Chapter Six
Willamina listened tothe introductions with half an ear and, her gaze just briefly meeting with the potential suitor before straying back to clash with Lord Primrose’s intense stare.
As he did yesterday, he stayed off to the side, watching all the interactions. Waiting his turn to approach after all the others had made their introductions.
She had boxes and pouches of gifts piled beside her. While she appreciated the gestures, she really had no interest and would find a way to have the items returned to whoever it was that had gifted them to her.
“My lady,” Primrose greeted, taking her hand in his and placing a kiss upon her knuckles, his blue eyes never leaving hers, while he let his lips linger just a tad longer than was proper.
She inhaled deeply, trying not to show how much he affected her.
“My lord,” she countered. “How verra nice to see ye again.” She wanted to say so much more. She wanted to tell him how she had hoped that he would call upon her again. But proper etiquette stopped her from doing so.
He dipped his head, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “I fear I canna go a day without calling upon ye.” The statement was loud and boastful. Meant for everyone to hear.
And hear they did, indeed.
Mumbling and grumbling erupted through the men gathered in the parlor.
“Primrose,” one of the men called. Willamina would love to say which one, but she could not.
She remembered not one of the names that were introduced to her before Lord Primrose approached her.
“Aye, Jackson. I havena seen ye about recently. Just arrived from your trip overseas I hear.”
The man nodded. “I have. But when I heard the lovely Lady Watson was on the marriage market, I had to ensure making the acquaintance.”
She blanched at his statement. She’d never felt like such an object to be bought and bartered with.
Lord Primrose frowned. “On the market? Ye talk of the lady as if she were some prized pig at the fair. Have some manners, man.”
Willamina clamped her hand on her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud. It was as if Lord Primrose had entered her mind and read her thoughts. Sir Jackson narrowed his brown eyes at Lord Primrose before mumbling a clipped apology and slinking to the other side of the room.
Catching Primrose’s gaze, she dipped her head ever so slightly to thank him for his defense. She longed for everyone to clear the room so they could be alone.
Gil was deep in conversation with someone whose name she also couldn’t remember and was completely ignoring her. Joan was off to her right, hanging back so as not to intrude. But Willamina would like naught more for her to do so. These men calling were exhausting. How long would this go on? She would do anything to make it stop.
“Lady Watson,” Primrose called loudly once again.
He really was making a show of things for everyone in the room.
“If it pleases ye, I have arranged for an informal picnic for us to share. Everything is set, and just waiting for my direction to place.”
He was offering her an escape from this room which she found to be positively claustrophobic. All these men that had been staring at her were now glaring at Primrose, so she enjoyed the brief respite of being the center of attention. That placement had always made her uncomfortable.
“I would verra much enjoy that, my lord.”
His wicked smile sent shivers down her spine as he held his hand out for her to accept.
The gasps of the men as they exited the room with Joan following closely behind was the icing on the cake.
The weather was warm, with the sun high in the sky as they walked across the gravel drive and away from the house. Ahead was her cousin’s prized fountain. Something he had commissioned from Italy. The white marble was buffed to a shine that glinted under the sun with huge fish forming an arch over a foaming ocean wave. It was not to her taste, but Gil loved it and talked about how he had come into possession of it whenever he could. She had heard him boast about the cost of it on more than one occasion since arriving at Buckwood Manor.
Usually, it sat alone, surrounded by green grass, in the middle of a sectioned off corner of the landscape to prevent anyone from touching it. Gil feared that the oils from people’s skin would damage the marble. She didn’t think that was possible but remained quiet whenever he mentioned it.
But today, the grass was covered with items for a picnic. On a large blanket, decorated with the light green and yellow colors of the Rosebery tartan, were teacups and saucers, scones, cakes, and fruits.
“’Tis beautiful, my lord.” She could count on her hands the times she had been to a picnic—none. Gerard was too busy withhis many paramours and his interests did not lie in romantic acts for Willamina. He would have never done such a grand gesture for her.
