London and the importunings of Lord Rothesay, Amelia had come first to her relatives in Berkshire. “I’m sure a few months will be sufficient to cool Rothesay’s ardour. I had planned to go to stay with Aunt Mary but she won’t be back in Bath before the end of the month.” Amelia scanned the crowd, swelling as the gentlemen strolled in, forsaking their port for feminine company.
“As Jack said, you’re always welcome here.” When Amelia continued to consider the gentlemen as they strolled through the door, Lenore asked, “There is none here who has caused you any bother, is there?”
“No.” Amelia shook her head. “I was just checking for any potential problems.” Linking arms with Lenore, she smiled up at her. “Don’t fret. I’m sure I’ll manage to survive Jack and Harry’s crowd. They all seem to be well-heeled enough not to need my money and well-mannered enough to accept a dismissal. I must say, though, that I’m surprised to see Eversleigh here.”
“Oh?” Conscious of a sharp stab of curiosity, Lenore strolled beside Amelia. “Why so?”
“I had heard,” Amelia said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “that he’s decided to marry. I’d have thought he’d be playing host to a collection of the fairest debs and their doting mamas at Eversleigh Abbey, rather than enjoying the delights of one of your brothers’ little gatherings.”
Aware of a sunken sinking feeling, Lenore resisted the compulsion to turn and look for Eversleigh in the crowd. “I hadn’t considered him the marrying sort, somehow.”
“Exactly so! The story is that he had no intention of succumbing. His brother was to keep the line going. But he—the brother, I mean—was killed at Waterloo. So now Eversleigh must make the ultimate sacrifice.”
Lenore’s lips twitched. “I wonder if he considers it in that light?”
“Undoubtedly,” Amelia averred. “He’s a rake, isn’t he? Anyway, from everything I’ve heard and seen, it’s the poor soul he takes to wife who deserves our pity. Eversleigh’s a handsome devil and can be utterly charming when the mood takes him. It would be hard work to remain aloof from all that masculine appeal. Unfortunately, His Grace is reputed to be impervious to the softer emotions, one of the old school in that regard. I can’t see him falling a victim to Cupid and reforming. His poor wife will probably end in thrall and have her heart broken.”
Brows rising, Lenore considered Amelia’s prediction. “Charming” was not the word she would have chosen to describe Eversleigh; the power he wielded was far stronger than mere charm. Suppressing an odd shiver, she decided that, all in all, Amelia was right. The future Lady Eversleigh was to be sincerely pitied.
Leaving her cousin with Lady Henslaw, Lenore paused by the side of the room. Under pretext of straightening the upstanding collar of her chemisette, she glanced about, eventually locating Eversleigh conversing with her father, ensconced in his chair by the fireplace. The sight brought a frown to Lenore’s eyes. Listening to her father’s reminiscences seemed an unlikely joy for a man of Eversleigh’s tastes. Still, she was hardly an expert on what a gentleman recently determined on marriage might find entertaining. Shrugging the point aside, she embarked on an ambling progress about the room, providing introductions, ensuring the conversation flowed easily, and keeping a watchful eye on some of the more vulnerable ladies. Two such innocents were the Melton sisters, Lady Harrison and Lady Moffat, whom she discovered under determined seige from a trio of gentlemen.
“Good evening, Lord Scoresby.” Lenore smiled sweetly at his lordship.
Forced to take her hand, thus relieving Lady Moffat of his far too close attention, his lordship murmured a greeting.
“I hear you have recently set up your town house, Lady Moffat?” Lenore smiled encouragingly at the young matron.
Lady Moffat grabbed her branch like a woman sinking, blithely describing all aspects of her new household. Lenore artfully drew Lady Harrison into the safety of the conversation. Within five minutes she had the satisfaction of seeing both Lord Scoresby and Mr. Marmaluke nod and drift away, vanquished by wallpaper patterns and upholstery designs. But Mr. Buttercombe was only dislodged when Frederick Marshall strolled up.
“I hear the Pantheon bazaar is very useful for all the knick-knacks you ladies enjoy scattering about the place.”
Lenore was sure neither young woman noticed the twinkle in Frederick Marshall’s eyes, but, seeing the way the sisters responded to his easy address, she was too grateful for his assistance to quibble. He was one of the more easygoing of the gentlemen present and seemed amenable to playing the role of gallant to their ladyships’ innocence.
Seeing Smithers pushing the large tea-trolley in, Lenore excused herself and crossed the room to perform her last duty of the evening. Rather than station the trolley by the fireplace, her normal habit, she had Smithers place it between two sets of long windows, presently open to the terrace. With Eversleigh still by her father’s chair, the area around the fireplace was likely to prove too hot for her sensibilities.
She had no trouble distributing the teacups, commandeering gentlemen at will. However, she took Harriet’s cup herself, not liking to lumber anyone else with the task. One never knew how Harriet would react.
“Thank you, dear,” Harriet boomed. Lenore winced and settled the cup on a small table by her aunt’s side, confident that by now most of the guests must have realised her aunt’s affliction. She turned to leave—and found herself face to face with His Grace of Eversleigh.
“My dear Miss Lester—no teacup?” Jason smiled, pleased that his calculated wait by her father’s side had paid the desired dividend.
Lenore told herself she had no reason to quiver like a schoolgirl. “I’ve already had a cup, Your Grace.”
“Excellent. Then, as you’ve already dispensed enough cups to supply the company, perhaps you’ll consent to a stroll about the room?”
The “with me” was said with his eyes. Lenore stared up into their grey depths and wished she could fathom why they were so hypnotic. Perhaps, if she understood their attraction, she would be better able to counter it?
“Just like his father! Forever after lifting some woman’s skirts. Not that he’ll get any joy from Lenore. Far too knowing, she is.” Harriet snorted. “Too knowing for her own good, I sometimes think.”
Lenore’s cheeks crimsoned with embarrassment. Glancing about, she saw that no one else was close, no one else had heard her aunt’s horrendous pronouncements. No one except their primary subject. Drawing a deep breath, she raised her eyes fleetingly to his. “Your Grace, I beg you’ll excuse my aunt. She’s…” She foundered to an awkward halt.
A rumbling chuckle came from beside her.
“My dear Miss Lester, I’m hardly the type to take offence over such a minor transgression.”
Lenore could have wilted with relief.
“However,” Jason continued, seizing the opportunity fate had so thoughtfully provided, “I suggest we quit this locality before your esteemed aunt is further stimulated by our presence.”
Difficult to counter that argument, Lenore thought, giving conscious effort to maintaining her calm smile as she permitted Eversleigh to place her hand on his sleeve and lead her away from the fireplace. As she fell into step beside him, she saw her aunt’s maid Janet and her father’s valet Moreton slip into the room. As soon as her father
