Perhaps he wouldn’t make a proper mentor for Lord Gilbert, after all. The last thing London needed was another unbearably arrogant gentleman.
She grumbled to herself as she made her way slowly down the stairs, taking care not to glance toward the knot of laughing young people who were making a great commotion over choosing their teams and selecting their bowls.
“My, that is a fierce frown, Euphemia.” Lady Fosberry shaded her eyes from the sun as Phee approached. “Why so sour, my dear? And on such a pleasant day, too.”
“I’m not at all sour, I assure you.” Phee plopped down into the chair beside her ladyship, and under the guise of adjusting her skirts, took a moment to smooth her expression into its usual attitude of calm complacency.
It took more effort than it should have done.
If Lady Fosberry noticed, she didn’t mention it, saying only, “You don’t wish to play?”
For pity’s sake, why was everyone so insistent she play at bowls? “No. They’ve already got five teams of two players each. I’ll only upset the numbers if I play.”
She’d be the odd one out, the spare. It was a position that had become increasingly familiar to her after her sisters had all married. She seemed to be forever on the outside, observing life unfold at a distance.
Not that she minded it, of course. She was fine as she was, observing from the sidelines.
Really, she preferred it here.
“If you wish to play, Euphemia, I’ll partner you. I daresay we’d beat them all handily.” Lady Fosberry tapped her lip, considering it. “Perhaps I should offer a prize for the winners.”
“No, thank you, my lady. I’m perfectly content as I am.” She did enjoy playing bowls, but she didn’t fancy an afternoon trapped under Lord Fairmont’s keen eye.
“Very well, then. If you’re not going to play, shall we have some refreshments? I do adore those almond biscuits cook has?—”
“Lady Harriett! Oh, Lady Harriett!”
The booming voice echoed across the lawn, cutting through all the chatter, and for a moment an abrupt silence fell over the party as every head turned at once toward the terrace.
There, at the top of the stairs stood Lord Gilbert, wearing a bright, sky blue coat over a pink satin waistcoat, a fall of extravagant ruffles at his wrists and throat.
“Oh, dear,” Lady Fosberry murmured, leaning close to Phee. “Whatever is he wearing?”
“I believe it’s a coat. It’s, ah, very bright, is it not?”
“Lady Fosberry! Thank you ever so much for the invitation, my lady!” Gilly approached and shook Lady Fosberry’s hand with enough vigor to tear her arm from its socket. “You look exceedingly well, my lady. What a great relief it is to me, to find you’ve suffered no ill effects from our mishap the other day.”
If Lady Fosberry thought his lordship’s greeting a bit too enthusiastic to be proper, one couldn’t tell it from the gracious smile she bestowed upon him. “I’m very well, indeed, Lord Gilbert.”
“Wonderful, my lady, wonderful!” A beaming smile bloomed on the viscount’s flushed face. “You can’t imagine how pleased I am to hear it. Miss Templeton! How lovely to see you today!”
“How do you do, Lord Gilbert?”
“Very well, indeed. It’s a pretty day, is it not?”
“Very pretty, yes.” She blinked, dazzled by the bright blue glare assaulting her eyes.
Goodness, that coat was… well, she couldn’t quite articulate it, but it had quite scrambled her brain.
Dear God. If there was ever a gentleman in need of fashion advice, it was poor Lord Gilbert. He was… how did one put it if they didn’t wish to be unkind?
He was… eccentric? Yes, that was a proper word for him. Viscount Gilbert waseccentric. Some might even call him peculiar.
But what did it matter?
Despite his manners, it was difficult to fault so agreeable a gentleman, or one so eager to make a favorable impression. He had none of the arrogance or thin-lipped condescension of so many of theton.
Her gaze wandered over to Lord Fairmont.
