Page 23 of Foolish Bride
“And now your plan is to stand outside ballrooms and spy on her?” Thomas adjusted his perfectly fitted jacket and picked a piece of lint from the sleeve.
Michael shook his head. “It is rather pathetic, but I cannot go in. Not yet.”
Thomas slapped him on the back. “Let’s get out of here. I think a stiff drink and a good game of cards is what you need.”
“Whites?”
“Indeed.”
“You’re a good friend, Tom.” Torches lit the garden, and several couples hid in the shadows. Michael looked the other way, trying not to allow longing for Elinor to ruin the remainder of the night.
They walked around the house where the carriages waited.
Once again, the conversation had been all about him. “Was there a lady in the ball that you had come to see?”
Running his fingers through his hair, Thomas took a long breath. “Not really. I always come to Skivingtons’ because they have that exquisite pianoforte, and I am hopeful that someone equal to the instrument will play.”
Michael laughed. “You and your fascination with music. Why don’t you just play the thing yourself? You play well enough.”
Thomas waved to his driver, signaling their departure. “I am an adequate musician. I practice diligently to be merely adequate. I have heard myself play for years. I truly love to hear someone with talent. I cannot help but be drawn to a really fine musician.”
“When you find her, will you marry her?”
He stopped halfway into the carriage and cocked his head.
Michael understood marrying for love or money, but for music was absurd. He laughed. “I cannot believe it. You actually would marry some chit just because she could play.”
“I did not say that.” Tom sat. “However, it would be nice to spend my time with a wife who has the same interests. That is not so strange a notion.”
Michael tugged on his cravat, happy to relax for the ride to their gentleman’s club. “I suppose not, but try to see beyond the music and make sure you can actually look at the woman as well as listen to her.”
They both laughed.
* * * *
Elinor braced her hands on the stone wall and leaned out over the garden, letting the cool air clear away the strain of the crushing hot ballroom.
“Is it inappropriate for me to tell you that I find you quite charming?” Middleton asked.
“Of course it is, your grace.” Elinor hated to admit that after only two dances, she liked him.
He was handsome—of that there was no doubt—tall and broad with straight, white teeth and kind eyes. He was charming and quick-witted. “Would it also be inappropriate for you to call me ‘Preston’?”
“You are quite familiar with the rules that govern our society, your grace. Therefore, I can only assume that you are trying to shock me.”
“And are you shocked?” He leaned in and brought the scent of warm spices with him.
“Absolutely.”
A comfortable silence fell between them. She hadn’t planned on liking anyone Mother introduced her to.
“What is it that troubles you, Lady Elinor?” he asked.
“Why do you think I am troubled?” She looked over the gardens, away from his analysis.
“You were one moment enjoying a lively conversation with me and in the next, the expression on your face told me that you were thinking of something unpleasant. I apologize, but it was obvious.” He touched her chin, bringing her face around to look at him. “It is all right there, in your eyes.”
She stepped away from his touch. “I could lie to you and tell you that you are mistaken.”
