Page 53 of Only a Mistress Will Do

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“Smithfield is overrated, if you ask my opinion.”

After enduring Simon Harper’s ongoing conversation during dinner, his opinion would be the last thing Tris would ask for. “I’ll go to Barnet in April and come back with a horse that will stop everyone in their tracks.”

Dinner had been family only, which didn’t help to raise the pall Lord Downing’s revelation had laid over Tris. Harper trying to monopolize his conversation had been abominably tedious.

Worse, he’d not been able to speak with Dora, even though she was his dinner partner. Every attempt to engage her had been thwarted by Simon. He’d been painfully aware of her presence, however. She’d worn an elegant rose-colored gown that accentuated the pink cheeks in her otherwise pale face. The ensemble, with her hair swept up on top of her head in a masterful coiffure, made her look older than eighteen, more womanly, which was encouraging. Still, she kept her head bent through most of the meal, avoiding his eyes. He’d managed a few remarks to her, all answered with a mumbled “Yes, my lord.”

Frustration made him stab at the food on his plate, spearing hunks of potato and venison viciously, like a caveman on a hunt. He was willing to try to make their match work, but she had to make some effort on her part.

“Simon,” Lord Downing fixed his son with a stern eye, “I received a bill today from Tanner’s for a new post-chaise. I do not recall giving an order for such a conveyance. Pray, shed some light on this for me.”

Harper’s face went white then red. He turned to his father and Tris seized the reprieve to engage to Dora.

“Have you ridden in a post-chaise before?”

She tucked her golden head and whispered, “No, my lord. Only the family carriage.”

Tris had to duck his head toward hers to catch the answer. He waited for her to elaborate, but nothing else seemed forthcoming. This would never do. She must talk about something or he’d never learn anything about her. If he could get a rise out of her there was a chance she’d forget her shyness for two minutes. “Perhaps your brother will take you out now that he’s apparently ordered one.” He indicated the end of the table where Downing and Harper were arguing bitterly over the carriage, Harper banging his hand on the table, raising his voice to be heard over his father’s stentorian tones.

“I very much doubt it, my lord.” Dora shook her head, her attention on the roll she was shredding onto her plate.

“Tris.”

Startled, she raised wide blue eyes to him. “I beg pardon, my—”

“We agreed I would be Tris when we were en famille.” He grinned and her shoulders relaxed. Good.

“Very well then, Tris.” She smiled at him and he caught his breath. The gentle curve of her lips lit her face in the loveliest way. Her cheeks pinked and her eyes crinkled in a charming fashion.

“You should smile more often, my dear. You are quite lovely when you do.”

Her face suffused with a deep red and she hastily grabbed her water glass.

“Why do you doubt he will take you riding?”

The light in her eyes extinguished as if snuffed by a cold wind. “Simon hates me.” She set the glass down on the table with a dull thud.

Surprised by the anger in her voice, Tris leaned back in his chair. Dora had just become much more interesting.

“He has never done one nice thing for me my entire life, save marrying Judith.” The liquid blue eyes turned to him again. “She has been my best friend since she came here. I’m sure if Simon had known we’d like each other so much he’d have married someone else.” Abruptly, she returned her gaze to her plate. “I am so worried for her. She’s been in poor health for so long. I don’t know what I will do if…if…”

“Don’t fret yourself, my dear.” Tris covered her small white hand with his and gave it a pat. “The doctor has been tending to her, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, but he cannot say what is wrong with her.”

“Then we must pray very hard she recovers quickly enough to attend our wedding.” He squeezed her hand and was rewarded with a fleeting smile.

“Yes, my…Tris.”

With a laugh he picked up his wineglass. He was apparently marrying a neglected younger child. Not the heir, not possessed of a forthcoming nature, she’d likely been overlooked all her life. So a little attention might go far toward forging a bond between them. “I happen to have a post-chaise in my carriage house in London. When you’re next in town I’ll take you out. The world goes by very fast in a post-chase. They are rather sporty.”

“Oh, I would like that so much.” Though her smile was not as bright as before, still it transformed her face into beauty. “I love carriage rides almost as much as riding horseback.”

“Do you enjoy riding, Dora?” He’d not have guessed that any more than her fondness for dancing. Apparently, he understood her as little as her family.

“I do. I have my own mare, Gretchen. I try to ride every day in good weather, but am forbidden to go out unless the ground is bare and dry.”