Page 42

“I hope she has intentions for me, too,” Preston went on, “I am eager to meet your younger wards. Word is that Miss Millicent is, ah...” He made a vulgar gesture in front of his chest. “Well-heaved.”

Asquith choked out a cough.

“Is Miss Lenora equally...”

“You cannot expect me to answer.”

“Suppose not,” Preston conceded. “I wouldn’t like you asking the same of Amelia.”

Preston’s conclusion had shown the right instinct. The boy had potential buried under his carelessness. Metal buried in mud.

Asquith had almost forgiven him, but then he added, “What’s the other one like?”

“You will refer to ‘the other one’ as Miss Lenora Wainwright. And she—” is not for you.

He stopped himself from speaking the words aloud.

Instead, he said, “She is a young lady who deserves your respect.”

Preston frowned. “You were the one who asked me on this excursion, remember? Why ask, if not to introduce me to your ward?”

“Your invitation came from my mother. And I have no idea what her plans involve.”

At the time his mother had suggested the outing, he’d been too angry about Lenora’s proposed visit to think of anything else. And his anger had left Lenora pained. He didn’t know quite what to do with a sincere, pained Lenora.

Feed her Gunter’s ice, he supposed.

“My mother may see you as a potential candidate.” Hell, she was probably already spinning wedding trousseau designs with the Hampton colors in mind. “But I think she wants Le—” Asquith stopped himself. “I believe she wishes Miss Lenora to meet a few more people her age before the Season begins.”

“Pity.” Preston’s shoulders slumped. “This morning, I told my sister I had a notion to take up your mother’s challenge.”

“You did?” And yet he had been talking of plows and ditties and bawdy houses?

“Got to be matched sometime, don’t I? My father’s been going on about seeing me settled.” He gave a careless shrug. “Your mother has instigated good matches for others.”

Asquith glanced askance, horrified. Becoming a mentor to the boy was one thing. Allowing him to court Lenora, quite another.

Asquith studied him more closely.

Preston was stylish. He was well-liked. Despite his flaws, Asquith had never seen him be anything but solicitous and respectful to his mother and sister.

If Asquith confined consideration to familial connections and potential, Preston was, in fact, an ideal candidate. However, Preston had also brought up The Plow, made advances to a reluctant milkmaid, commented on Millie’s chest, and praised Willard.

Damn his mother’s meddling. Lenora was not for this boy.

Preston wouldn’t have noticed Lenora was hungry, let alone done something about her discomfort. Then again, if Eliza and Millie hadn’t insisted, Asquith might not have noticed either.

“So?” Preston prompted. “What is Miss Lenora Wainwright like?”

Earlier, Asquith had, on purpose, left his answer dangling.

But had he withheld his answer because he didn’t know? Or had he withheld his answer because he didn’t want to share his thoughts about Lenora with anyone, especially an eager, eligible gentleman?

“Miss Lenora is...” A different person depending on the day.

But no. That wasn’t quite true. She did often mimic others, but she’d been consistent in their private meetings.

Consistently forthright. Consistently witty. Consistently perceptive. Consistently compelling.