Page 16 of The Luckiest Lady in London

He was becoming rather fond of the old woman—certainly a ferocious champion for her charge. “How unforgivable of me,” he answered lightly. “Miss Cantwell, may I be so forward as to mention how exquisite you look today?”

She glanced up, a soft blush upon her cheeks, and a bright, bright light in her eyes.

Which he realized the next moment was less arousal than a reflection of the panic simmering inside her. So she did feel it, the prospect of a good marriage slipping farther from her grasp with each passing day.

To his surprise, he experienced a twinge of guilt. Perhaps even a stab of it. But nothing strong enough to lead him to apologize. Or reconsider his plans.

“You are too kind, sir,” she murmured.

“Now, now, Louisa,” Lady Balfour objected. “Don’t be so grateful. Lord Wrenworth has committed not a kindness, but a faux pas. And he must now make up for it by escorting you for a round in the park.”

Had he paid Lady Balfour in advance, she could not have better performed her function.

Miss Cantwell objected modestly. “I’m sure Lord Wrenworth has no such—”

“I am determined to commit a multitude of faux pas in the future, if my penances all prove to be so sweet. Miss Cantwell, may I have the pleasure of your company for a short walk?”

“Yes, you may,” Lady Balfour answered for her. “Now, off you go to speak of what young people speak of these days.”

* * *

“You should not give her such hope,” said Miss Cantwell, as they left Lady Balfour’s earshot.

She really did have a pretty walk, as if she were gliding, with just enough sway to her hips to give interest to her movement.

“I can truthfully avow I have never done anything to give her hope,” Felix answered her charge, a tiniest bit of smugness to his tone.

She heard it. “I have noticed. At the end of the Season, when she looks back and wonders why there is no proposal from you, she will see that every time we have been thrust together, it has been as a favor either to Lady Tenwhestle or herself—and that you have never sought me out on your own.”

“I hope you would approve—that a man in my position does what he can to avoid marrying by accident.”

Her parasol twirled. “I have no doubt you will be ultimately held blameless, but you cannot convince me that you are not aware of the hope you are sowing in Lady Balfour’s heart.”

“I will hold myself forgivable as long as I am not sowing those hopes in your heart,” he answered glibly. And then, in a moment of genuine curiosity, “Am I?”

“I do not pretend to understand what drives your interest in me, save to know that it is not the kind that leads to a church.”

Clever, clever girl. He beamed at her. “Then I need have no fear.”

They passed the cluster of young men and women playing blindman’s buff. Mr. Pitt was among them, standing next to Miss Lovett. He cast a glance of unhappy longing toward Miss Cantwell.

“Any—” Felix began.

“No,” Miss Cantwell said simply.

“A pity. When Parliament repealed the Corn Laws, I’m sure all the eminent gentlemen who voted in favor never thought their decision would have such repercussions on your marital aspirations.”

“You forgot to mention the gentlemen who made rail and steam transportation ever faster and cheaper, as well as those who modernized agricultural machinery,” she replied glumly. “They, too, were not thinking of the future impoverishment of all the English squires who would have otherwise made wonderful husbands for me.”

“The entire course of recent history seems to have been conspiring against you.”

“At this point, I would not be surprised.” She was silent for a few breaths. “And why, exactly, are you, sir, interested in my progression—or lack thereof—toward matrimony? You do not wish to marry me yourself, so that cannot be a reason. Despite our unusually frank discussions on the topic, you are no friend of mine, so that also cannot be a reason. Try as I do, I cannot think of anything else.”

At last, an open salvo. They were reaching quite another level of intimacy, he and Miss Cantwell. “Do you spend a great deal of time pondering my motives?”

The handle of her parasol turned faster. “Sometimes. Does that gratify you?”

Yes. And how. “Sometimes.”