out of the carriage as though somebody she
knew had caught her eye. As though Lord Ledbury had not just cut her to the
quick with one throwaway remark. After all those compliments, genuine
compliments, she had begun to think that he quite liked her. But now he’d made
it plain that he would rather not have to spend any time with her at all.
‘Abundantly,’ she replied coldly. ‘Though,’ she observed after
a moment or two, ‘I cannot help but remark that I think you are carrying your
sense of duty too far.’
‘By which I assume you mean you think I ought to marry for
love.’
Yes! If he was in love with Milly then he ought to marry her,
and that was that. Why, earls married widows with shady reputations, or even
actresses upon occasion. It caused a bit of a scandal—but when had what others
thought ever stopped a man of rank from doing just as he pleased?
‘It is the only reason one should
marry…’
‘Well, there we will have to agree to differ.’
Oh, the man was impossible. But there was no point in trying to
make him see how foolish he was being. Apart from the fact he was a man, and men
always thought they knew best, they were only—as he’d put it—working together
under a flag of truce.
And yet she couldn’t help feeling rather sorry for him. The
poor man must be in hell, being in love with one woman whilst feeling duty-bound
to marry another. True, she had been packed off to London to be married off, but
at least her affections had not really been engaged elsewhere. He could not even
elope, as her aunt had done—not when he had so many responsibilities. He was not
that kind of man. She had only met him the night before, but already she could
tell he was determined always to do the right thing. No matter what the personal
cost. Why, he wouldn’t even take Milly shopping in case it gave rise to the
suspicion that the woman he loved was his mistress. Even though most men of his
class would have made her his mistress in reality, without batting an
eyelid.
Well, she would not say any more upon that topic. Not only
would it be like prodding at a decaying tooth, but they did not know each other
well enough to share those kind of confidences.
Though she would do whatever she could to help his lady-friend.
Apart from any other consideration, she relished the chance to be really, truly
useful to someone for the very first time in her life.
‘Oh!’ she said, clapping her hands in glee. ‘I have just had a
brilliant idea. I shall be in Conduit Street tomorrow. I have to purchase some
new gloves. If you could arrange for Milly to loiter outside the front of Madame
Pichot’s at about ten o’clock I could pretend to recognise her, and introduce
her to Lady Penrose as an old friend.’
He looked at her with approval, making her swell with pleasure
when he said, ‘Yes, I think that could work.’
Not for long. She sighed. The first thing Lady Penrose would
do, upon her introducing a new friend, would be to write to her grandfather and
enquire if Milly was proper company for her to keep. And as soon as he wrote
back, disclaiming all knowledge of any such person amongst her acquaintance, the
game would be up. But there was no saying how long it might take for a letter to
reach him if he were not at Darvill Park for any reason. So they might have a
few days before their ruse was discovered.
And in that time she would do all she could to help the pair
who, for reasons of stupid custom—because he was all bound up with doing his
duty rather than following his heart—could not be together even though they
plainly should be.
‘Tell me how I might recognise her,’ she said. ‘What does she
look like?’
‘Milly? Oh, she is…’ He looked at her, a puzzled frown on his
brow. ‘She is quite a bit taller than you. Dark hair and eyes. Strong. Plain of
face,’ he said, his eyes wandering over her features individually and softening.
‘Nothing much to look at at all, really.’
And yet he loved her.
knew had caught her eye. As though Lord Ledbury had not just cut her to the
quick with one throwaway remark. After all those compliments, genuine
compliments, she had begun to think that he quite liked her. But now he’d made
it plain that he would rather not have to spend any time with her at all.
‘Abundantly,’ she replied coldly. ‘Though,’ she observed after
a moment or two, ‘I cannot help but remark that I think you are carrying your
sense of duty too far.’
‘By which I assume you mean you think I ought to marry for
love.’
Yes! If he was in love with Milly then he ought to marry her,
and that was that. Why, earls married widows with shady reputations, or even
actresses upon occasion. It caused a bit of a scandal—but when had what others
thought ever stopped a man of rank from doing just as he pleased?
‘It is the only reason one should
marry…’
‘Well, there we will have to agree to differ.’
Oh, the man was impossible. But there was no point in trying to
make him see how foolish he was being. Apart from the fact he was a man, and men
always thought they knew best, they were only—as he’d put it—working together
under a flag of truce.
And yet she couldn’t help feeling rather sorry for him. The
poor man must be in hell, being in love with one woman whilst feeling duty-bound
to marry another. True, she had been packed off to London to be married off, but
at least her affections had not really been engaged elsewhere. He could not even
elope, as her aunt had done—not when he had so many responsibilities. He was not
that kind of man. She had only met him the night before, but already she could
tell he was determined always to do the right thing. No matter what the personal
cost. Why, he wouldn’t even take Milly shopping in case it gave rise to the
suspicion that the woman he loved was his mistress. Even though most men of his
class would have made her his mistress in reality, without batting an
eyelid.
Well, she would not say any more upon that topic. Not only
would it be like prodding at a decaying tooth, but they did not know each other
well enough to share those kind of confidences.
Though she would do whatever she could to help his lady-friend.
Apart from any other consideration, she relished the chance to be really, truly
useful to someone for the very first time in her life.
‘Oh!’ she said, clapping her hands in glee. ‘I have just had a
brilliant idea. I shall be in Conduit Street tomorrow. I have to purchase some
new gloves. If you could arrange for Milly to loiter outside the front of Madame
Pichot’s at about ten o’clock I could pretend to recognise her, and introduce
her to Lady Penrose as an old friend.’
He looked at her with approval, making her swell with pleasure
when he said, ‘Yes, I think that could work.’
Not for long. She sighed. The first thing Lady Penrose would
do, upon her introducing a new friend, would be to write to her grandfather and
enquire if Milly was proper company for her to keep. And as soon as he wrote
back, disclaiming all knowledge of any such person amongst her acquaintance, the
game would be up. But there was no saying how long it might take for a letter to
reach him if he were not at Darvill Park for any reason. So they might have a
few days before their ruse was discovered.
And in that time she would do all she could to help the pair
who, for reasons of stupid custom—because he was all bound up with doing his
duty rather than following his heart—could not be together even though they
plainly should be.
‘Tell me how I might recognise her,’ she said. ‘What does she
look like?’
‘Milly? Oh, she is…’ He looked at her, a puzzled frown on his
brow. ‘She is quite a bit taller than you. Dark hair and eyes. Strong. Plain of
face,’ he said, his eyes wandering over her features individually and softening.
‘Nothing much to look at at all, really.’
And yet he loved her.
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