She’d never seen a man more mortified than he, or more apologetic, his face flushed with misery as he’d stood before them, with his hat clutched in his hands. He’d made such a pathetic picture, that she couldn’t find it in her heart to bear him a grudge.
“Phee? Are you coming?”
Harriett’s voice startled her from her musings, and she looked up to see they’d arrived at Fosberry House. “Yes, of course.”
She reached for her shawl, which had slipped from her shoulders and fallen to the floor of the carriage, then accepted the hand Lord Fairmont offered her, hiding her wince as her sore backside protested.
“Come, Euphemia.” Lady Fosberry called, bustling toward the house. “It’s straight to your bedchamber for you. James, if you’d be so good as to take her arm.”
“Miss Templeton.” Lord Fairmont offered his arm.
“Thank you, my lord. You acquitted yourself with admirable heroism this afternoon.”
“There was nothing heroic about it, Miss Templeton,” he replied curtly. “I did only what any proper gentleman would have done, under the circumstances.”
She glanced up at him. His blue eyes were so like Harriett’s, but he lacked his sister’s warmth, and unless she was mistaken, he’d just made rather a point of saying he hadn’t assisted her today forhersake. “Er, yes, of course.”
Once they reached the door, he gave her a cold bow. “I wish you a quick recovery, Miss Templeton.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“My dearest girl, you scared the life out of me today!” Lady Fosberry took her hand and hurried her upstairs to her bedchamber. “Are you quite sure you’re alright?”
“Yes, just a trifle sore. I daresay it looked a good deal worse than it was.”
“Yes, well, it looked perfectly appalling, I assure you. I nearly fell into a swoon. I’m afraid thetonwon’t soon forget it, either.” Lady Fosberry let out a sigh as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “The season hasn’t gotten off to a particularly promising start, has it?”
“I wouldn’t despair quite yet, my lady. Today’s mishap was regrettable, but it won’t impact Harriett’s prospects. She was merely an innocent bystander.”
“That’s, ah, not precisely true. You recall, Euphemia, that just before Lord Gilbert hailed us, I told you Harriett had developed atendrefor a gentleman other than Lord Farthingale?”
“Yes. You didn’t get a chance to say who, but whoever it is, I can’t imagine he could be any worse than… oh. Oh,no. You don’t mean?—”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Lord Gilbert?”
“Cecil Herbert, Viscount Gilbert. His acquaintances call him Gilly.”
“Buthow?”
Lady Fosberry gave a helpless shrug. “All I can tell you is that he and Harriett met at Lady Hampton’s house party this past summer, and soon enough they were inseparable.”
“My goodness. He’s not at all the sort of gentleman I imagined Harriett could ever fall in love with.” It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with Lord Gilbert, but he had none of the smooth gallantry of Lord Wyle, that had so dazzled Harriett.
He was a bit vulgar, and rather clumsy, as if he hadn’t yet worked out how to use his long limbs. His clothing was garish and ill-fitting, and his manner that of an overgrown boy— that is, much too eager to be fashionable.
“Yes, I thought it odd at first, too,” Lady Fosberry said. “But despite Gilly’s rather poor showing this afternoon, he’s a truly lovely gentleman.”
He did have a rather sweet way about him. “Then you approve the match?”
“I do, yes. Viscount Gilbert and Harriett have a great deal in common. They both lost their parents at a young age and were raised by overprotective guardians— an elderly maiden aunt,in Gilly’s case. Miss Gratrakes is a worthy woman, but rather a recluse, I’m afraid. Gilly was kept away from London and fashionable society throughout his childhood.”
“So that’s why he’s…”
“A bit of a bumbler? Yes. Well, that and he had the misfortune to fall in with a fast crowd at Oxford, who have encouraged his foibles for their own amusement. But you won’t find a kinder gentleman than Lord Gilbert. He’s rather a treasure.”
Ah. Now she understood how it was.
