Particularly the aristocratic gentlemen.
Lord Gilbert was a bit awkward, yes, and he’d much better do away with the lurid coats, but goodness knew a man couldn’t always be accurately measured by his manner and clothing. Lord Wyle had been the epitome of the fashionable gentleman, and he’d turned out to be an utter scoundrel.
All that mattered was that Harriett was in love with Gilly, and he was equally besotted with her.
And what was love, if not an utter absurdity?
“Harriett is just over there, my lord.” Lady Fosberry nodded toward the other side of the lawn, where Harriett was speaking to a group of young ladies. “Do go and greet her, won’t you? She particularly asked that you be invited today.”
“Did she, then?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but tore across the lawn, the sun turning the bold blue of his coat nearly pearlescent. Goodness, that color quite seared one’s retinas, didn’t it?
She was no arbiter of fashion, but even she could see his dress was… not quite the thing.
Harriett didn’t seem to notice anything amiss in his appearance, however. Her face lit up like the sunrise at the sight of him, and she waved him over with all the eagerness of a lady who was madly in love. “Lord Gilbert! How do you do? Come, you must join us for a game of bowls.”
But if Harriett’s smile was the sunrise, Lord Fairmont’s frown was the thick, dark cloud that eclipsed it. He was too much the gentleman to scoff openly at Lord Gilbert, but neither could he quite hide his irritation as Gilly tripped clumsily across the lawn, nearly falling on his face in the process, and approached them. “A perfect day for bowls, eh? I’d love to?—”
“I’m afraid we’ve already made up the teams,” Lord Fairmont interrupted. “Too bad, Gilbert. Perhaps the next game.”
“Oh, of course. I beg your pardon. I don’t want to upset your teams.” Gilly glanced around, his cheeks flushing as he suddenly became aware that every eye was upon him, and noticed the smirks on the lips of several of the gentlemen. “I’ll just, er…”
“Euphemia? My dear child, have you gone deaf?”
“Hmmm?” Phee jerked her gaze away from Lord Gilbert to Lady Fosberry, who’d evidently said her name several times, judging from the impatient expression on her face. “I beg your pardon, my lady?”
“Goodness, you were a thousand miles away, child. I asked if you wanted some tea.”
“No, I…” She never finished the sentence, because the next thing she knew, she was on her feet.
She didn’t plan it. She wasn’t even aware she’d risen until she was halfway across the lawn. All she knew was that she recognized the embarrassment on Gilly’s face, the flush of humiliation, because she’d felt it herself, too many times to count.
“If you wish to play, Lord Gilbert, I’ll be your partner.”
No one was more startled than she was when those words fell from her lips, but it was worth it when Gilly turned to her, and his embarrassment melted into a relieved smile. “Oh, Miss Templeton. Are you sure you wish to play?”
“Perfectly sure, yes.”
“How good of you, Phee!” Harriett grasped her hand and gave it a thankful squeeze. “I couldn’t have enjoyed the game if poor Gilly were excluded.”
“Indeed, it’s ever so kind of you, Miss Templeton!” Gilly bumbled a bit as he tried to shake her hand, seemingly without having the dimmest notion that shaking a lady’s hand wasn’t at all the thing.
“Not at all, Lord Gilbert. I’m quite mad for bowls.”
“Oh, you must call me Gilly, Miss Templeton. I insist upon it.” He beamed at her. “All my friends do.”
“Very well.” She smiled at him. “Gilly, then.”
Lord Fairmont said nothing, but she could feel his hot gaze boring into the side of her face as she joined the party and accepted a bowl from Harriett.
She cast a withering glance at him, before turning to smile at Gilly. “I can’t think of anything more pleasing than an afternoon of bowls.”
“I do begyour pardon for being so hopeless at bowls, Miss Templeton.” Gilly offered her an uncertain smile. “Perhaps I should have confessed it when you so kindly agreed to partner me.”
Lord Gilbert was not— perhaps unsurprisingly —proficient at bowls. Still, what he lacked in skill, he more than made upin enthusiasm, and she couldn’t find fault with him. “Indeed, Lord Gilbert, you needn’t apologize. I can’t recall ever enjoying a game of bowls more.”
He grinned down at her. “Really? You don’t mind losing?”
“Not a bit.” They’d come in dead last, but she’d accepted their dismal ranking cheerfully. The point of any game was to enjoy oneself, after all, and this afternoon she’d laughed until her sides ached.
