Page 19 of The Duke's Promise to Her Child
“No indeed. He and I used to fence together. A formidable partner.”
Clara’s lips twitched. “And that, in your estimation, makes him a suitable match for Helena? I dare say she has very little interest in fencing.”
“Good,” he said. “After Cassandra, I would be extremely wary of any woman who claimed an interest in my more unusual pastimes.” He paused. “I think he is suitable. But since you are her friend, you will hear of it soon enough.”
“Let us hope you are right,” Clara said. And thus they parted, and he went upstairs to find the hat his valet had laid out and dashed out the door.
* * *
“Be sure to smile,” he said, as the carriage made its way toward Mrs. Bevis’s tea salon. “And nod along, even if you do not particularly agree with what he has to say.”
Helena turned to him. “But if I am not interested in what he is saying, how am I ever to change the subject?”
“You are expected simply to listen and endure.”
“Endure,” she said. “I dare say I have endured quite enough in my time. But very well. I suppose I can feign interest in a few subjects that bore me to tears.”
“Perhaps you will find something in common,” he suggested.
“Perhaps,” she replied, in a tone that suggested she thought this exceedingly unlikely. He could tell that her enthusiasm for the meeting with Lord Whitcombe was nowhere near what her enthusiasm for meeting Sir Franklin had been, which had itselfbeen tepid at best. Not that he blamed her. He had made rather a hash of that outing.
“I promise not to interfere this time.”
“Good,” she said. “Now — the rules.” She turned to face him, and for a moment the sunlight came through the carriage window at precisely such an angle as to catch her quite off guard, and him equally so. Her fair hair shimmered in it, and the light lavender of her gown suited her complexion to perfection. He swallowed and looked away. He had no business thinking about her complexion. He was here to find her a husband, not to admire her in carriage windows.
“Right,” he said. “The rules. You were going to set them.”
“As we already established, you will not remain in the room beyond the introductions. You will greet him once and then absent yourself.”
“Agreed.”
“I would also like more notice before any future meetings. I appreciate that you sent information about Sir Franklin in advance, but I want considerably more detail going forward particularly regarding their views on children.”
“Of course. I can arrange that.”
“Good. And there must be a signal.” She sat up slightly. “If I find the gentleman utterly dull, or arrogant, or I simply have no wish to continue the conversation, you must extract me immediately. I shall tug on my earlobe.”
He considered this. “How am I to know you are not simply adjusting your earring?”
She drew her hair back and he saw that she was wearing none. He raised his hands in surrender. “Very well. The moment you tug on your ear, I shall appear and rescue you.”
“I appreciate it,” she said. “Now — I believe we are almost there.”
Indeed, the carriage drew to a halt. He climbed out and handed her down, holding on for just a moment longer than was strictly necessary to ensure she was steady. Then the two of them made their way toward Mrs. Bevis’s tea salon. It was a gentlemen’s establishment ordinarily, but open to all on Wednesdays, something he had only recently discovered in the course of his investigations into suitable venues for inconspicuous introductions.
The salon was already well occupied. It took him a moment to locate Whitcombe, but when he did, the man raised a hand in greeting. He was a few years older than Gideon, with a touch of silver at his temples that lent him a distinguished air. When he smiled the corners of his eyes creased in a way that made him look, Gideon had to admit, rather well. He was top of the trees in every visible respect, and the sight of him smiling at Helenaproduced in Gideon a sudden and entirely unwelcome sensation that put his nose distinctly out of joint.
He composed himself. “Peter. Good to see you.”
“And you, Gideon.” Whitcombe’s gaze moved to Helena, and something in his expression shifted, not unpleasantly, but noticeably. “And you must be Lady Helena Vale. What a very great pleasure.” He bowed, took her hand, and kissed the back of it. “I must say, you are bearing up remarkably well.”
Gideon blinked. Helena’s smile did not waver by a fraction.
“Lady Helena Vale,” Gideon said, completing the introduction with slightly more speed than was perhaps necessary. “And Peter Wakefield, Earl of Whitcombe.”
“A pleasure,” she said.
She glanced at Gideon with the expression that meant he was to remove himself immediately, and he remembered his promise. He made himself scarce.
