of a
sudden he realized, now that Rushton had found his next countess, his time
constraints would ease. Uncle Cyrus’ good fortune was Randall’s good fortune as
well. He could use the phaeton to take Lady Dorothea for a drive in Hyde Park
that very afternoon. He wasted no time in dispatching a note to her.
“I say, Miss Larissa, is that not a new bonnet?” She and Lord
Fenton Harding had arrived just at the height of the fashionable hour at Hyde
Park. Lord Fenton gave the horses their heads to walk along the busy, well-traveled
path.
Larissa peeked out at him from beneath the brim. “Why yes, it is
new. Do you like it?” She found it tedious that Lord Fenton touched only upon
the most correct subjects for a lady’s discussion. Ladies’ fashions, last
night’s social gatherings and the latest on dit .
“It’s quite fetching,” he complimented in his proper manner.
Perhaps it was too proper.
“Thank you,” she replied. What Larissa found fetching was Lord
Fenton’s smile.
“Miss Larissa, did you happen to take notice of Miss Uppington -Styles last evening?”
“Miss Uppington -Styles?” Larissa tilted
her head in quizzical contemplation, holding the loose ribbons from her bonnet.
She caught Lord Fenton’s fine profile as he awaited his answer.
His aristocratic nose, while slender, was not sharp. His chin
fell to a nice point from a strong, wide jaw. She regarded how his slender yet
strong hands handled the reins with a gentle firmness. She could just as easily
imagine the way in which his long, tapered fingers would hold her fast and
deliver a gentle touch or a warm caress.
How much longer did she have to wait? She wanted him to take her
hand into his and press it. She wanted him to pull her into his arms and kiss
her breathless, just as Sir Randall had.
“Miss Larissa?”
Larissa found herself gazing into Lord Fenton’s face. “I am
sorry, my lord. We were speaking of Miss Uppington -Styles,
were we not?”
“Yes, that’s right.” He gave a jovial social laugh. “She wore a
simply dazzling raspberry-colored gown.”
“Raspberry? Are you sure?”
“I believe so. Too purple to be scarlet, and too red to be
violet. I thought raspberry a most apt description.”
“What a brilliant observation,” Larissa gushed, doing her best
London Miss imitation.
Lord Fenton continued to speak while he and Larissa acknowledged
other fashionable guests in passing carriages. Larissa spied a somewhat
familiar gig, not too far off in the distance. It took a gentle curve,
approaching from the opposite direction, coming toward them. The dark green
phaeton with a fine yellow stripe finally drew close enough for her to see the
passengers.
Sir Randall Trent recognized Larissa Quinn at once and drew back
on the ribbons, pulling his team to a sliding and disruptive halt. The horses
neighed, shaking their heads in protest. After they settled and stood quiet an
awkward moment of silence ensued.
“I would not wish to speak out of place,” Larissa began, her
voice, not much more than a whisper, was meant for her escort and not for
Randall. “However, I do believe someone must say something.”
It was only after Larissa spoke that Randall realized both
transports stood facing one another at a standstill, caught in an uncomfortable
social circumstance.
“I’m afraid I do not know the proper order of introducing a
younger son of a duke to a baronet.” Larissa’s attention darted from Fenton to
Randall.
“Nearly any titled person ranks above a baronet,” came the soft
reminder next to her.
Larissa gave an awkward smile. “Then, Lord Fenton, may I present
Sir Randall Trent. Sir Randall, Lord Fenton Harding.”
The men tipped their hats and exchanged gracious social
pleasantries. All of it properly done. All of it polite and yet very staged.
Randall observed the awkward silence that followed. Larissa and
Lord Fenton stared at him. He realized he had not performed the same introductions
for Lady
sudden he realized, now that Rushton had found his next countess, his time
constraints would ease. Uncle Cyrus’ good fortune was Randall’s good fortune as
well. He could use the phaeton to take Lady Dorothea for a drive in Hyde Park
that very afternoon. He wasted no time in dispatching a note to her.
“I say, Miss Larissa, is that not a new bonnet?” She and Lord
Fenton Harding had arrived just at the height of the fashionable hour at Hyde
Park. Lord Fenton gave the horses their heads to walk along the busy, well-traveled
path.
Larissa peeked out at him from beneath the brim. “Why yes, it is
new. Do you like it?” She found it tedious that Lord Fenton touched only upon
the most correct subjects for a lady’s discussion. Ladies’ fashions, last
night’s social gatherings and the latest on dit .
“It’s quite fetching,” he complimented in his proper manner.
Perhaps it was too proper.
“Thank you,” she replied. What Larissa found fetching was Lord
Fenton’s smile.
“Miss Larissa, did you happen to take notice of Miss Uppington -Styles last evening?”
“Miss Uppington -Styles?” Larissa tilted
her head in quizzical contemplation, holding the loose ribbons from her bonnet.
She caught Lord Fenton’s fine profile as he awaited his answer.
His aristocratic nose, while slender, was not sharp. His chin
fell to a nice point from a strong, wide jaw. She regarded how his slender yet
strong hands handled the reins with a gentle firmness. She could just as easily
imagine the way in which his long, tapered fingers would hold her fast and
deliver a gentle touch or a warm caress.
How much longer did she have to wait? She wanted him to take her
hand into his and press it. She wanted him to pull her into his arms and kiss
her breathless, just as Sir Randall had.
“Miss Larissa?”
Larissa found herself gazing into Lord Fenton’s face. “I am
sorry, my lord. We were speaking of Miss Uppington -Styles,
were we not?”
“Yes, that’s right.” He gave a jovial social laugh. “She wore a
simply dazzling raspberry-colored gown.”
“Raspberry? Are you sure?”
“I believe so. Too purple to be scarlet, and too red to be
violet. I thought raspberry a most apt description.”
“What a brilliant observation,” Larissa gushed, doing her best
London Miss imitation.
Lord Fenton continued to speak while he and Larissa acknowledged
other fashionable guests in passing carriages. Larissa spied a somewhat
familiar gig, not too far off in the distance. It took a gentle curve,
approaching from the opposite direction, coming toward them. The dark green
phaeton with a fine yellow stripe finally drew close enough for her to see the
passengers.
Sir Randall Trent recognized Larissa Quinn at once and drew back
on the ribbons, pulling his team to a sliding and disruptive halt. The horses
neighed, shaking their heads in protest. After they settled and stood quiet an
awkward moment of silence ensued.
“I would not wish to speak out of place,” Larissa began, her
voice, not much more than a whisper, was meant for her escort and not for
Randall. “However, I do believe someone must say something.”
It was only after Larissa spoke that Randall realized both
transports stood facing one another at a standstill, caught in an uncomfortable
social circumstance.
“I’m afraid I do not know the proper order of introducing a
younger son of a duke to a baronet.” Larissa’s attention darted from Fenton to
Randall.
“Nearly any titled person ranks above a baronet,” came the soft
reminder next to her.
Larissa gave an awkward smile. “Then, Lord Fenton, may I present
Sir Randall Trent. Sir Randall, Lord Fenton Harding.”
The men tipped their hats and exchanged gracious social
pleasantries. All of it properly done. All of it polite and yet very staged.
Randall observed the awkward silence that followed. Larissa and
Lord Fenton stared at him. He realized he had not performed the same introductions
for Lady
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