“Shopping? My dearest Franny, when have Ieverfancied shopping?” She was hopeless with the hats, gowns, ribbons, and furbelows that seemed to fascinate other ladies. “You know how fretful it makes me.” Not as fretful as dark-haired, pirate-like dukes in nothing but their shirtsleeves, but fretful enough.
“Yes, but I thought perhaps you might need a few things for this afternoon.” Franny gave her a meaningful look. “We’re to have Lord Stoneleigh for tea.”
Ah, yes. Lord Stoneleigh, speaking of things that made her fretful.
But that wasn’t quite fair, was it? It wasn’t Lord Stoneleighhimselfthat made her fretful. Just the prospect of marriage to him. She sighed. “Courtships are awkward things, aren’t they?”
“Under the circumstances, yes, I’m afraid so. But I think we must strike first, dearest. There aren’t many available gentlemen in Lord Stoneleigh’s circumstances. London’s mamas are already sharpening their claws for him.”
“Yes, I suppose they are.” Any one of their daughters would likely make him a better wife than she would, too. Was it even fair of her to be considering the marriage, when she was so reluctant?
Franny sighed and reached for her hand. “Now, Prue, there’s no need to look like that. It’s only tea, not a formal courtship. If you don’t like Lord Stoneleigh, we’ll find someone else for you.”
A brief silence fell, both of them seemingly lost in thoughts neither of them would say aloud.
Therewasno one else.
“You needn’t worry, Franny, because Idolike Lord Stoneleigh.” At least, she didn’t recall disliking him. She’d met him only once before, when she’d visited Franny in London at the end of last season. Aside from a vague recollection of a chatty gentleman with fair hair, she didn’t recall much about the man.
Still, she mustered a smile from somewhere and pasted it on her lips. “Indeed, I don’t know how any lady could object to such an, er . . . pleasant gentleman.”
Franny studied her for a moment, no doubt seeing at a glance everything Prue was attempting to hide, but all she said was, “I don’t fancy a shopping trip, after all. Let’s remain at home today, shall we? I’ve fetched a stack of books from the library I think you’ll enjoy, and you can finish your letter to your father. Will that suit?”
“Yes, that will do very well, indeed.” Between Lord Stoneleigh and the Duke of Montford’s scandalous earrings, a shopping trip to Bond Street might have sent her right over the edge. “Now, I believe you said something about apricot tartlets?”
CHAPTER4
“May I compliment you on your exquisite mantelpiece, Your Grace? Such fine white marble!” Lord Stoneleigh leaned closer to peer at the medallion carved into the center panel. “It’s in the Greek style, I believe?”
The Duke of Basingstoke, who’d already been compelled to accept Lord Stoneleigh’s compliments on the tapestry hanging in the entryway, the magnificence of the mahogany dining table, and the splendor of the Aubusson carpet under their feet, merely inclined his head.
“And that mantel clock! Why, it’s very like one I keep on my own mantel at home. Very like it, indeed!” Lord Stoneleigh pressed a hand to his chest, as if quite overcome by the glory of it. “Yours is far superior, of course. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a more handsome mantel clock in my life, Your Grace!”
This extravagant compliment was directed to the duchess, his lordship apparently having given up on the duke. Franny accepted it with more politeness than her husband, but her eyes were wide as they met Prue’s, and both ladies were obliged to look hastily away from each other before they gave themselves away with a grimace.
“Thank you, Lord Stoneleigh. You’re very kind. Tell me, how do your parishioners do?”
“Very well, indeed, Your Grace.” Lord Stoneleigh beamed. “The pews quite overflow of a Sunday. I consider their presence a hearty endorsement of my sermons, and can’t help but be flattered by it, as I’m sure you understand, Your Grace.”
“Of course. I believe the roof of the church was damaged by all the rains this past spring. Such a lovely building, All Saints Church! Have you any plans to see it repaired?”
“Er, no, not this year, I’m afraid, Your Grace. Next spring, certainly, the weather permitting, of course, though I daresay my loyal parishioners would even brave a leaky roof to attend my Sunday sermons.”
He launched into an effusive speech about the devotion of his parishioners and went on at such length Prue stopped listening after a time, lowering her gaze to her lap. She weaved her fingers together into a tight knot and concentrated on the stretch of her skin across her knuckles, but her heart continued to thrash madly against her ribs, like a panicked bird attempting to escape its cage.
Lord Stoneleigh was a good, decent man. He was a vicar, for goodness’ sake, and thus presumably a gentleman of sterling character. Neither was he a fool, despite his having waxed poetic about nearly every stick of furniture in the Duke of Basingstoke’s drawing room.
He was simply nervous, that was all. It wasn’t every day one dined with a duke, and Basingstoke was an imposing figure, and rather frightening, really, until one got accustomed to his blunt manner.
Lord Stoneleigh could even be said to be a handsome man, with his broad shoulders and the gleam of candlelight on his fair hair, and he did have a pair of handsome gray eyes. Not the soft, dreamy gray of foggy mornings, or the smoky gray of slightly tarnished silver, but the cooler gray of stone, or the steely gray of storm clouds, or—
Stop it. His eyes were perfectly fine. They weren’t cold or steely. It was merely a trick of the light that made them look so, and then only for an instant.
There wasn’t a single thing wrong with Lord Stoneleigh. Not a single thing.
She’d lost count of how many times she’d been obliged to repeat that to herself this afternoon, and it wasn’t fair to Lord Stoneleigh, who’d been as cordial as a gentleman possibly could be, with his polite enquiries about her journey to London and her father’s health.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known what she was getting herself into, coming here. She’d met Lord Stoneleigh at the end of last season, and he was much as she remembered him to be from her visit then, that is, a tall gentleman with fair hair, though she didn’t remember him being quite so . . . talkative?
