Stacpoole had probably never in her life had two gentlemen wanting to dance with her and tease her.
“Very nicely done, sir,” she said to Lord Dowling as Mr. Eccleston led Clarissa to join the dancers.
“Was it?” He flashed her a small smile. Standing right beside her, hands clasped behind his back, he was nearly overwhelming. “She’s very light on her feet. Very accomplished in the minuet.”
“Yes,” said Margaret with some surprise. “She is.” And Clarissa loved to dance. When Mr. Eccleston wasn’t in attendance, she sighed more than once over the fact that no one else would ask her to step out. Perhaps it was a kind thing Lord Dowling had done after all. “I hope you haven’t stirred up trouble by asking her.”
“Nonsense,” he said with a grin. “Eccleston has nothing to fear from me; he’s exceptionally fond of her, and from her conversation, I gather she feels the same for him. I wouldn’t dream of dividing them.” He paused and gave her a sideways look. “They belong together, you know.”
Precisely what he’d said to her about the pair of them. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “And you are qualified to sit in judgment, deciding who must marry whom?”
“You give me too much credit. Perhaps it’s more divine than that; perhaps God himself designed the one to suit the other, and it would be a violation of natural law for them to be parted.” He inclined his head, clearly enjoying himself greatly. “I merely have the discernment to see it.”
“You must be one of the few,” she said dryly. “I can see no fewer than a dozen violations of natural law in this very room, if suitability of marriage partners qualifies as a sin.”
“It is such a shame when fathers and brothers ignore God’s will.” He lowered his voice. “How fortunate you are, to have secured your own choice in the matter.”
“Is this part of your plan to coerce me into marriage?”
He tilted his head, looking at her, and then turned to face her fully. “No, Miss de Lacey. I would never attempt coercion. I’m content to wait until you see how right we are for each other.”
She waited, but he said nothing else, to her annoyance. Then she was annoyed with herself, for realizing she had been waiting all this time in expectation of an invitation to dance, and that she would have accepted it, no matter how impertinent he was. Part of her, like Clarissa, yearned to dance with such a man. “Are you not even going to ask me to dance, then?” she asked, striving for lightness. “For if not, I beg you go away. Your presence is keeping all the other gentlemen at bay.”
“And are you sorry for that?” His eyes glittered with sly amusement.
“If it means I shan’t get to dance, yes,” she said, lying very boldly.
“I see.” He made a very elegant bow, giving her a good look at his well-shaped leg. “I bid you good evening then, since I wouldn’t dream of denying you any pleasure.” And he turned and walked away, leaving her gaping in astonishment at his back.
A nd so it went for more than a fortnight. She saw him everywhere, and he made a point of speaking to her each time. He was amusing, insightful, and thoughtful, much more so than she would have expected. Before long she began looking for him—she suspected Clarissa was letting him know, through Mr. Eccleston, which events she planned to attend—and she never again made the mistake of telling him to go away. But he never asked her to dance, or to stroll with him in the garden, or even if he might call on her. It was maddening. Everyone, from Miss Cuthbert to Mr. Eccleston, was certain he was planning to propose to her. But aside from some offhand references to pleasing her, he never said anything even remotely connected to marriage or love.
Finally she could bear it no more. One evening at Vauxhall, where he joined her in the elegant supper box Francis had taken, she turned to him and asked bluntly, “Are you courting me?”
His eyebrows
“Very nicely done, sir,” she said to Lord Dowling as Mr. Eccleston led Clarissa to join the dancers.
“Was it?” He flashed her a small smile. Standing right beside her, hands clasped behind his back, he was nearly overwhelming. “She’s very light on her feet. Very accomplished in the minuet.”
“Yes,” said Margaret with some surprise. “She is.” And Clarissa loved to dance. When Mr. Eccleston wasn’t in attendance, she sighed more than once over the fact that no one else would ask her to step out. Perhaps it was a kind thing Lord Dowling had done after all. “I hope you haven’t stirred up trouble by asking her.”
“Nonsense,” he said with a grin. “Eccleston has nothing to fear from me; he’s exceptionally fond of her, and from her conversation, I gather she feels the same for him. I wouldn’t dream of dividing them.” He paused and gave her a sideways look. “They belong together, you know.”
Precisely what he’d said to her about the pair of them. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “And you are qualified to sit in judgment, deciding who must marry whom?”
“You give me too much credit. Perhaps it’s more divine than that; perhaps God himself designed the one to suit the other, and it would be a violation of natural law for them to be parted.” He inclined his head, clearly enjoying himself greatly. “I merely have the discernment to see it.”
“You must be one of the few,” she said dryly. “I can see no fewer than a dozen violations of natural law in this very room, if suitability of marriage partners qualifies as a sin.”
“It is such a shame when fathers and brothers ignore God’s will.” He lowered his voice. “How fortunate you are, to have secured your own choice in the matter.”
“Is this part of your plan to coerce me into marriage?”
He tilted his head, looking at her, and then turned to face her fully. “No, Miss de Lacey. I would never attempt coercion. I’m content to wait until you see how right we are for each other.”
She waited, but he said nothing else, to her annoyance. Then she was annoyed with herself, for realizing she had been waiting all this time in expectation of an invitation to dance, and that she would have accepted it, no matter how impertinent he was. Part of her, like Clarissa, yearned to dance with such a man. “Are you not even going to ask me to dance, then?” she asked, striving for lightness. “For if not, I beg you go away. Your presence is keeping all the other gentlemen at bay.”
“And are you sorry for that?” His eyes glittered with sly amusement.
“If it means I shan’t get to dance, yes,” she said, lying very boldly.
“I see.” He made a very elegant bow, giving her a good look at his well-shaped leg. “I bid you good evening then, since I wouldn’t dream of denying you any pleasure.” And he turned and walked away, leaving her gaping in astonishment at his back.
A nd so it went for more than a fortnight. She saw him everywhere, and he made a point of speaking to her each time. He was amusing, insightful, and thoughtful, much more so than she would have expected. Before long she began looking for him—she suspected Clarissa was letting him know, through Mr. Eccleston, which events she planned to attend—and she never again made the mistake of telling him to go away. But he never asked her to dance, or to stroll with him in the garden, or even if he might call on her. It was maddening. Everyone, from Miss Cuthbert to Mr. Eccleston, was certain he was planning to propose to her. But aside from some offhand references to pleasing her, he never said anything even remotely connected to marriage or love.
Finally she could bear it no more. One evening at Vauxhall, where he joined her in the elegant supper box Francis had taken, she turned to him and asked bluntly, “Are you courting me?”
His eyebrows
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