Page 5 of How to Wed a Courtesan

Evander gritted his teeth. In truth, he had gone to the garden at the Langston estate, where he was staying with a friend from university. He’d been too eager to see Miss Rossington and hadn’t wanted to bother with attempting to find someone who might sell hothouse bouquets in the country.

He flicked a glance at the sad little flowers and sighed. ‘It was a notion best left to the foolishness in my head and not put to application.’

Folton laughed. ‘You aren’t the first man to lose his head over Miss Rossington.’

‘Aren’t I?’ Evander levelled a gaze at him, with the intent of seeking out the truth then and there.

Folton held up his hands in a surrendering gesture. ‘Not me. Miss Rossington, while admittedly beautiful, shares a friendship with me that is not even remotely romantic. She is more sister to me, as we are both without siblings and became something of that for one another as children.’ He clasped Evander by the shoulder. ‘I merely meant the many country hearts she has inadvertently broken in Oxfordshire. She never even realised the poor lads had an interest in her.’ He shook his head in sympathy.

Evander had been so taken by Miss Rossington, so consumed by her, he had not thought even to ask if she had a beau. ‘So there isn’t anyone she favours back in...?’ What the devil was the name of the village?

‘Binsey,’ Folton supplied. ‘There isn’t. And I’ve never seen her take note of any man’s attention.’ Folton gave Evander’s shoulder a squeeze and released his grip. ‘Until now.’

A thrill surged through Evander. She had certainly shown an interest in him. Though she had danced with several others, he’d noted that with them her smiles had been less bright, her blushes less frequent and her demeanour more reserved.

‘Come, I was on my way to see to my aunt.’ Folton led the way up the steps to the massive entrance. ‘How long will you be staying at the Langston estate?’

‘I leave later this afternoon, I’m afraid,’ Evander replied with genuine regret. ‘It would appear both our fathers are just returned from India. Mine has summoned me back to our Southampton estate to assist him with some items he’s collected.’

‘I see.’ Lord Folton spun about, heading in the opposite direction. Away from the large house.

Evander frowned in confusion. ‘What the devil? Where are you going?’

‘I will call upon my aunt later, as I remain in Bedfordshire several days more.’ Folton turned back to regard Evander. ‘For now, I leave you to Miss Rossington without my company. You are forewarned: my aunt has a tendency to fall asleep at tea.’ Folton winked and made his way down the path with a cheeky wave. ‘Bonne chance.’

Evander held up his free hand in acknowledgment of the good wishes.

As he made his way to the steps his nerves jangled. Ordinarily, he was fully in control of his faculties. A man who was put off by nothing and sure of himself in nearly every way. At least until being in the radiance of Miss Rossington.

She was exquisitely lovely, but it was her wit that made her shine so brilliantly in his eyes. That and the way her eyes lit with wonder as he’d shared stories of London and Scotland. There was something in the starry-eyed way she’d watched him that made him long to take her to those places, to drape her in the finest silks and let her feast on the finest foods, drink the richest wines.

The butler showed Evander into the large manor, and led him to the drawing room to wait for Miss Rossington with his pathetic bunch of weeds. The room was an odd green colour that resembled asparagus, with small tables cluttered with a multitude of figurines set atop bits of lace that had gone yellow with age.

The door opened and Miss Rossington entered with Lady Hasgrove. Evander’s heart snagged in his chest. A stream of morning light shone in from the window like a beam from the heavens, falling over Miss Rossington as she smiled up at him.

‘Lord Murray,’ she said, in that delicate voice of hers.

He’d thought several times about what he might say to her when he saw her again. Now all those carefully scripted greetings slipped from his mind, replaced instead by an awed reverence for her extreme beauty.

She was sheer perfection, in a white muslin gown that offset the creaminess of her skin and her glossy dark hair, which she’d twisted into a simple knot. Women were oft so very complicated in their hairstyles these days. There was an elegance to the lack of adornment of Miss Rossington’s appearance which allowed her natural beauty to shine through all the more.

‘Miss Rossington,’ he managed. ‘You look well.’ Remembering his manners, he offered a short bow to Lady Hasgrove, whom Miss Rossington was helping to a plush settee. ‘Good morning to you, Lady Hasgrove.’

The older woman nodded at him once she’d settled back on a cushion with a needlepoint rose, her eyes already beginning to droop.

Miss Rossington smiled and indicated a chair across from her. Spots of pastel colour dotted the sleeves of her dress at her wrists. Small stains caused most likely by paint of some kind.

Noticing his attention on her sleeves, she quickly pulled her hands into her lap. ‘Would you join us for some tea?’

‘Yes, thank you. And I brought these for you.’ He held out his carefully selected bundle of flowers.

As her crystal blue gaze fell on the bouquet he saw the flowers through her eyes. The frail stems had given way to the weight of the bulky flowers and now hung in defeat around his fist.

‘I suppose they could use some water,’ he muttered. ‘Perhaps I ought to have brought roses. But they seemed far too ordinary a flower for such an extraordinary woman.’

She accepted them and carefully hid her stained sleeves behind them. ‘Water will do wonders for them.’ After ringing for a servant, she studied the bunch of flowers as he took his seat. ‘I rather like your selection.’

He settled into the thickly padded pink velvet chair. ‘Do remember I asked you for your honesty. It is admittedly a sad bunch of weeds.’