Page 33 of Miss Dashing
“I should be checking on the kitchen. We’re having an informal supper tonight, and that’s a bit more complicated than a buffet.”
Even an informal supper would not be laid for another three hours. “Give me one hour, Hecate. I promise I will maunder on about marling and fall calves and all manner of riveting topics that you can use to your advantage with Nunn’s stewards.”
He simply wanted to be with her. To revel in the knowledge that she’d welcomed his kisses and—his elation touched the heavens—kissed him back. Held him, caressed and petted and damned near cuddled up to him.
Hecate dropped his arm. “I feel as if I’ve had too much punch,” she said, “and I need time for the spirits to wear off before I can face the dance floor.”
“Precisely. Inebriated, awash in bliss and hope. If I promise not to kiss you again, will you spare me a little more of your time?”
Hecate was incapable of rudeness, but she could make a point. She let her gaze rove boldly over Phillip’s person, with a lingering focus on his mouth.
“I want to be very foolish with you, Phillip. Very foolish.”
“I want to be brave with you,” Phillip countered. “To lay my dreams and aspirations at your feet and hear what you think of them. I want to keep my hand in yours, to sit too close to you, to hear what longings you’ve never shared with another.”
“The recitation would be brief and boring.” She moved toward the door, and Phillip let her go.
The entire Brompton family crowded her, put demands on her, took her for granted, and relied on her. He would not add to her burdens.
“The recitation of your hopes and dreams would be precious and surprising,” Phillip said. “You’d like to take Nunnsuch in hand, I’m guessing, but keeping your cousins out of debtors’ prison and free of scandal is an ongoing battle that leaves you no time or energy for farming.”
Hecate paused to straighten a portrait of the fourth countess. “The Brompton cousins and in-laws are legion, all pockets to let and all convinced of their own cleverness. I fear Eglantine will soon develop a wandering eye, and Charles could so easily be blackmailed over his numerous dalliances. It’s a wonder I’m not blackmailing him, except I myself would have to pay any sum I attempted to extort from him.”
“Charles’s mother doesn’t wander,” Phillip said. “She mounts an armed charge into forbidden territory, and those daughters of hers…”
Hecate nodded. “Charles says the betting books mention Portia and Flavia: Which one will misstep first and with whom? Will it be somebody else’s spouse? A known rake? A charming roué? Edna made an effort the year they came out and again this year, but Edna has a taste for slippers and parasols that would beggar the national exchequer.”
Hecate closed the distance between them and looped her arms around him. “Those two think they are so sophisticated, so worldly, but they have no idea the havoc a man with indecent objectives can wreak on a young lady’s plans.”
Phillip’s ideas were not indecent. They were tender and wonderful and erotic, but never indecent.
“You worry,” he said, stroking her hair. How lovely simply to hold her. “You worry endlessly, and they resent you, and I promise you, Hecate Brompton, they do not deserve you.”
She relaxed against him. “Tell them that. Please. They have it in their heads that because my mother’s husband didn’t set her and me aside, I am eternally in their debt.”
“They would say that, when the boot is so clearly on the other foot, but you are not orphaned, sixteen, and ignorant of the world. They know that, too, and it drives them barmy.”
Hecate pulled back far enough to consider him. “I won’t leave my family penniless on the street corner.”
You might have to, if they are ever to amount to anything.“I would rather not spend our time discussing the dodgy antics of your Brompton relations.” Though, in truth, not a drop of Brompton blood ran in Hecate’s veins. “I would rather be strolling the woods with you, riding the bridle paths, or reading you poetry on some shady stream bank.”
She took his hand. “Tell me about the hogs and the acorns, about fall calves and marling.”
Phillip’s heart, usually a private and quiet place, felt as if it could encompass all of the Home Counties plus half the Channel.
“You will tell me about informal suppers in the country and proper topics for breakfast conversation.”
They sat, arms around each other, among all the Brompton rakes and rapscallions, and talked and talked and talked. About cousins and calves, clearing ditches and escorting debutantes. Phillip had never strung together so many words in his life, nor listened half so intently.
To Hecate’s words, to her pauses and silences, to her tone, to her delicate inferences.
And all the while, they sat close enough to breathe in unison, to become as one, contented, happy creatures on an afternoon touched with the particular stillness known only to high summer.
This is courtship.The truth landed in Phillip’s mind and heart at the same time, a seed falling upon rich soil. Driving in Hyde Park, waltzing beneath the chandeliers, sipping punch at Almack’s had nothing whatsoever to do with courting Hecate Brompton, but listening to her, confiding in her, sharing affection with her did.
They eventually fell silent, content simply to be together, and that was courtship too.
The dressing gong sounded, and Hecate started. “Oh dear heavens, the time. The kitchen will be in chaos, when I promised Cook I’d stop by. I haven’t told my maid what ensemble to lay out, and I ought to catch up with Portia and Flavia. They were playing whist very late last night. A tactic to elude supervision because they know I am an early riser.”
