relieved when he made no move to speak with her. He did, however, catch her eye when she looked up as the gentlemen rose. To her chagrin, she could not wrench her eyes from his smile as he approached and paused by her chair.
“Good morning, Miss Lester.” Jason’s gaze lifted to include her companions. “Ladies.”
With a graceful nod, he acknowledged their ladyships’ bright good mornings and Lenore’s more subdued greeting before joining the male exodus to the gun-room. Behind him, Lenore frowned at her toast, annoyed that a mere “good morning” should leave her feeling as flustered as Amelia had looked. His Grace of Eversleigh was only being polite.
As the ladies were content to spend the morning ambling about the extensive gardens, gathering their energies for a visit to a nearby folly, the chosen distraction for the afternoon, Lenore took refuge in the library.
The Assyrians, unfortunately, had lost their appeal. She was worrying over her sudden lack of interest in a topic that a week ago had held her enthralled when Amelia came through the door. Her cousin’s expression was pensive; with an abstracted smile she came forward to settle with a rustle of skirts on the windowseat close to Lenore’s desk. Lenore watched her in silence, swivelling her chair to face her.
Amelia heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m in a fix, Lenore.” Frowning, she slanted Lenore a worried glance. “Do you know how to attract a gentleman?”
Lenore’s brows flew. “Attract a gentleman? I thought your problem was to repel them.”
“Precisely,” Amelia agreed. “I’ve experience aplenty in that. Which is probably why I find I haven’t the first idea of how to accomplish the other.”
“But … why?”
Amelia looked slightly sheepish but, at the same time, quite determined. “It’s Mr. Marshall,” she confessed. “I’ve discovered he has no … no predatory instincts whatsoever. Oh, Lenore!” Amelia rounded on her cousin, brown eyes alight, her hands clasped before her. “It’s so pleasant to be treated as if my wishes were all that mattered. I feel so safe, so comfortable with Frederick.”
Lenore’s eyes widened. “Frederick?”
Amelia waved her hands dismissively. “There’s no sense in beating about the bush, Lenore. I want to encourage Frederick to think of me in a more personal way. But how does one accomplish such a delicate task without …” Amelia’s pert nose wrinkled in distaste. “Well, without giving an impression no true lady would wish to give.”
When her cousin looked at her, clearly expecting an answer, Lenore spread her hands helplessly. “I’m the last person to ask such a question, Amelia. I’ve not the slightest idea how to advise you.”
But Amelia was adamant. “Nonsense. You’re considered by all to be a most intelligent woman, Lenore. If you would only put your mind to it, I’m sure you’d be able to give me at least a hint of how to proceed.”
Lenore frowned but dutifully turned her mind to the task. “I suppose,” she eventually said, “if you were to encourage him to be with you, by your side as much as possible, he might at least understand that you enjoyed and specifically wished for his company.”
“That would certainly be a start.” Amelia’s gentle features were overlaid by an air of determination. “And the more time I spend talking with him, the more opportunity I’ll have to … to nudge his mind in the right direction. But I must make a start immediately or I’ll run out of time.”
Lenore looked her question.
Amelia cast her a distracted look. “Rothesay.” When Lenore showed no sign of enlightenment, Amelia patiently explained, “Frederick is sure to accompany Eversleigh back to London at the end of the week. Given their friendship, it’s only to be expected that Frederick will be on hand to support Eversleigh through the mêlée which is bound to engulf him immediately he sets foot in town. After being held at bay for so long, the matchmaking mamas are bound to descend with a vengeance. So, you see, I expect I’ll have to return to town rather than go on to Aunt Mary in Bath. But I would rather not risk Rothesay without knowing there was at least some purpose to the exercise.”
“And if Mr. Marshall shows interest, you’ll risk a confrontation with the viscount?”
Amelia looked out of the window at the sunlight dancing on the smooth surface of the lake. Then she sighed and turned to Lenore, an expression compounded of loneliness and hope on her face. “If Frederick shows any real interest, I believe I’d brave the very fires of hell for a chance of happiness.”
The deep yearning in her cousin’s voice shocked Lenore. She felt an echo deep inside, a reverberation, like a heavy gong clanging, the pure sound of the truth she was trying to deny. Abruptly rising, she crossed to put her arms about Amelia. She gave her cousin a quick hug. “I wish you luck in your endeavour, my dear.”
As she looked down at Amelia’s determined face, Lenore felt a host of emotions, hitherto steadfastly suppressed, well up and tumble forth into her consciousness where she could no longer ignore them. The bursting of the dam left her shaken but she pinned an encouraging smile on her lips as Amelia rose.
Slipping her arms about Lenore’s slender waist, Amelia returned her hug. “I’m going to put your advice into practice immediately. As Frederick will not pursue me, I shall simply have to pursue him.” She headed for the door, pausing at the last to add, “In a perfectly ladylike way, of course.”
Lenore laughed, wondering just how much encouragement Frederick Marshall would need. Before she had decided the point, her own thoughts claimed her.
She did not get back to the Assyrians.
LUNCHEON WAS A noisy affair, full of chatter and laughter. Almost all the guests had relaxed, letting down the formal barriers. They congregated by the lake, where the meal was laid out on a long trestle, small tables and checkered rugs scattered over the lush grass by the lake’s edge. With Smithers and his cohorts in attendance to supply whatever their hearts desired, the company split into transitory groups, the members moving freely from one to the next. The fare was light, as befitted the scene, a succession of delicacies culminating in the season’s first strawberries, served with clotted cream.
“A tour de force, my dear. Your strawberries were delicious.”
Lenore turned to face Eversleigh, ignoring the odd leap of her pulses as she read the appreciation in his eyes. “Thank you, Your Grace. We have an excellent succession house.”
“I’m sure it is excellent, if it falls within your sphere.”
Lenore let that pass, merely inclining her head gracefully. She moved aside, so that he could join the circle of which she was a member. He did so, standing by her side to listen as the other members discussed the projected trip to the folly.
“Jack said it’s quite ancient,” Mrs. Whitticombe said.
“And covered with ivy,” Lady Henslaw added. “It sounds positively romantic. Harry said there was an old story about lovers using it as a trysting place.”
Lenore kept her lips firmly shut. Her brothers’ imagination had no limits. The old tower had been built as a lookout in the days of the Civil War. Nothing even remotely romantic had ever occurred there. The lower room, the only one large enough to hold more than one person, had been used as a cow byre until the ivy had claimed
