furiously to complete the special hall at Carlton House in time. I’m afraid it will be frightfully crowded, but I thought as a memorable historical event, it would interest Lady Gillian.” He glanced her way again. “Something to tell her grandchildren. The day she curtsied before Wellington.”
“Yes, most assuredly,” her mother agreed. “We shall be happy to have your escort.”
“Thank you, my lady.” He set the delicate porcelain cup and saucer down. “I would beg leave to take Lady Gillian with me for a turn about the square to acquaint her with her new pet. I can go over some of the commands I’ve taught the dog.”
He stood. “We shall be merely down below, in plain view, if Miss Templeton should care to sit here and observe us.” He moved to the window and pushed aside the curtain.
“Very well, but don’t keep her long.”
Down in the square below, Lord Skylar relinquished the dog’s leash to Gillian as they walked beneath the linden trees. She took it eagerly. “She’s beautiful. What did you do to get her coat so shiny?”
“I gave her to a groom and told him to make sure to rid it of any fleas. I presume he bathed it, deloused it and fed it.”
“And your father’s dogs, how did they behave?”
“Apparently they have accepted her.”
She looked down shyly. “I don’t know how to thank you.” She giggled, remembering her mother’s losing battle before Lord Skylar’s smooth, invincible logic. “I never thought I’d see the day Mama would agree to an indoor pet.”
“She hasn’t exactly agreed yet,” he corrected her.
“She will. After dangling the prince’s dinner in front of her,” she added with a sly glance at him. “I would call that a masterful stroke.”
He shrugged. “You were invited.”
“Not yet, we haven’t been.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m sure we shall receive an invitation,” she added quickly. “We have gone to all the major receptions there since Prinny became regent. But I believe since Papa passed away, the royal summonses are slower in arriving. Mama begins to fidget as the time draws closer.”
“I am glad, then, to be able to relieve her mind.”
“I have never met the Duke of Wellington,” Gillian marveled. “I can hardly wait to meet such a brave man. He has saved England and much of the Continent.”
“Have you been following the campaigns closely?” he asked, slanting her a curious look.
She could feel the color rising in her cheeks. “Yes, just as everyone else in England has.” Not caring to delve into the topic too deeply, she returned to the previous matter. “To think Mama has agreed to an abandoned stray from the streets!”
Taking the change of topic in stride, he said, “This dog is of good stock.”
“Oh, yes, the finest,” she said, laughter bubbling up. “If you are to be believed, she can probably trace her lineage back to Charles the First’s favorite pooch.”
“I may have exaggerated the facts to your mother, but I didn’t altogether lie. This dog has some illustrious spaniel blood. If it has been, er, tainted along the way with some lesser-known varieties, that doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s almost purebred.”
“‘Almost’—that won’t convince Mother.”
“Then let us hope she believed my story.”
She laughed again. After a moment, she turned to him. “You can be very charming and believable when you want to be. Do you only do it when you wish to obtain something from someone?”
“That usually is the case.”
“I think you could get almost anything you wanted if you set your mind to it.”
“Do you?” he asked noncommittally.
“Don’t you set your mind to it very often?” she asked, remembering his ungracious behavior when they’d first been introduced.
“It is wearing, I’ll admit. And so often not worth the trouble, wouldn’t you agree? Or are you yet so young that you haven’t suffered any disillusion?”
She remained silent, preferring to concentrate on holding the dog in check on its leash.
But Lord Skylar was not finished with the thought. “I still find it hard to believe you have remained free these years in London. There is no young gentleman who has stolen your heart? No drawerfuls of avowals of everlasting love and no keepsakes—a lock of hair, a monogrammed handkerchief…?”
“No, there is nothing!” she answered a little too warmly.
“A young lady with your attributes?” he asked in disbelief. “Your mother hasn’t kept you that locked up. And Templeton, no matter how forbidding she might be, wouldn’t put off a true suitor—”
“My father would have wanted me to wait for someone—” She stopped.
“Yes?” he prompted when she didn’t continue. “Someone like…?”
“Like you,” she said on a moment’s inspiration. Maybe if she flattered his vanity, he would be satisfied and let the subject drop.
He chuckled. “Wealth and a title—have there been a dearth of good candidates fulfilling those requirements these last three seasons?”
“Well, with the war on, you know, so many young men have gone off to Spain.”
“But not elder sons.”
She could feel his keen eyes on her. “Well, there was no one,” she repeated. “Why haven’t you married all those years out there in the Indies?” she asked, turning to him. “I can’t believe there were no suitable candidates out there.”
He prodded at a fallen leaf with his walking stick. “Perhaps I didn’t like what I saw of matrimony.”
“What do you mean?” she asked puzzled.
“Matrimony among our class seems to be a hypocritical arrangement between two individuals who agree to turn a blind eye to the other’s dalliances. Forgive the bluntness, but so often it is only one of the partners who gets to enjoy the pleasures of extramarital affairs, while the other is forced to suffer in silence.”
For someone who had never been married, he spoke as if he were acquainted firsthand with that kind of pain. It was not in the tone of voice, which had retained its airy, slightly amused quality as if he were commenting on a light romantic comedy. But the words themselves were, as he had said, blunt, and certainly improper to be speaking to a young, unmarried lady.
“I know many things go on in society,” she began slowly. “I believe my parents were happily married, however unfashionable that might appear,” she said, wanting to believe it, despite
