The smile she blessed him with made his knees want to buckle. He cleared his throat, trying to break the spell she put him under. But he could not. His gaze followed her as the men parted and she moved to sit upon the settee.
A comely young woman who had accompanied Willamina’s entry stood off to the side. Lady Watson’s maid he presumed. Seeing the lass, Baron Battersby broke from the crowd and wandered off to the girl, his cheeks flushed as they began a conversation. Someone’s parents were going to be quite upset with their son when they found out he was visiting Buckwood Manor to hopefully court Lady Watson and instead took a liking to the maid.
But as Finlay watched them, he thought a match between them would suit them both. But who was he to say?
Smartly, Buchanan sat down beside his cousin, preventing the others from doing so.
“Lady Watson,” Graham approached. “Thank ye for seeing me today. Might I offer ye this?” He fished around in his jacket pocket and produced a small box. Willamina watched curiously and her eyes widened when she saw the box.
Surely, the chap would not be so forward as to ask for her hand already? And in front of so many other possible suitors. Well, only one possible suitor in Finlay’s eyes, but that was his opinion.
Opening the box, Willamina smiled. “’Tis lovely Lord Graham.”
He bowed stiffly. “Thank ye. My family owns a typesetting company and I found it fitting to offer ye a custom key from our finest designer. I hope ye enjoy it.”
She nodded and handed the box to her cousin. “Thank ye.”
He dipped his head in welcome as he stepped aside to allow Kelly to approach while he shot a look of triumph to Finlay.
Finlay gave him a smirk. The man was old enough to be her grandfather for God’s sake. Typesetting business or not, he would need a lot more than that to win over Lady Watson. Of that, Finlay was sure.
Still standing back, he watched the exchange between her and Kelly. She was sitting down and she hardly had to crane her neck to look the man in the eye. However, he too dug around in his pocket and offered her a gift.
What was it with the arriving with gifts? Had he truly missed that was proper etiquette now when trying to woo a lady?
If that were the case, he was undeniably empty-handed.
What was wrong with plain charm and rugged handsomeness?
Once again, polite as can be, Lady Watson accepted the gift with grace. It was almost as if she had been through the process before.
Her eyes settled on his, a dark brown brow lifting in invitation. He took that as his cue and moved forward.
“My lady,” he bowed low, his eyes never leaving hers. “I thank ye for seeing me, but I must confess, I have no gift to offer.”
Kelly scoffed. Willamina shot him a stern look and the man practically wilted into the corner.
“My lord. I dinna require any gifts. Though the thought is nice,” she added. “’Tis no’ necessary.”
He gave her a warm smile. “Well, since I canna make such an offering, I was hoping that ye would join me for a stroll through the gardens?” He vaguely remembered visiting the gardens at Buckwood at some point in his distant past.
Graham’s and Kelly’s heads snapped up at the invite, their brows drawn together in irritation. It was not Finlay’s fault that they came with gifts and no other plan.
“See, my lord, ye do have something to offer.”
He raised a brow in question. “Pardon?”
“Ye offer me your arm for a walk. What better offer than the gift of companionship?”
Well, if that did not have him straightening his cravat.
“Cousin,” she turned to Buchanan. “Will ye join us as chaperone or shall I take Joan?”
He looked at Joan, who was still in deep conversation with Battersby. And then looked at Graham and Kelly. After assessing their angered faces, he decided to let Joan accompany her whilst he dealt with the two men.
Finlay almost felt bad breaking the blossoming couple apart, but not enough to not do so. Battersby shot him a look, but then glanced at Lady Watson and it looked like a sense of dawning washed over the poor lad and he finally realized his mistake.
“Shall we?” Finlay asked, offering his arm.
