Page 12 of A Brilliant Match
“With milk and two spoons of sugar. Thank you.”
She poured her a cup, then repeated the process, asking each guest what they preferred. At last she came to Miles. He took his with just milk and told her so before turning to the elder of the Milton daughters.
“Miss Milton, I was present last night and wished I had known you had dances to spare. I would surely have asked you. I hope you will do me the honor of standing up with me at the next event, which…”
He frowned suddenly. He never kept track of his invitations, despite not having a great number of them. If he’d had more wealth, he would hire a secretary to manage them, among other things.
“The Answorths’ ball, I believe is the next event that much of London is being invited to, although it’s not for over two weeks.” Lady Milton looked at him approvingly.
“Ah.” The name was unfamiliar. “I don’t believe I have been invited to that one, but you may be sure that I will dance with you at the next ball in which we both attend.”
Miles needed to stop there, lest everyone including Lady Dorothea think he was here to court Miss Milton. It was only that he could not bear for a woman to be humiliated by her own sister, and before strangers. He wished to teach the younger Miss Abigail a fine lesson. He would not be asking her to dance.
Miss Milton sent a grateful smile his way, which vastly improved her features. “I would be delighted, Mr. Shaw.”
Miles quite thought Lady Dorothea looked upon him approvingly as well, if her smile toward him was any indication. If he could continue to rise in her esteem in this manner, it might not be such a difficult thing to win her regard.
“Mr. Shaw, I don’t believe we have met before,” Lady Milton said. “Is this your first time spending the season in London?”
“It is, yes. I have come before for brief spells, and earlier when I was freshly out of school. In general, the affairs on my estate occupy me, but this year I have left them in the hands of my steward and plan to spend all of the spring months in London.”
“How fortunate for us. I am sure I can convince Mrs. Answorth to send you an invitation for her gathering,” Lady Milton replied with a glance at Lady Poole.
The latter was a slight woman with a faded look about her, who had fallen into silence after the initial greetings. Lady Poole nodded her concurrence when she saw what was expected of her.
“That is most kind of you.” Miles finished his tea quickly. He must not overstay his welcome. Besides, he wished to avoid an overly inquisitive conversation about his estate that might disrupt his peace. He would not hide his financial condition, but it did not mean he had to announce it to every person in London.
“Well, isn’t this lovely?” Lady Milton said, just as another knock on the front door sounded.
The lull in conversation grew pronounced as the sounds of the butler’s footsteps approaching the drawing room reached them.
“The Earl of Hastings.” The butler stepped aside to allow this august gentleman to enter the room. Lord Hasting’s hair and whiskers could still be called blond, though he was exiting the far side of his youth.
Miles glanced at Lady Dorothea and did not miss the pleased expression on her face. He wondered if she had particular interest in Lord Hastings or if she just considered his visit a coup because of his title. Neither were very flattering to Lady Dorothea.
Neither were very promising to him.
Her dull eyes told him she was still suffering from a headache, which was likely worse by now. He would at least remove himself from her presence and be one less visitor to pull upon her attention. As soon as the introductions were made, he used the opportunity to excuse himself.
“Ladies,” he said, bowing to each of them in turn. He shook hands with Lord Hastings.
“Lady Dorothea.” He caught her gaze from across the room, unable to keep from singling her out. “I will call for you tomorrow at five o’clock if that suits you.”
She nodded, her lips prim, although they still curved in a polite smile. Then she turned to their newest visitor, leaving Miles to show himself out. As he crossed the drawing room to the entranceway, where the butler fetched his coat and hat, his mind was filled with speculation. He thanked the butler, put both coat and hat on, and exited onto the broad flagway of Grosvenor Square. Outside, it was sunny and cold, the skies tinged with gray and with no clouds in sight. He hoped tomorrow would be warmer when they went out driving.
Had he mistaken his initial impression of her? Lady Dorothea had not seemed to warm to him upon further acquaintance today. He reminded himself that there were many other women in London, and that she was merely the first one who had truly caught his eye this season. He required only wealth in a future wife—not even a title was necessary—and beyond that, a woman with conversation whom he found attractive. Surely there were others…
He strode down the street, his mind working, as he weighed his commitment to the pursuit of Lady Dorothea. It was unlike him to show this sort of partiality for a woman who offered so little encouragement. In fact, it had never happened before, as women generally responded to his attempts to please. He pursued this line of thought for a while then abandoned it. Even if he willed himself to open his mind to other possibilities who might be easier won, his mind seemed to go back to Lady Dorothea of its own accord, as though she were a mystery he had to unravel.
As Miles walked on, he finally shook his head and gave it up. He would take her to Hyde Park tomorrow. They would come to know one another better. Either she would begin to thaw toward him and show him more of that warmth he had seen glimpses of, and he would pursue her in earnest. Or he would see clearly that he had been misled in his attachment to her, and their budding relationship would dwindle to nothing.
Having come to this conclusion, he decided to think of it no more. And he did not. He merely thought of that crease between Lady Dorothea’s brows and wondered how to remove it.
Chapter6
Dorothea could not bear another minute of entertaining callers and when contemplating the disappointment that it had merely been Mr. Shaw, the Milton ladies, and Lord Hastings, her relief at bidding them all farewell was tangible. Her chagrin was tempered by Lord Hastings’s visit. As a wealthy and titled widower who was not yet in his dotage, his decision to follow their dance with a visit was no small coup.
Their conversation had been slow in between the set at the ball, and she’d feared they had formed no real connection. She was glad to see she had been wrong. Now, if only her mind’s enthusiasm over the victory of Lord Hasting’s flattering attention could impress itself upon her heart. Alas, her heart beat its same steady rhythm whenever he was near.
