Page 31 of Miss Determined
“One proclivity does not necessarily exclude the other.” Trevor Dorning could say that—polite words aimed at shocking facts—and sound merely considering.
“Cleverly married the daughter of some fellow who owns a dozen coaching inns. Gavin is godfather to their firstborn, though that also proves nothing.” Lissa walked on, the better to gather her thoughts. “We’ve considered that Gavin might have formed a mésalliance, married or loved inappropriately. We have no evidence to support that supposition.”
Mr. Dorning fell in beside her and offered his arm. Lissa took it, though she was perfectly capable of walking without assistance.
“I meant what I said, Amaryllis. You are impressively confident, competent, and self-possessed, but that doesn’t mean you should have to carry every burden on your own.”
He’d left outcapable, though he’d said that too. “Mama is at her wit’s end. Grandmama is fading. Diana and Caroline are children. To whom should I surrender my burdens?”
“Don’tsurrenderthem to anybody, but you might share them with friends, mightn’t you? I have contacts on the Continent, mostly in the wine-growing regions, but also the occasional factor in the capitals. I can make inquiries regarding one Gavin DeWitt. What does he look like?”
“I’ll give you a sketch. He looks like a cross between me and Caroline with Diana’s brown hair. An intelligent face and a winsome smile. Tall, athletic, graceful. In any amateur theatrical, he always played the dashing hero.”
Gavin was playing the villain now, did he but know it, but how lovely to be able to discuss Gavin even more honestly than Lissa did with Phillip. How lovely that Mr. Dorning again offered to help rather than try to dominate the situation with his infallible male judgment.
“I meant those other things I said, too, Amaryllis.”
“I’m capable.” A solid, simple word that encompassed much pride.
“And you are magnificent and dear. Merriman and Brompton were idiots to abuse your trust. I won’t call them out, only because they were also unfathomably dim-witted to let you slip through their fingers. One cannot pity them—they didn’t deserve your trust—but one can leave howling bunglers to their miserable fates.”
“Charles will be an earl.” Mama would have been so happy being his mother-in-law. “Titus has been restored to good-catch status. His older brother shows no signs of marrying, and he’ll likely end up with a title too.”
“Merriman will wed some ambitious twit whose uncle is a banker. She will pretend to adore him in public, while in private pleading a megrim six nights out of seven. They will be desperately miserable, because that viscountcy means they must somehow muddle through those seventh nights for years to come. Their lives will be a purgatory of public manners and personal frustration. Trust me on this. I saw the same pattern in my father’s marriages.”
Lissa considered Mr. Dorning’s words, spoken with even more weight and conviction than he brought to most of what he said. The union he described was… bleak. Worse even than Lissa had imagined when she’d packed up her dancing slippers and attempted to take Mayfair by storm last year.
“You are telling me I had two near misses.” Not blunders, not disasters, not missteps. Near misses, and Mr. Dorning seemed very sure of his conclusion.
“Precisely. Near misses. Brushes with disaster, and thank the merciful powers you are unscathed.”
“My reputation got a bit scathed.” Lissa wasn’t ruined—Titus and Charles would blot their own copybooks if they were too specific in their innuendo—but she hadn’ttakeneither.
“Nor is your trust unscathed,” Mr. Dorning replied, “but your heart remains whole. Take courage from that and be proud of your fortitude.”
She wanted to kiss him, to know the feel of his embrace, to lose herself in Trevor Dorning’s boundless confidence, competence, and capability. His kisses would be delightful, his hands marvelous.
That way lay mischief and foolishness, and Lissa was not at all sure she’d escape with her heart whole. She was attracted to Mr. Dorning when she’d thought no man could ever tempt her in that direction, but she was also…
Smitten? The word felt too giddy, too irrational. Trevor Dorning offered something Lissa hadn’t thought to find, ever, in a man or elsewhere. Aside from his inconvenient physical allure, he was part champion, part confidant, part companion, which all added up to…friendship.
At some point in the past twenty yards, Lissa had slipped her hand into his, and he’d given her fingers a light squeeze without breaking stride or remarking her presumption.
To walk hand in hand with Trevor Dorning, merely that, was dear and magnificent and gave Lissa much to think about.
How glorious to have a friend, and how awful to know he would soon be lost to her.
ChapterEight
“You told these fine folk that you are TrevorDorning?” Sycamore Dorning paced the confines of Trevor’s private parlor, his boots thumping a tattoo that echoed in Trevor’s skull. “I am torn between horror and hilarity. The name is respected, of course, but you lack our lovely eyes, you are blond, you are all Frenchified and lordly, and not half impecunious enough to be a bachelor Dorning. Whatever were you thinking?”
“I was thinking,” Trevor saidquietly, “to enjoy some anonymity, which I will cease to do if you continue to shout my particulars to the rafters. If I’d come to look over these properties as Lord Tavistock, nobody would have been honest with me. As it is, I wish the fine folk had been a little less truthful.”
“I seldom shout.” Sycamore toed off one dusty boot, then the other. “Jeanette says raising my voice is unbecoming of my station and ought to be kept in reserve for truly vexatious situations involving at least three of my siblings at once.”
“You were nigh crying the watch.” Trevor stationed himself at the window overlooking the green. “The Arms is considered the rival of the churchyard for collecting gossip. Crosspatch Corners is a close-knit community, and any suspicions you raise will make the rounds before sunset.”If they haven’t already.
Dorning tossed himself into a chair by the hearth. Even travel-worn and rumpled, he exuded style and a certain… Dorning-ness that Trevor envied.
