Page 39 of The Lady Was Lying
“What else do you require to convince you?” Belinda challenged.
“That he like me in return.”
Belinda wanted to roll her eyes again. “Make him like you.”
“It isn’t that simple,” Jane responded. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m beginning to think you don’t know much about courtship.”
“I’m beginning to think so too.”
It had seemed so much easier in her head. Apologize to the duke. Nudge him and Jane together a handful of times. Watch them fall in love. Celebrate their nuptials.
Retire to the country and wallow in peace.
“I can’t believe you’re going to accompany us when we have an engagement.”
“Not all the time,” Belinda warned. “And you might not appreciate it once it’s happening.”
“Nonsense. Your company is always delightful.”
“Ha. We’ll see,” Belinda replied, less than happy with her progress, but just as committed to succeeding as she’d been when she climbed out of bed.
Hyde Park had not yet been completely overrun by the fashionable crowd, but neither was it empty as James strode along one of the many pathways looking for Emmeline and Arianna. He hadn’t located them yet when he was loudly hailed by Lord Rutherford.
“Your Grace,” the portly gentleman called, his voice booming across the open space.
Unable to convincingly pretend he hadn’t heard, James halted, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun as the other man hurried toward him, a young woman trailing behind. Lord Rutherford had been a friend of his father’s when they had been young men, and he had regaled James with stories from the past when they’d first been introduced. They had encountered each other a handful of times since then, but never in mixed company.
“Allow me to present my daughter, Lady Catherine,” Rutherford said when he came to a halt, puffing up his chest and lengthening his neck in such a way that was clearly meant to be imposing.
“Lady Catherine,” he murmured, taking her gloved palm between his fingers and brushing his lips upon the back of her hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Your Grace,” she cooed, latching onto his arm as soon as he dropped her hand. “The pleasure is mine.”
Nearly a head shorter than him, she was swathed in pale pink from head to toe. Her bonnet and the sliver of gown that he could see were a slightly lighter hue than her pelisse, and even the flush of her cheeks was a complimentary shade of pink.
She was the embodiment of an English Rose. Demure. Unassuming. Pretty. By all accounts, he should be intrigued by her.
“Papa and I were about to take a turn about the park,” she said, batting her lashes.
“It is ideal weather to stretch one’s legs,” James murmured. The cold spell had snapped, and the temperature had risen enough to suggest that spring had arrived.
“I always say that a bit of exercise is good for the constitution,” Lord Rutherford declared quite loudly, his head swiveling left and then right as if he were hoping they were being watched. “Your Grace, you should join us.”
“Oh yes,” Lady Catherine added, her eyes wide and pleading. “Please join us.”
Even though he was due to meet Emmeline shortly, it seemed unforgivably rude to decline, especially since he intended to stay in the park with his sister and her daughter.
“It would be my pleasure,” he replied.
“You honor us.” A guileless smile appeared on her face as she slid her hand along his forearm and tucked it into the crook of his elbow.
Hoping to encounter Emmeline, he continued in the direction he had been heading with Lady Catherine in tow. As they walked, her father quickly dropped behind, remaining within shouting distance but too far away to contribute. The conversation flowed easily, if a bit inanely. Catherine asked about his estate and his life before he arrived in London with wholehearted focus and more than a little enthusiasm. He made every effort to respond in the same way, but something was missing.
When he turned the conversation to her, she clung to his arm and cooed, “I simply adore sweets.”
“And what is your favorite?” he asked dutifully.
“Lemon drops.” She giggled. “They are sweet and then they are sour. It is such a pleasant contradiction.”
