tonight, she’d been able to do so.
Before she could pull herself together sufficiently to form some plausible excuse, Robert leaned down and growled into her ear, ‘I quite forgot that you knew him.’
Oh, lord, that was all she needed. Now she was going to have to convince Robert, too, that he had merely been an acquaintance. If he should guess she had been in love with him, and was, to judge by her remarkable reactions just now, still far too susceptible to him, he would no doubt redouble his guard-doggy role towards her, as well as Rose. It was bad enough that he was already undermining her role as chaperon, with his heavyhanded vetting of all Rose’s potential admirers. She simply could not hand him the opportunity to accuse her of setting a bad example for Rose to follow. That would be the end of ever getting him to listen to her point of view.
In an automatic gesture of self-defence, she parried his query with a thrust of her own.
‘You have a short memory, then. It was he who introduced you to me, in the first place. Do you not recall? He brought me to one of those picnics you used to hold at Westdene.’
‘But I thought you said you only danced with him once or twice,’ put in Rose.
‘Did I?’ She had to wave her fan quite swiftly to cool the heat that rushed to her cheeks. ‘Well, it hardly amounted to much more than that, really.’
Although he had been what her chaperon described as ‘particular in his attentions,’ after that first dance. They’d both been surprised by the number of times he’d called upon her, and sought her out as a dance partner, even though she’d blushed and stumbled her way inelegantly through set after set of country dances. He had not been put off by her stammer, or her apparent stupidity, not like the other men who’d shown an initial interest in her. If anything, he had redoubled his efforts to put her at ease. And gradually, she’d found herself unfurling in his company.
To the extent that one afternoon, as they’d been walking in the park, she’d let slip that she couldn’t understand why he bothered with her.
‘If that is a hint you wish me to leave you be,’ he’d warned her with mock severity, ‘then you are going to have to stop looking so pleased when I come to call.’
She’d blushed harder and studied her feet for several paces, before plucking up the courage to answer.
‘I d-do not want you to leave me be. I-I like your company.’
‘That is just as well,’ he said cheerfully, ‘because I have no intention of leaving you be until I have coaxed one genuine smile from your lips.’
‘B-but, why? I m-mean, what can it m-matter to you? M-Mrs Westerly s-says you aren’t interested in m-m—’
‘No! Do not say that word in my presence,’ he’d cried in mock horror. ‘There is more to life than…’ he’d looked round as though checking to see if anyone might overhear, before bending to whisper in her ear ‘…matrimony. We can enjoy a walk in the park on a sunny afternoon, or a dance together, just for its own sake, can we not?’
‘The sun is not shining today,’ she had remarked with sinking spirits, as they’d halted in front of a patch of equally depressed-looking daffodils which were straining their golden trumpets in the direction the sun would have been shining from, had it been able to penetrate the heavy layers of cloud. In spite of Mrs Westerly warning her not to read too much into the way he’d taken her up, her foolish heart had dared to think that perhaps he was not such a lost cause as everyone thought.
‘But we can still enjoy each other’s company, can we not,’ he’d said, ‘without expecting it to lead to wedding bells?’
She associated the scent of daffodils with the death of her romantic hopes to this very day.
‘We can,’ she’d said, forcing a smile to her lips, though she had not been able to look up into his face. If a light friendship was all he was prepared to offer, she would do nothing to scare him off, for sharing the occasional few minutes with this wickedly witty and dashingly handsome young man had become the only bright spot in her otherwise gloomy existence.
‘B-besides, everyone knows you aren’t in the market for a wife. And even if you were, you wouldn’t look twice at someone like me. You know I have no dowry, I suppose?’
‘Of course I do. The tabbies make sure everyone knows every newcomer’s net worth within five minutes of their entering any ballroom. It makes no difference to how I feel about you.’
Well, it wouldn’t since he didn’t see her as a potential wife.
‘And yet,’ he’d said, tucking her arm into his and setting out along the path again, ‘you still… light up whenever I ask you to dance.’
‘Well, you do dance divinely,’ she’d admitted. ‘And Mrs Westerly says—’ She’d broken off, biting down on her lower lip.
‘Go on. Tell me what Mrs Westerly says. I promise that however bad it may be, it won’t surprise me. Chaperons normally give their charges dire warnings about me.’
‘Well, she says that it is no bad thing to spend time with you, because you make me smile. Which makes me look more attractive to eligible men.’
‘Aha! So that is why she doesn’t forbid me to pollute her drawing room with my presence.’
She’d nodded, lulled into a sense of…something almost like companionship as they’d strolled along, arm in arm. Which could be the only thing to account for her blurting, ‘Not that it does any good, in the long term. Because the moment I try to talk to anyone eligible, I start blushing and stammering so much they take me for a perfect ninny. And if there is one thing a man does not want, that is to take a ninny to wife. Not unless she is a great heiress, or has a very grand title.’
At that point, Nicholas had given her a quizzical look and observed, ‘But today you have stopped stammering altogether.’
‘Why, yes, so I have.’
‘It is because you aren’t striving to impress me. You know I am completely ineligible.’
Was that what it had been? Or was it just that she’d finally given up all hope of anything more than friendship?
‘I dare say your chaperon has warned you,’ he’d said airily, ‘that there is a good deal of bad blood in my family. The first Rothersthorpe was little better than a pirate, you know, although Good Queen Bess rewarded him for his efforts against the Spanish with the title.’
‘Oh, yes. Everyone knows that. But what she primarily objects to is…your lack of money. Mrs Westerly warned me that is why you invite me to go for walks with you, rather than taking me for a drive around the park.’
‘Did she? The old b—besom,’ he’d said. ‘Though of course it’s true. I haven’t a feather to fly with.’
‘Perhaps,’ she’d said with just a touch of asperity, ‘if you did not place wagers on such ridiculous things…’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, I did hear there was one between a goose and a mouse.’
He’d let out a surprised bark of laughter. ‘Who told
