“Well, apparently he approves. The two men have dined together.”
Lady Kingsley shook her head. “My goodness, will wonders never cease?”
“No indeed. I asked Lord Frederick if she looked well and he asked me when had she ever not looked well.”
“Oh, my!” Miss Beauchamp squealed.
Please let it not be. “Does Lord Frederick have an understanding with someone?” Elissande ventured to ask.
“My apologies, I forgot you do not know, Miss Edgerton. Lord Frederick did have an understanding with the Marchioness of Tremaine. And in the spring of ’ninety-three, she was prepared to divorce her husband for him. It was going to be quite the scandal, but the divorce never took place. She reconciled with her husband and withdrew her petition.”
“Poor Lord Frederick.” Miss Kingsley sighed.
“No, lucky Lord Frederick,” Lady Avery corrected her. “Now he can marry a nice young lady like Miss Edgerton here, instead of someone who would forever be referred to as ‘that divorced woman.’ Don’t you agree, Miss Edgerton?”
“I don’t think Lord Frederick has any plans to marry me,” Elissande answered with, alas, no false modesty whatsoever. “But I do, on the whole, believe that it is more…convenient not to have a divorce in one’s spouse’s past.”
“Excellent,” said Lady Avery. “My dear Miss Edgerton, you understand the essence of the issue. One must not be a romantic in this life. Look at the cynics; they were all once romantics.”
“Is—is Lord Frederick now a cynic?”
“No, bless him, he is still a romantic, would you believe it. I suppose not every disappointed romantic turns into a cynic.”
Such a good man, Lord Frederick. If only Elissande could entice him to ask for her hand, she’d love him so much better than that faithless Lady Tremaine.
In fact, she would be the best wife in the history of matrimony.
Vere needed to be at the house. But when Freddie came to him, wanting some company, he could not refuse. They walked for miles in the country, rowed on one of the meres that dotted the very northern tip of Shropshire, and took their luncheon at the village inn.
“I’m going back,” Vere said at the end of the luncheon, rising from the table and yawning. He must know what instructions Holbrook had sent and coordinate with Lady Kingsley on getting Nye into and out of the house. “I need a nap. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Nightmares?” Freddie rose too and fell in step beside Vere.
“No, I don’t get them so often anymore.” In his last year at Eton, Freddie had to come into Vere’s room almost every night to shake him awake. “Anyway, you stay here if you’d like. I’ll hire the inn’s carriage to take me back.”
“I’ll come with you,” Freddie said quietly.
Vere experienced another stab of guilt. Freddie no doubt wished to stay away for the rest of the day—Lady Tremaine was ancient history, yet Lady Avery still pounced upon him as if he’d freshly waltzed with Scandal. But Freddie had also made it a point always to accompany Vere whenever they were out somewhere unfamiliar.
Vere briefly clasped his hand on Freddie’s shoulder. “Come along then.”
Back at the house, Vere found Lady Kingsley waiting impatiently for him. Nye would be arriving shortly before the start of dinner. They agreed that Vere would let him in through the doors that led from the library to a terrace on the east side of the house—the side away from the kitchen, and therefore less likely to be seen by the servants.
“And what do we do after I must relinquish Miss Edgerton at night, if Nye is still not finished?” asked Lady Kingsley.
“I’ll think of something.”
“Make sure it’s not something you’ll regret,” said Lady Kingsley.
Twenty-four hours had yet to pass since he first laid eyes on Miss Edgerton. Little wonder then the memory of his infatuation was fresh in Lady Kingsley’s mind. Yet it already seemed impossibly distant to Vere, a time of long-ago innocence.
“I’ll be mindful,” he said coolly.
Knowing Miss Edgerton’s aim, as soon as he concluded his tête-à-tête with Lady Kingsley, he looked for his brother. He found Freddie—and Miss Edgerton—in the otherwise empty dining room, Freddie gazing into his No. 4 Kodak camera, Miss Edgerton, in a most becoming day dress of pale apricot, gazing adoringly at Freddie.
The ardor in her eyes cooled considerably as she noted Vere’s presence. “Lord Vere.”
Vere ignored the caustic sensation in his heart. “Miss Edgerton. Freddie.”
Freddie pulled up the brass button on top of the box camera to cock the shutter. “Hullo, Penny. How was your nap? It’s only been”—he glanced at the clock—“three quarters of an hour.”
“My nap was superb. What are you doing?”
“Taking some photographs of this painting. Miss Edgerton was kind enough to grant me permission.”
“Be churlish for Miss Edgerton to refuse you, wouldn’t it?” Vere smiled at her.
She smiled back at him, her expression as sunny as his. “It most certainly would be. Besides, I’ve never seen a camera before.”
“I’ve seen tons of them. And they all do exactly the same thing,” he said dismissively. “By the way, Miss Edgerton, Miss Kingsley said the ladies would like you to join them for a turn in the garden.”
“Oh,” she said. “Are you sure, Lord Vere?”
“Of course. I saw her not three minutes ago in the rose parlor.”
He had seen Miss Kingsley less than three minutes ago in the rose parlor. Miss Kingsley, however, had been engaged in a game of backgammon with Conrad, her admirer—and had no intention of going anywhere. But by the time Miss Edgerton realized this, it would be too late; Vere would have whisked Freddie someplace safe—safer, at least—from her calculating grasp.
“And she was quite keen on your company,” Vere added.
“I suppose I’d best go see her then,” said Miss Edgerton reluctantly. “Thank you, Lord Vere. Excuse me, Lord Frederick.”
Vere watched her. At the door she looked back. But Freddie was already busy with his next snapshot. Instead her eyes met Vere’s. He made sure his gaze shifted obviously to her breasts. She left quickly after that.
He turned his attention back to Freddie. “Fancy a game of snooker, old chap?”
Of course Lord Vere was wrong. Of course.
Miss Kingsley and Mr. Conrad, both chortling, told Elissande not to worry. Perhaps it was someone else who had asked Lord Vere to convey a message, and Lord Vere, with his slightly inaccurate memory—a most charitable turn of phrase—had made mistakes concerning both the originator and the recipient of the message.
Miss Kingsley even kindly rose and offered to take a turn in the garden with Elissande, if she was still in the mood for it. Elissande, who had never been in the mood for it, thanked Miss Kingsley profusely and begged that she and Mr. Conrad forgive her interruption and continue to enjoy their game.
By the time Elissande returned to the dining room, Lord Frederick was gone. She did locate him in the billiard room fifteen minutes later, but the room was full of men—everyone except Mr. Conrad, it seemed.
“Miss Edgerton, would you like to join the game?” Lord Vere asked cheerfully.
The other gentlemen chuckled softly. Even without any experience to guide her in the matter, Elissande understood that she could not possibly accept the invitation. It would give Lord Frederick quite the wrong impression of her character—an accurate one, that was, and that would not do.
“Thank you, sir,” she said with what she hoped was a lighthearted tone. “But no, thank you. I was only passing through.”
She still had dinner, during which she would have Lord Frederick next to her.