been a couple ever since. Leo had asked for her hand in marriage and she accepted. They were eager to announce their engagement, but I urged them to wait. She was only eighteen. The same age I’d been when I rushed into a disastrous marriage.
I had no objections to Leo, but I’d had no objections to my feckless, philandering husband at the time I’d married him either. The objections came later and continued until the day he died in the bed of his lover. So, you see, I wasn’t being obstructive, I simply wanted them to get to know one another before marriage.
Fiona tutted. “She’s going to marry the man at some point, Frances. This delay will make no difference. You’d do better to concentrate on your little protégée. She must be starving for entertainment.”
“If one is starving for entertainment in London, Lady Fiona, one has far too large an appetite.” Sir Hugo raised his glass to emphasize his point. “I met the lovely Miss Deaver when you attended the theater last week. She seemed to be enjoying herself.”
Charlotte Deaver, my “little protégée,” as Fiona called her, was a friend of Lily’s from New York. “Lottie is fascinated with everything London,” I said, with a nod to Ridley. “And is quite able to entertain herself. She’s just as content with a trip to the library or a museum as she is mingling with society. Actually, more so.” I lowered my voice and leaned in toward my friends. “She’s a bit awkward at social events.”
Fiona raised her brows. “Dearest, you truly understate the case. More men have been injured dancing with her than were wounded in the Transvaal Rebellion.”
I huffed. “That’s unfair, Fiona. She may be somewhat lacking in grace, but she’s injured none of her dance partners.”
Ridley covered a laugh by clearing his throat. “Graceful or not, I found her charming, and doubt any man in London would say differently. I’m sure Evingdon finds her so.” He inclined his head in the direction of the house where Lottie stumbled over three short steps leading from the conservatory to the lawn. Charles Evingdon, descending the steps himself, quickly caught her arm to stop her from falling face-first into the rose bushes. Sadly, he couldn’t prevent her hat, a confection of pink bows and white plumes, from launching itself into the shrubbery.
“Oh, I wasn’t expecting to see Evingdon here today.”
“I don’t mind seeing him,” Ridley said. “It’s speaking with him that rather challenges my patience.”
I gave the man a cool stare. “I’ll remind you, Ridley, Charles Evingdon is part of my family.”
His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Cousin to your late husband, I believe. Therefore, I won’t hold it against you, my dear Lady Harleigh. But I will beg you to excuse me.”
With that he gave us a cheeky grin and sauntered away, my glare boring into his back. “Every time I think that man has turned over a new leaf, he reminds me of what a scoundrel he really is.”
“Marriage isn’t likely to make that man civil, dear,” Fiona said. “But in this case, I’d say he was just being honest.”
“Charles is different, I’ll grant you that.” He was certainly different from my other in-laws in a number of ways. Most notably, his branch of the family managed to hold on to their wealth, he didn’t hold my American background against me, and in contrast to the cold austerity of my nearest in-laws, he was as friendly as a golden retriever.
I turned my attention back to the house and smiled when Charles raised a hand to gain my attention. He steadied Lottie on her feet, set her hat atop the wreckage of her hair, and headed in our direction.
“I daresay he’s coming over to thank me for introducing him to Mary Archer.” I tipped my head toward Fiona and preened a bit. “He seems quite taken with her. I believe I can count that match as one of my successes.”
“I wouldn’t say that overloud, dear.” Fiona leaned in closer. “You wouldn’t want anyone to think you were in the business of matchmaking. Or in business at all, for that matter.”
“Of course not.” I took a quick glance around to assure myself no one was close enough to hear. “I’ve simply made one or two discreet introductions. Can I help it if the recipients of those introductions chose to show their gratitude with a gift?”
“But I wonder if Mrs. Archer is grateful. Do you really suppose she’s equally taken with Evingdon?” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s rather dim-witted, don’t you think?”
“You’re as bad as Ridley. It’s terribly uncharitable of you to say such a thing. Aside from being my relation, he’s a very likable and kind man. He’s also a good friend of your brother’s, and George doesn’t suffer fools.”
Her lips compressed in a straight line. I was right and she knew it. In fact, it was George’s good opinion of Charles that led me to believe the man must have a brain somewhere in his head. His actions certainly led one to think otherwise.
He approached us with a genial grin, one he wore frequently and which made him seem much younger than his thirty-six years, as did his tall, athletic frame and thick head of wheat-colored hair. He wore it slightly too long for fashion, but it suited him.
“Ladies,” he said with a tip of his straw boater. “I was hoping to find you here. Well, actually I was only hoping to find you, Cousin Frances.”
He paused, but as I drew breath to speak, he continued. “Not that I didn’t want to find you, Lady Fiona, just that I wasn’t actively seeking you, you understand? Good to find you all the same. Rather like looking for a book you’d mislaid somewhere and stumbling across another that turns out to be equally diverting. Not that I would ever stumble across you, of course. But one would have to admit you are diverting.”
He finished this monologue with a show of dimples.
“It’s lovely to see you too, Cousin Charles.”
I glanced at Fiona. A line had worked itself between her brows. She parted her lips to speak, then seemed to think better of it.
I gave her arm a squeeze. “I’m sure Lady Nash is pleased to see you as well.”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me. I’ve yet to greet our hostess.”
With that she slipped away like an animal escaping a trap. I took a breath and returned my attention to my cousin. “Did Mrs. Archer not accompany you today?”
“Ah. Mrs. Archer. Yes. Exactly why I wanted to speak with you.”
“How are things progressing with the two of you?”
He brushed off his sleeves as if they were dusty, then straightened his tie. As he fidgeted, his gaze traveled in every direction but mine. “Well . . .” He finally looked me in the eye. “Actually, not well. Not well at all.” He cast a suspicious glance at two young ladies nearby, their heads together in giggling conversation, and offered me his arm.
“Would you care to stroll, Cousin Frances?”
I took his arm and we set off at a leisurely pace around the perimeter of the garden. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”
“No,” he said. “Well, yes. It seems we may not suit after all, Mrs. Archer and
