the table. ‘Perhaps I might walk with you for a short distance?’
Elizabeth felt her heart sink at the suggestion. Her remarks to Lord Thorne a few minutes ago regarding Sir Rufus had been pure bravado on her part; she had absolutely no romantic interest in a man who was not only almost twenty years her senior, but so plain in appearance that she was almost ashamed to admit, as Lady Elizabeth Copeland, she would probably not even have noticed his existence.
‘I am sure my knowledge of the area is far superior to Osbourne’s,’ that gentleman added haughtily.
Not only plain to look at, but pompous too, Elizabeth noted with an inward wince, making sure not to so much as glance in the earl’s direction now, knowing that gentleman was sure to be frowning his disapproval, which was perhaps, contrarily, reason enough for Elizabeth to accept Sir Rufus’s invitation. Except she really did not have the least romantic interest in the older man, as either Betsy Thompson or Lady Elizabeth Copeland…
She drew in a light breath. ‘It is very kind of you to offer, Sir Rufus—’
‘Very kind, indeed,’ Mrs Wilson said warmly. ‘Are the bluebells still out in the West Wood, Sir Rufus?’
‘They are, ma’am.’
‘Oh, then you must allow Sir Rufus to show you the West Wood in bloom, Betsy.’ Her employer smiled her approval. ‘Hector has always liked to frolic in the bluebell wood,’ she added, as if that settled the argument.
Which, in fact, it did, Elizabeth accepted at the same time as she struggled with her inner frustration; Mrs Wilson’s indulgence where her little dog was concerned was limitless, and if Hector liked to go to the bluebell wood then Elizabeth must surely take him there.
Chancing even the briefest of glances at Nathaniel Thorne beneath lowered lashes, in order to gauge his reaction to this conversation, had been a mistake. Horrible, horrible man—instead of disapproving he looked highly amused—no doubt because he was fully aware of Elizabeth’s lack of enthusiasm for Sir Rufus’s company!
Nathaniel’s lips were pressed tightly together, as if to suppress the smile that was reflected in the laughing brown eyes that looked down at her so engagingly. ‘I am sure you will greatly enjoy the bluebell wood, Betsy.’
If it were not for their listening and watching audience she would enjoy telling him exactly what she thought of him! ‘I am sure that I shall.’ She turned to Sir Rufus. ‘If you would not mind waiting a few minutes more, I will go upstairs and collect my bonnet, sir.’
‘Not at all.’ He gave her a curt, unsmiling nod.
Elizabeth’s steps were slow as she made her way up the stairs. In truth, she did not know quite what to make of Sir Rufus Tennant. Oh, he was polite enough in a brusque, no-nonsense sort of manner and did indeed seem desirous of her company, yet at the same time he made no effort to charm or cajole as a younger gentleman might have done in order to secure a lady’s interest. She—
‘I believe that is the first time I have been referred to as an allergy, Elizabeth.’
She turned so sharply on the stairs at hearing that mocking voice directly behind her that she might have tumbled down them if Nathaniel had not reached out to clasp the tops of her arms to help her regain her balance.
Elizabeth moved out of that grasp as soon as she felt steady enough on her feet, rendered briefly breathless as she looked straight into the earl’s rakishly handsome face as he stood on the stair two steps down from her. Standing so close to him, in fact, that she could see the golden shards of colour amongst the brown of his eyes and feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. As soft as a kiss…
Elizabeth stepped back and up another step to escape that sensual pull. ‘I believe it is more an irritation than an actual allergy,’ she bit out frostily.
‘Are you ever at a loss for an answer?’ The earl looked up at her admiringly.
‘I sincerely hope not,’
Elizabeth felt her heart sink at the suggestion. Her remarks to Lord Thorne a few minutes ago regarding Sir Rufus had been pure bravado on her part; she had absolutely no romantic interest in a man who was not only almost twenty years her senior, but so plain in appearance that she was almost ashamed to admit, as Lady Elizabeth Copeland, she would probably not even have noticed his existence.
‘I am sure my knowledge of the area is far superior to Osbourne’s,’ that gentleman added haughtily.
Not only plain to look at, but pompous too, Elizabeth noted with an inward wince, making sure not to so much as glance in the earl’s direction now, knowing that gentleman was sure to be frowning his disapproval, which was perhaps, contrarily, reason enough for Elizabeth to accept Sir Rufus’s invitation. Except she really did not have the least romantic interest in the older man, as either Betsy Thompson or Lady Elizabeth Copeland…
She drew in a light breath. ‘It is very kind of you to offer, Sir Rufus—’
‘Very kind, indeed,’ Mrs Wilson said warmly. ‘Are the bluebells still out in the West Wood, Sir Rufus?’
‘They are, ma’am.’
‘Oh, then you must allow Sir Rufus to show you the West Wood in bloom, Betsy.’ Her employer smiled her approval. ‘Hector has always liked to frolic in the bluebell wood,’ she added, as if that settled the argument.
Which, in fact, it did, Elizabeth accepted at the same time as she struggled with her inner frustration; Mrs Wilson’s indulgence where her little dog was concerned was limitless, and if Hector liked to go to the bluebell wood then Elizabeth must surely take him there.
Chancing even the briefest of glances at Nathaniel Thorne beneath lowered lashes, in order to gauge his reaction to this conversation, had been a mistake. Horrible, horrible man—instead of disapproving he looked highly amused—no doubt because he was fully aware of Elizabeth’s lack of enthusiasm for Sir Rufus’s company!
Nathaniel’s lips were pressed tightly together, as if to suppress the smile that was reflected in the laughing brown eyes that looked down at her so engagingly. ‘I am sure you will greatly enjoy the bluebell wood, Betsy.’
If it were not for their listening and watching audience she would enjoy telling him exactly what she thought of him! ‘I am sure that I shall.’ She turned to Sir Rufus. ‘If you would not mind waiting a few minutes more, I will go upstairs and collect my bonnet, sir.’
‘Not at all.’ He gave her a curt, unsmiling nod.
Elizabeth’s steps were slow as she made her way up the stairs. In truth, she did not know quite what to make of Sir Rufus Tennant. Oh, he was polite enough in a brusque, no-nonsense sort of manner and did indeed seem desirous of her company, yet at the same time he made no effort to charm or cajole as a younger gentleman might have done in order to secure a lady’s interest. She—
‘I believe that is the first time I have been referred to as an allergy, Elizabeth.’
She turned so sharply on the stairs at hearing that mocking voice directly behind her that she might have tumbled down them if Nathaniel had not reached out to clasp the tops of her arms to help her regain her balance.
Elizabeth moved out of that grasp as soon as she felt steady enough on her feet, rendered briefly breathless as she looked straight into the earl’s rakishly handsome face as he stood on the stair two steps down from her. Standing so close to him, in fact, that she could see the golden shards of colour amongst the brown of his eyes and feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. As soft as a kiss…
Elizabeth stepped back and up another step to escape that sensual pull. ‘I believe it is more an irritation than an actual allergy,’ she bit out frostily.
‘Are you ever at a loss for an answer?’ The earl looked up at her admiringly.
‘I sincerely hope not,’
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