Nathaniel eyed her closely. ‘And what else do you intend telling my dear aunt about this afternoon?’
She looked pained at the accusation in his tone. ‘Why, nothing else, my lord.’
‘You do not consider I owe you an apology for my own behaviour just now?’ He looked across at her shrewdly.
Delicate colour warmed her cheeks as she avoided meeting his gaze. ‘I would much rather forget the incident ever happened, my lord.’ She looked slightly flustered. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, Hector will be waiting for his walk.’ She swept him a polite curtsy.
Nathaniel watched beneath hooded lids as Betsy left his bedchamber, knowing a slight disappointment in her response to his deliberate challenge; instead of a return of that temper he had been expecting—hoping for—the light of battle had seemed to fade from those clear blue eyes as she once again assumed the mantle of the young and demure companion of his aunt’s dog.
Assumed, because Nathaniel had serious doubts that Miss Betsy Thompson had ever been born to such a subservient role …
Chapter Two
‘I have decided, as you are obviously feeling so much better—’ Mrs Wilson bestowed a warm smile of approval upon her nephew as he stood somewhat stiffly beside the fireplace in the drawing room prior to dinner ‘—to arrange a small dinner party. For … three days hence, I believe,’ she announced with satisfaction.
‘Aunt—’
‘As I said, it will be but a small group. Only twenty or so of my closest neighbours,’ she added persuasively.
Elizabeth, having entered the drawing room in time to hear this announcement, looked at Nathaniel beneath lowered lashes as she curtsied before moving to the back of the room to sit demurely on the chaise beside Letitia Grant, feeling slightly breathless at how handsome the earl looked in his black evening clothes and snowy white linen, the candlelight casting a golden sheen over his fashionably styled hair and lightly tanned features.
She had instantly seen how his warm mahogany eyes had briefly flared with alarm at his aunt’s announcement, before that emotion was as quickly masked by a look of cool uninterest. Elizabeth easily guessed the reason for that mask!
Mrs Wilson, a widowed and still attractive lady in her early-forties, had made it clear she had no interest in remarrying herself, instead preferring to turn her considerable attention to finding her nephew a countess. Indeed, she had already been full of the news, when she’d returned in her carriage earlier, that there were at least three young and attractive ladies in the neighbourhood who were up to the task and might meet her nephew’s critical approval.
She considered, she had stated firmly, that at the age of eight and twenty it was past time that her nephew gave up his bachelor life and produced an heir; as he had no mother to guide him, it was her duty to see the woman he chose as his countess and mother of his children was entirely suitable for that role, whether or not the earl had any inclinations in that direction himself.
Nathaniel Thorne’s now guarded expression would seem to indicate that he most certainly did not!
After their earlier altercation, Elizabeth could not help but feel a little inward pleasure at the earl’s obvious discomfort; Mrs Wilson, once set on a course of action, was rarely, if ever, thwarted. Elizabeth’s own presence here was proof of that!
Having secured Hector in the park that day, it had been a simple enough task for Elizabeth to then locate his mistress; she had so obviously been the lady remonstrating most passionately with one of her coachmen as she strode determinedly across the park towards where Elizabeth held the runaway dog in her arms.
The reunion between dog and mistress had brought an emotional tear to Elizabeth’s eyes—for a completely different reason than that of the poor coachman, who stood beside his mistress rubbing his ringing ears!
Once reassured of her ‘darling Hector’s’ well-being, Mrs Wilson had turned her narrow-eyed attention to his rescuer, insisting that Elizabeth must return home in her carriage with her and receive more thanks over a cup of tea. Once inside the opulence of that comfortable house, Mrs Wilson had demanded to know what a young lady such as Elizabeth had been doing walking alone in the park at all. Upon hearing that she was merely crossing the park to cheer herself after failing to secure a position in a haberdashery, that lady had insisted that she must come and work for her, that her ‘darling Hector’ had obviously taken such a liking to her there could be no other course of action.
Before Elizabeth had been able to draw a breath, it seemed, she had found herself, and the few belongings she had brought to London with her, moved into Mrs Wilson’s home and herself charged with the care of the mischievous and totally lovable Hector.
If Mrs Wilson had now decided to turn that considerable attention to finding her nephew a suitable wife, then she had no doubts that lady would succeed—whether the Earl of Osbourne wished it or not!
‘—it is fortuitous that the Millers have not gone up to town for the Season this year, as they are still in mourning following Lord Miller’s demise,’ Elizabeth heard Mrs Wilson state with satisfaction as her attention returned to that lady’s conversation with her nephew.
‘I doubt that Lord Miller sees it as being in the least fortuitous!’ the earl drawled drily.
Elizabeth repressed another smile, only for the humour on her face to fade completely as she looked up and found herself the focus of Lord Thorne’s intent gaze.
She looked quickly away again to engage the elderly Letitia Grant in conversation, all the time aware that the rakishly handsome earl continued to observe her broodingly …
Nathaniel was only half listening to the twittering of his aunt as she continued to list the guests she proposed inviting to her dinner party on Saturday evening, having absolutely no interest in any of his aunt’s guests, least of all the two Miss Millers and their mother, or Miss Penelope Rutledge, the equally eligible daughter of the local magistrate, Viscount Rutledge.
His aunt would no doubt be outraged to learn the only female that in the least piqued Nathaniel’s interest at this moment in time was now seated on the chaise at the back of the drawing room and engaged in muted conversation with Letitia Grant—and that his intentions towards Betsy earlier this afternoon had been entirely dishonourable!
Nathaniel had been aware of that young woman’s presence the moment she slipped quietly into the room to curtsy politely before joining Letitia on the chaise, the simply styled cream gown she wore a perfect foil for those ebony curls that clustered at her crown and framed the ivory oval of her face, its high waist and low neckline leaving bare her throat and the tops of the breasts Nathaniel had so admired earlier this afternoon.
Miss Betsy Thompson, Nathaniel had decided after she’d left his bedchamber earlier, was a contradiction that warranted further investigation. Discreet enquiries from Letitia Grant earlier had revealed that as far as she was aware his aunt knew absolutely nothing about the young lady she had so recently employed, other than that Hector obviously adored her—which in Aunt Gertrude’s eyes appeared to be reference enough!
Nathaniel had a far different opinion—for all any of them knew Betsy could be a runaway wife avoiding detection by her aggrieved husband, or, worse, she might be a felon hiding from justice!
At least, those were the excuses Nathaniel had given himself for
