but I thought I might try my hand at designing something to house the exhibits.’
‘Has that not already been done?’
‘There are architects working on it, but nothing has been finally decided.’
‘Then I wish you luck with it. Has it been decided where the building is to be sited?’
‘I think it is fairly certain to be in the corner of Hyde Park where we encountered each other.’
‘And that was why you were on that particular spot?’
‘Yes. No doubt I shall need to go there again to check my measurements.’
It was a mundane conversation, apparently meaningless, but Esme knew there was more to it than that. They were communicating with their eyes, with the way they looked at each other, even in the way they stood and occasionally lifted a hand to emphasise a point. There was empathy in the very air around them. It was a wonderful feeling that left her slightly breathless.
She did not realise it also made her cheeks rosier than usual and her eyes bright as stars. Felix saw it and felt it. Here was a child of nature, someone so open, so unafraid, he was afraid for her. He was afraid of life treating her badly, of his own emotions, which at that moment were playing havoc with his peace of mind. He had no right to feel like this, no right to engage her feelings when he had sworn never again to let a woman into his heart. She was too young to understand what was happening, too young to be hurt. He did not want to hurt her.
He bowed. ‘I must not keep you from your friends. Good day, Lady Trent, good day, Lady Esme.’
He moved on and Esme found herself watching his back disappearing through the throng and wanting to cry. His departure had been so abrupt, as if she had said something to upset him. But she hadn’t, had she? She had complimented him on his drawing skill—that wouldn’t make him want to disappear, would it? Perhaps he found her conversation boring? Or had he realised Rosemary had not spoken a single civil word to him since her first formal greeting? Was he sensitive enough to feel her sister’s animosity? If she met him when Rosemary was not present…
She pulled herself together to listen to Rosemary making arrangements with Lady Bryson to attend a charity concert the following week, after which they took their leave and returned to the carriage which took them back to Trent House. The whole journey was one long scold, mainly directed at Lord Pendlebury and the way Esme had encouraged him.
‘I cannot understand what you can have against him,’ Esme said. ‘I think you made up your mind not to like him right from the first when he tipped his hat to me and smiled. It was just his way of being polite.’
‘Impudent, you mean, and then to draw pictures of us without even a by-your-leave.’
‘You surely did not mind that. It was only a sketch and very tasteful.’
‘I mind when my sister, for whom I am acting in loco parentis, makes a fool of herself,’ she said, as Esme followed her. ‘And of me.’
‘No one is making a fool of you, except yourself, Rosie. Lord Pendlebury is accepted in society. Why, you could see all the unmarried ladies falling over themselves to attract his attention.’
‘That does not mean you have to. Always remember you are the daughter of an earl and should behave with more dignity.’
This business of protocol and etiquette and what was and was not proper behaviour was full of pitfalls and she seemed to be falling into every one of them. The trouble was, she did not know they were there until she had tumbled into them. The result was that, as soon as they arrived home, she was given a book on etiquette and told to study it.
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