“Am I intruding upon your solitude?”
“No. But thank you for inquiring. Were you looking for some solitude and found me here instead?” She stood and smoothed her skirts. “I apologize, and I will find another place, if so. It’s just... that it’s peculiar to feel alone in a ballroom absolutely crowded with people. I am a bit nervous, and I felt very conspicuous, although every third woman here tonight is in white muslin.”
“While that may indeed be true, your sleeves strike me as exceptional.”
Her lips curved in a somewhat rueful smile. “I’m beginning to feel quite foolish about hiding near plants, to tell you the truth.” The pink in her cheeks had darkened.
Sympathy panged him with surprising force.
He hesitated. “If it will make you feel any better... I confess it’s a habit of mine to find a moment alone when I’m obliged to spend hours in a crowd. Especially before or after a speech. I have a favorite bench in a little park just outside the Commons. It’s tucked between two scowling lion statues. Passersby can scarcely tell the three of us apart.”
He’d never, ever confessed this to another soul.
In revealing this he felt strangely as though he’d just inappropriately removed an article of clothing. It occurred to him that he seldom shared the minutiae of his life with anyone. And yet thousands of people all over England thought they knew him. The anonymity at the eye of fame had long suited him.
But he was pleased when she smiled. She absently waved her fan beneath her chin and studied him, her eyes soft and sympathetic and curious.
“Are you ever nervous before you give a speech?”
“I’m often deadly nervous.” He’d never confessed this to another soul, either. He doubted anyone even suspected. “But the nervousness seems to evaporate once I get started, and then once I’ve momentum, it’s almost better than—well, it’s tremendously satisfying.”
She pulled in a deep breath, then exhaled at length. As if she’d found relief in his words.
It seemed absurd to view his weaknesses as strengths simply because she’d found comfort in them. To suddenly be grateful to have something to offer her.
“It strikes me as a very brave thing,” she ventured, eyes starry, “to stand up before so many people to speak, even when you’re so nervous.”
He wasn’t prepared to concede he was bravein any sense of the word. Nor did he particularly want to encourage adulation. But it was difficult not to bask a little in the admiring light in her eyes. “Perhaps.”
The ensuing pause was the perfect moment for him to make his bow and take his leave.
Somehow this intention failed to communicate itself to his legs.
“Lord Kirke?” she ventured. “I’ve something a bit delicate to ask of you.”
He stiffened warily. Hell’s teeth. He should have obeyed his instinct to bolt.
Her face lit with amusement. “My goodness. Your expression! I apologize for putting it that way. It’s just... I know that Lady Wisterberg is not a suitable chaperone...”
“Good manners prevent me from outright agreeing, Keating,” he said dryly. “But I suspect you have guessed my views on the matter.”
She cleared her throat. “I’d hoped... I’d hoped you would not mention it to anyone. Her... ah... delinquency, that is.”
“Because you’d be obliged to leave London as you are essentially unchaperoned at balls.”
“Yes.”
“Very well, then. I promise I will not report it to the magistrate in charge of monitoring maidens.”
She gave a soft laugh. “Thank you. It’s just... I find that I do not want to leave London just yet. Not until I’ve... well, I’d like to see it through. I should like to give the season my very best effort.”
“I approve of your ambition, Keating. And in light of your aspiration, I likewise feel compelled to advise you that you should not reveal that I am currently living one floor above you.”
She paused. “I gathered that,” she replied gently.
The pause was interesting. This made him wonder, ironically, which rumors she’d heard about him. And whether what she’d heard had repelled or intrigued her.
On the whole, it was probably for the best that she not take to thinking of him as her pet MP.
