwick,” Watkins announced, then withdrew.
“Christopher.” Lady Fosberry beamed at him as he entered the drawing room. “It’s kind of you to call on us this morning.”
“My lady.” He offered her a bow, then turned to the elder Miss Templeton. “How do you do this morning, Miss Templeton?”
“Very well, my lord, thank you.” She gave him a polite nod, then went back to the lace she was mending.
He turned, his traitorous heart thumping, and there, seated on a silk settee the same color blue as her eyes was Mathilda Templeton, a demure smile on her lips, and every one of her rich chestnut curls in place. “Good morning, Miss Mathilda.”
“Lord Prestwick.” She inclined her head, but didn’t raise her gaze from the embroidery in her lap.
She’d exchanged last night’s pink silk ballgown for a plain white cambric dress with some sort of frill around the neck. There was no reason it should have held his attention— young ladies all over London were wearing similar plain white day dresses as they received their callers, but for some reason he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from that ridiculous frill, and the way the soft white cambric brought out the creaminess of her skin—
“My niece will be disappointed she was obliged to miss your call this morning.” Lady Fosberry poured out a cup of tea, and offered it to him. “Tea, my lord?”
“Yes, thank you.” He cast a surreptitious glance around the drawing room as he took the saucer. How had he not noticed that one face was missing from this sweet, domestic circle? Lady Harriett was nowhere to be seen. “I do hope Lady Harriett isn’t unwell,” he murmured.
“Not at all. She’s perfectly well, only a trifle fatigued.” Lady Fosberry gave him a bright smile. “The first ball of the season can be a bit overwhelming for young ladies who’ve never been to London before, as you can imagine, Christopher. We thought it best if she rested this morning.”
They thought it better sherested? During calling hours, after the first ball of the season?
He glanced from Lady Fosberry to Mathilda, but she’d become intensely preoccupied with picking an invisible speck of dust from her skirts, and didn’t meet his eyes.
Ah. He’d been hoping for a sign from Lady Fosberry regarding his interest in Lady Harriett, and here it was. She didn’t like the match.
“I daresay it was too much dancing,” Mathilda said, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen. “Do you know, Lord Prestwick, that Harriett danced every dance last night?”
“Indeed, I did know. If you recall, Miss Mathilda, you informed me of it last night.” She’d chased him off before he’d gotten within twenty paces of Lady Harriett.
“Oh, yes. I remember now. The only guest who danced more than Harriett wasyou, Lord Prestwick.” She kept her gaze on her lap, but her lower lip was caught between her teeth, and the corners of her mouth were twitching.
Was she laughing at him?
“It was excessively kind of you to dance with all five of the Arundel sisters, my lord.”
Shewaslaughing at him, by God, and enjoying herself immensely, the infuriating chit.
“Harriett was ever so grateful for the lovely flowers you sent this morning,” she went on. “Indeed, they were so pretty, and their scent so heavenly I couldn’t resist taking them up to her bedchamber, so she might enjoy them.” She glanced up from rearranging her skirts, her blue eyes dancing. “Lord Wyle’s weren’t nearly so nice.”
“We don’t compare one gentleman’s flowers with another’s, Tilly,” Lady Fosberry said, though she appeared more amused than anything else.
“Not to the gentleman with the lesser flowers, no. I wouldn’t dream of saying such a thing to Lord Wyle, I assure you.”
Lady Fosberry snorted, but Miss Templeton frowned at her sister. “That’s quite enough, Tilly.”
Of course, that gentle scold wasn’t enough to quiet Mathilda. “Lady Fosberry tells me you have the most delightful hothouses at Prestwick House, my lord.”
“Are you interested in flowers, Miss Mathilda?” He didn’t know a blessed thing about flowers, but he and Mathilda Templeton had some unfinished business between them. What better place to discuss it than Prestwick House? “I don’t pretend to know much about the hothouses, or the flowers and plants there, but I’d be pleased to show them to you, Miss Mathilda.”
There, that sounded harmless enough.
She hadn’t expected the invitation, nor did she look pleased by it. She was biting her lip as if she wished she’d never mentioned the blasted flowers at all. “It’s, er, kind of you to offer, Lord Prestwick, but I daresay my sister won’t approve of—”
“Nonsense,” Lady Fosberry interrupted. “Let her go, Euphemia. Lord Prestwick will take good care of her, won’t you, my lord?”
He glanced down at Mathilda, and curled his lips in a slow smile. “Indeed.”
“I don’t see any harm in it.” Miss Templeton smiled at her sister. “Just for a short time.”
