Mama grimaced. “Well. That was a satisfactory visit.” She tried to sound pleased.
Bernadette swallowed hard. She inclined her head politely.
“Excuse me, Mama. I need to go and prepare for the outing tonight.”
“What? Oh. Yes. Of course, daughter. Do as you see fit.” She sounded distracted, likely still in shock from the unexpected and not wholly polite visit.
Bernadette nodded. “I will. Thank you, Mama.”
Privately, she had decided to wear something less showy already. The pink gown perhaps. That was bright enough for Mama’s liking, but not so showy that it might draw criticism.
She thought about that for a moment, examining that choice. It wasn’t because Lady Lockwood might disapprove, she realized slowly. It was because the red gown was not her choice. If theTonwere going to disapprove of her, it might as well be for something she’d chosen herself. Being ridiculed for being herself was worth it.
She walked down the hallway swiftly, her heart thudding as she headed to her chamber to get ready.
Chapter 9
The springtime air was cool and smelled damp. Nicholas, standing on the steps outside the Rothendale townhouse, paced nervously. Each second that the butler took in getting there was making him more intimidated. He stepped from one foot to the other. His collar felt itchy, and he wanted to flee.
“My lord?” The butler sounded surprised as he opened the door.
“Lord Blackburne, here to escort Miss Rowland to the theatre,” Nicholas said formally. His throat was tight, and he coughed uncomfortably. He felt as though his shirt was too small for him and he fiddled at his cuffs feeling annoyed.
“Of course, my lord. Come in, please,” the butler said, standing back and letting Nicholas inside.
He took off his hat and coat and passed them to the butler.
“Thank you,” he murmured. He knew many people of his background treated servants as though they didn’t exist, but he wasn’t of the opinion that anyone should be overlooked. He knew too well how it felt.
“This way, my lord,” the butler replied. Nicholas followedhim tensely. They went to the stairs and headed towards the drawing room, but as they reached the bend in the flight of steps, they stopped. Miss Rowland was there.
She stood on the stairs. Lord and Lady Rothendale and a dark-clad woman he presumed was her chaperone were there too, but he could see only her. Her lovely honey-colored hair shone in the muted light of the lamps. Her skin glowed like petals. She looked up shyly, one hand resting lightly on the banister. A necklace of pearls glinted at her throat and the peach-colored gown she was wearing brought out the hazel glow of her eyes. She looked shy and sweet and lovely.
Her eyes met his and held them and Nicholas felt his heart stop. She smiled; a slow, hesitant, beautiful smile.
She’s smiling. At me.
Nicholas rooted to the spot in shocked surprise. He gazed up at her and he was about to smile back but his courage faltered and besides, Lord and Lady Rothendale approached and he felt suddenly tense.
“Lord Blackburne. How lovely to have you visit us again. I trust you will have a pleasant evening at the play,” she added, smiling at him and then at Miss Rowland.
“I trust so,” Nicholas managed to say. He could barely hear anything. The smile Miss Rowland had graced him with from the stairs held all of his thoughts.
“Have a good evening, young man,” Lord Rothendale said in a friendly tone. Nicholas inclined his head.
“I trust I will,” he said swiftly, looking away. His gaze moved at once to Miss Rowland. She was looking at her toes again, shyly.
“Miss Rowland,” he managed to say, though his throat was terribly tight, and it came out like a whisper. “I will escort you to the coach.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured. She cleared her throat. Nicholas frowned.
Is she also nervous?he asked himself confusedly.Why would she be? She’s the one who looks like everybody else; and rather better besides.
He flushed as the thought drifted into his head. Did he find her attractive? He glanced sideways at her. His heart raced, his gaze lingering on her pearly skin, her sweet, soft bow-shaped mouth and back up to her hazel eyes. Perhaps he did.
He bit his lip. He didn’t want to do that. Ladies were fickle and shallow, and she’d never feel anything but loathing for him, or amused pity. Emily had only felt amused pity for him.
No. Don’t think of her.
