Page 11 of A Desperate Proposal

“Thank you so much, Lady Summersby. I shall try not to eat them all at once.”

“Oh, think nothing of it! I hear they were invented as medicinal in the olden days.” Lady Summersby settled into one of the chairs, smiling at her brother. “Growing up, our cook had the knack of making it, but my dear Mr. Bertrand has not, and he is frantic over the ball. I daren’t ask him to learn a new candy.” She turned to her brother. “Is Mr. Du Bois still at Ashforde?”

“No, long since gone, I fear. I do not recall the current cook.” Asherton shrugged. “Though I suspect our sister still laments his departure.” He rose from his seat again, gesturing for Arabella to take his place before he bowed to them all. “As I must leave you all to regret mine, if possible. I will brave Summersby’s study and drag him out of the regimental mire for a ride.”

“Oh, do!” Lady Summersby clasped her hands. “He will be such a grump if he isn’t out of the house for at least an hour or two.”

“Many thanks for your company, Lord Asherton,” Elinor said, glancing up at him. It was a good thing none in the room could read minds, as even Elinor was appalled at herself for thinking how handsome he was standing there with the light casting magic shadows across his eyes. She did not dare let herself linger on thoughts of his curved, lovely lips. “And thank you for the book. I look forward to reading it.”

She watched him leave, wondering how she could already miss somebody she didn’t know, and she slowly turned her attention back to her sharp-eyed cousin. “You seem to be getting along very well with Lord Asherton,” Bella pointed out, exchanging a glance with Lady Summersby.

“Should I not?” Elinor asked, pretending to be oblivious to the accusation. “Lord Asherton is a respectable gentleman. I should hope to one day call him a friend.” She picked up her perfect cube of Turkish Delight, lifting it to her lips and enjoying the scent. At least this was a simple pleasure. There was nothing confusing about sweets.

“Oh, dear,” Lady Summersby said, tilting her head toward the door. “I forgot I needed to speak with the general. Perhaps if I am quick, I should catch him before they leave. My apologies, Elinor. I shall return shortly.” She gave a quick smile, though Elinor was sure the lingering look she gave Arabella was significant somehow.

Once Lady Summersby was out of the room, Arabella’s sunny demeanor vanished and she turned on Elinor with an arched brow and a stubborn set to her chin. “Only a friend? Is that all you wish to call Lord Asherton?”

Elinor, startled by the question, dropped her cube of Turkish Delight onto her lap, the powder dusting over her shawl. “Arabella! The door is open. Somebody will hear you.”

“Oh, good.” Bella settled herself in the seat by the sofa. “That’s not a ‘no.’ I can work with that.”

Brushing the sugar off her clothes, Elinor set the box of candy aside and glared at Arabella. “Whatever idea you are concocting, abandon it now. I will not allow you to make the Earl the subject of a childish game.”

“Please, Elinor, the only one behaving childishly is you.” Arabella’s tone was impatient. “Any other woman in your shoes, or rather your bandage, would be making the most of this.”

Elinor opened her book to give her eyes something else to focus on that wasn’t her cousin’s piercing glare. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Flirtation, Elinor. That I should have to spell it out for you is tragic, especially since you have spent the last five years lecturing me on how the world is meant to work.”

“I could never—”

“That’s the problem. You expect to be the wife of a gentleman, yet you do not know how to converse with his fellows. With any man! No husband of any ambition wants a wallflower for a wife. And these skills do not come easily to you. Like any talent, you must practice.”

She closed her book and twisted to face Arabella, gritting her teeth briefly when her foot flexed and pain blossomed around her ankle. But she pressed on. “I should think that you have more fondness for our friendship with Lady Summersby than to suggest I toy with her brother’s heart for such a silly reason.”

“His heart? I’m speaking of conversation, not marriage. I certainly doubt he’ll be bringing his heart into any flirtation you might affect in any case. Besides, he’s been to the continent. He’s not so ignorant about how things are. Now do be more careful and put your leg back up.” Arabella rose and hurried to the end of the sofa to lift Elinor’s leg back onto the cushion. Elinor grimaced at the movement, though her cousin was careful. “Does it hurt much?”

“No more than this morning when you asked,” she replied. “Here. Can you set these on the tea tray?” Elinor picked up the Turkish Delights. She let the silence stretch before the truth tore from her in a near whisper. “I wouldn’t even begin to know how to flirt with Lord Asherton.”

Arabella giggled. “Fortunately, for you, I have a little idea. By the time we return to Bath, you might be competent to charm at least a local curate.”

Chapter Five

Merfield House, Somerset. May 16, 1814

He should be returning to London. While Tristan trusted his agents there, the arrangements for the various sovereigns and the Regent’s own plans remained partly intangible, mutable by so many factors that he felt he ought to be at hand for every passing moment. And yet he was tired. Exhausted, really. The social rounds of the Season had always been a chore, but now they felt ever more ludicrous. And his father’s damned ghost haunted the air anytime his title was announced, a poisonous miasma proceeding him into every room.

His scant two-week sojourn through the Ton and half a hundred lesser drawing rooms in search of likely officers had stretched into an eternity. Happily, Summersby’s recruitment quota was easily met. The second battalion of the 7th Foot would now stand trained and ready for any further crises that Parliament might find for the army. He prayed for the men’s sake that it would not be the West Indies, where too many would perish of fevers and diseases. In truth, he missed his own often-fetid, foul-mouthed men more by the day as his waking hours now brought endless concerns over Evie, the children, and Cecilia.

Given food and supplies, the average Private could be depended upon generally to survive a sunny day with nobody shooting at him. Children and sisters appeared far chancier. Perhaps if I taught Cecilia to shoot…? No. Best not tempt her into anything rash with her next fit of temper. Far better to simply find the girl a damn suitor, then teach her to shoot before the wedding.

His father’s sister—a widow, now seated in Shropshire—came to their aid by offering to escort Cecilia and the little ones down from Ashforde Hall for Evelina’s intended ball. He dreaded to think what favor she would demand in return, but at least she’d granted him one less thing to worry over.

Still, he really ought to be returning to London. The thought kept returning to his head as he wrote his correspondence in the morning and spoke of hunting dogs with Summersby and when he climbed the stairs to Evelina’s sitting apartments.

Strangely, he didn’t notice the thought vanishing as the topic of their conversation turned to Miss Harcourt. Nor did he recall it as he carried a copy of Much Ado About Nothing to the sitting room the servants had rearranged for her comfort until she would be allowed to mount the stairs.

He hadn’t thought of London last night at dinner either, in fact. He’d been too busy with Summersby’s opinion on carriages and the revelation of Miss Harcourt’s preference for the color green in fitting up her own house one day. Which had, oddly, made him think of redoing a room or two in Ashforde House and how nice she would look in one or two other rooms. That had, perhaps, led to not thinking about London later in the privacy of his room for rather a long time between retiring and sleep.