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Tobias offered a neutral upward sweep of his mouth. “I wanted to make certain ye haven’t any injuries from…”
“You plowing into me with the force of a draft horse?”
For once, she appeared amused rather than annoyed. A smile played around her pink mouth, and her eyes sparkled with something other than ire.
“Precisely.” He grinned, dumbfounded at how a simple smile from her made him ridiculously lighthearted and optimistic.
“You needn’t concern yourself on my account, Your Grace. I am quite recovered. My pride and body suffered a few bruises, but I cannot fault you for my foolishness. I should have run.”
“Why didn’t ye?” Tobias searched her face, not missing the shadow that descended, stripping her earlier humor.
She sent a guarded glance toward the Duchess of San Sebastian and Avery.
“It wasn’t the first time I was nearly run down by a horse.” She turned her focus aside for a moment, her gold-tipped lashes caressing her alabaster cheeks. “When I was six, a stallion my father had recently acquired nearly trampled me.”
No wonder she’d frozen—petrified.
Even after all this time, sorrow tightened her mouth and darkened her eyes to indigo.
She drew in a ragged breath, and her voice, a mere thread of sound, said, “My mother just managed to shove me out of the way in time, but she wasn’t as fortunate. She saved me, to her own peril. After the impact, the horse threw my father.”
She raised tumultuous eyes to his, and the pain there cleaved his chest.
“They both died before my eyes.”
Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.
Tobias was halfway to reaching for Emily, to pull her into his arms in a comforting embrace before he caught himself. Instead, he touched her upper arm, wishing with all of his heart he had the right to soothe her.
“I’m truly sorry, Emily. That’s not sufficient for such a loss, I ken.”
Inhaling a deep breath, she hitched a shoulder and summoned a brave face.
How he admired her courage and fortitude.
“It was a long time ago, and it rarely affects me as it did today.” She slid another glance toward her niece and Avery. Fingering the pearls at her delicate collarbone, she puzzled her brow.
“Tell me, Your Grace, when did Miss Levingtone lose her parents? How old was she?”
Tobias brushed his fingertips across his forehead. “A little more than five years ago. A tree fell on their curricle. They died instantly. Avery was twelve, almost thirteen, at the time.”
“She’s still quite angry, isn’t she?” No judgment or condemnation, but rather understanding and empathy tempered Emily’s tone.
Tobias couldn’t hide his surprise at her insight.
“Very. At her parents. Me. God.” Shrugging, he quirked an eyebrow. “Life in general.”
Emily slowly nodded. “We shall need to be careful how we approach her Season then. I think a private conversation between us is in order after all.”
“Where and when?”
Bollocks.
He needn’t seem so eager.
Desperate was more accurate.
“Are you two going to stand there talking in hushed tones the whole while?” the duchess asked with the slightest hint of disapproval.
Her gaze vacillated between Tobias and her aunt.
Drollness tilting her mouth the merest bit, Avery assessed him and Emily too closely for his comfort.
“Not at all,” Emily said with a radiant smile.
Under her breath, she whispered, “Tomorrow. Hyde Park at eight,” before joining the other women.
It wasn’t a clandestine rendezvous, per se, but Tobias couldn’t prevent the thrill of expectation sluicing through him as he took a seat and accepted a cup of fragrant, steaming tea.
With luck and a great deal of favor from the Almighty, he just might accomplish his goal of launching Avery successfully into Society and simultaneously wooing the reluctant widow.
