Page 18 of Forgotten No More

“Your attractiveness is not in question.” She wanted to take the words back as soon as they left her mouth; the unintended compliment took their conversation to a new level. A level neither of them wanted, least of all herself. “What I mean to say is your physical attractiveness is not what gives you away.”

“Go on.” He took two glasses, handed one to Ruby, and steered them toward the terrace doors. “I find this conversation rather stimulating.”

“Well, you are wearing last season’s fashion.”

“All right, yes, I did have this suit jacket tailored to fit last year,” he confessed. “But your dress does not appear out of date.”

Ruby looked down at her borrowed dress. “Oh, no. Not this dress. You are correct. This one is new, but I fear not mine to claim. This is compliments of Lady Haversham…and possibly her pity.”

“Come now,” he said. “Lady Haversham in no way pities you, her dearest friend.”

“Then explain why her maid appeared at my door one hour before we departed with this dress and matching ribbon?”

“She believed the color would match your complex—”

“Exactly her reasoning, and why I know it is with feelings of pity that she loaned it.” She’d told herself all evening this was not true. And she’d almost tricked herself into believing it.

“Be that as it may, you truly do look stunning.”

“Thank you.” Her face felt flushed at his continued attention. “Also, you arrived in a hired hack this evening.”

“Very observant. I dare hope not every member of the ton is as watchful as yourself, yet I am flattered that you see fit to keep such a close eye on my comings and goings.”

“As you said, most do not acknowledge our existence. That is, until one of their children takes a liking to us. Then they become as sharp-eyed as a hawk looking for his next meal.”

“Are you proposing that my pleasing looks and stellar personality are not enough to distract a fair maiden from the fact that we must walk to a ball because I am unable to afford a conveyance suitable for her—or any conveyance at all?” he asked with an utterly straight face.

Ruby was unsure if he jested, but the image it brought to mind had her smiling.

“What?” he asked with a startled expression. “You would not appreciate the exercise of walking about town? I promise I would carry all your shopping packages—that is, if either of us had the extra coin to purchase something. I fear you would have to cut and sew our clothes before long.”

The conversation immediately conjured unwelcome thoughts. She pictured herself living with Harold at the vicarage not far from where she’d grown up. The image surprised her—in it she appeared content and happy. “Oh, but we would be unable to attend city life living so far from town. And I dare say I would be mending the neighboring lord’s knickers to put food upon the table.”

“No wife of mine will handle the knickers of another man—and especially not for money.” He sounded affronted, and again she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of their conversation.

“Then I fear we will both starve, and the children will be off to some dreadful orphanage.”

He stopped in his tracks, a few steps from the terrace doors. “Children? I have not asked you properly to marry me and you are already envisioning our children?”

She knew now that he jested, but could not help but sober as they eyed each other.

“Does the notion truly sound so dreadful?” he asked, more softly now.

“It is not that—”

“Then what?”

She broke eye contact and moved toward the doors and blessed fresh air, Harold close behind her. “It’s not something I’ve planned for myself. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh, what every woman says. ‘It isn’t you, it is myself.’” His voice rose to mimic the light, whiny voice of a woman.

She stepped outside, the warm night air washing over her. “Is that how I sound? And when has a woman ever told you that?”

Harold again grasped her elbow, angling her toward the steps leading in to the garden and away from the crowd milling the terrace. “There have been too many to name.”

His words took her by surprise. What woman would turn him away? If he were pursuing her—and she could accept said wooing—she would count herself lucky.

But he wasn’t pursuing her.