Page 42 of A Brilliant Match
Lady Isabelle was further from the truth than she knew. He had been sitting at home the night before in a most deliberate attempt to avoid temptation. It was the weekly evening for Almack’s and he was afraid that if he attended, he would ask Lady Dorothea to dance. He was afraid he would try to make her laugh and pull her close as soon as her arm was in his. But he had already decided he must do no such thing.
“The question that Albert and I have both been asking, and for different reasons”—Mary added wryly, with a subtlety Miles could guess at—“is what are you going to do now?”
He glanced at her, then sipped his tea to gain time. She continued without waiting for an answer.
“Mama and I were attempting to think of a solution, but we cannot do much without your input on the matter.”
Miles set down his teacup and put his chin in his hand, rubbing it. He spotted a tuft of cat hair on his pantaloons from one of the animals Mary kept about and rubbed it off.
“The truth is, I do not know.” He glanced at his sister, then his mother. Their family was close. They had to be to survive the years after his father’s death. Close enough for him to admit he had arrived atpoint non plus. “I have been going over many scenarios in which I might save the estate, and none of them seem to be enough. I don’t have a ready solution.”
“And your plans for an advantageous marriage?” his sister asked him, exchanging a glance with their mother. They had been discussing it before he arrived.
“I have not found anyone I wish to marry at present.” This was a complete falsehood, but he preferred that than to bare his soul, even to the two people he loved best in the world, along with Rock. It came too close to a wound he was attempting to dress.
Mary and his mother exchanged another look, and he was nearly certain Lady Dorothea had been at the center of their conversation. He was thankful they did not say so.
“I trust you to sort something out,” his mother said, finishing her tea and folding her hands in her lap. “You have always been a resourceful young man.”
He glanced at her gown, which he could see was a refurbished one, although she wore it well. It goaded him that he could not provide her with anything better.
“What are your plans today? I hold myself perfectly ready to escort you wherever you wish to go. It has been too many years since you have been in London.”
“We had thought to visit Lady Berkley,” Mary told him with a glance at Lady Isabelle. “Mother has written to say she will be in London, and Lady Berkley has expressed the desire to see her as soon as it might be arranged.”
“Well, let us go there then.” Miles uttered the words with a false bravado, as he was putting himself in the same sphere as Dorothea. She lived nearby, and the last time he met her there he had ended up proposing.
Would she be there today? How often did ladies pay social calls on the same people? He supposed it did not matter if she was there, for it only required him to be polite. And if she was not there, he would enjoy watching his mother back in London society, frequenting the company she had grown up with rather than being stuck in a moldy house, alone in the country.
On the way to Lady Berkley’s house, they discussed how the wool carding was going and which tenants were going to remain despite not yet having their houses redone for added warmth. The women of the family had always been interested in the tenants and the people in the village. It was a small enough holding for them to be personally involved in their lives.
When they arrived at Lady Berkley’s house, the butler led them to the drawing room, which was less packed than the last time he was there. It came as a shock—though he had half expected it—to find Dorothea present. She was sitting with Miss Kensington beside her, and her mother and sister in two chairs on the other side of the sofa. Miss Kensington leaned in to say something to her, then crossed the drawing room and opened the door.
Miles wrenched his eyes from where Dorothea sat. At the way his pulse raced, he began to fear he would not so easily put Dorothea out of his mind. When he cast his gaze to Lady Poole, he noticed Evo standing beside his mother. The sight surprised him, and he wondered if his presence was forced or if the earl had come of his own volition. He looked bored, but when he caught Miles’s regard, he stood straight and nodded.
Lady Berkley took both of his mother’s arms and held her at a distance to look at her. She then kissed each cheek, exclaiming how well Lady Isabelle looked, while his mother blushed and disclaimed and turned the compliment back to Lady Berkley. They fell into conversation even before they were seated, and Mary took his arm, steering him over in Dorothea’s direction. The two women were not acquainted, so he supposed her goal was to get him close enough so he would be forced to greet her. Then Mary would learn where his heart lay.
She was good at getting what she wanted. At the moment, it was what he wanted too, although if he were wise, he would think the better of it.
“Good afternoon, Lady Dorothea.” He bowed and repeated the greeting to her siblings and mother. “May I present my sister, Mrs. Mary Penworth?”
Mary curtsied, and Dorothea regarded her with interest. “It is good to meet a sister of Mr. Shaw’s. And”—she knit her brows and glanced at Miles—“is that your mother speaking to Lady Berkley? You are her likeness.”
“That is Lady Isabelle Shaw, who is indeed my mother.”
Miles glanced over at her as she smiled and spoke to Lady Berkley as though they had never left off. He was proud of her noble bearing and kindness and was glad to present her to Dorothea. “I will introduce you as soon as they allow for a pause in their conversation.”
“It does not look like they will,” Dorothea said, watching them with a smile. “They seem to be old friends.”
“They are.” Miles glanced at his sister, who was being surprisingly circumspect. She was usually loquacious, but today it seemed as though she was willing to let him do all the talking. He guessed it was because she still thought he was pursuing Dorothea. He would have to disabuse her of the notion, little though he liked speaking of his dashed hopes.
“May we take these seats?” He rested his hands on the back of one of the armchairs and gestured to the other beside him, happy to be in her presence despite himself.
She nodded and gestured for them to sit, and there didn’t appear to be any reserve in her bearing. Perhaps she was perfectly content with their friendship now that the subject of marriage had been summarily dismissed. The thought of it dimmed his happiness.
“Miss Kensington was sitting here,” Dorothea added, “but you’ve just missed her. She has gone to see about tea being brought.”
There was still a place on the sofa beside her, and Evo came around his mother’s chair to sit in it. Miles wondered again what brought him here, but was unwilling to ask. The crowd in Lady Berkley’s salon had begun to thin, and the only other guests present were settled in groups of two or three, deep in their own discussions.
