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“I’m glad to hear it, Your Grace,” Miss Peacham said. “And will you be returning to the tide pool?”
“No!”
She drew back, no doubt startled by his overly forceful refusal. “I…see,” she managed, though it was obvious from her tone and the way her gaze flitted to the orchestra—no doubt praying they might finish their set with all haste—that she didn’t.
As if taking pity on her, the music ended just then. Miss Peacham, a look of abject relief plastered to her face, fairly leapt to her feet. Before he could so much as begin to rise she dipped into a quick curtsy, said a pretty, if rapid, farewell, and hurried off.
Margery, in the process of heading his way, stared after the proprietress in surprise. “And how did your set with Miss Peacham go?” she asked with impressive neutrality when she reached him, sinking into the seat vacated with such expediency by the lady in question.
“About as well as it appeared, I fear,” he mumbled. He cast a cautious glance her way. “Who is the next poor soul who will be forced to sit and talk to me?”
“Actually,” she said, “you’re free for this set.”
“Thank God.” He groaned.
Her lips twisted in commiseration. “Was it really that bad?”
He gave her a miserable look. “You witnessed for yourself the young lady’s relieved exit. I leave you to your own conclusions.”
She pressed her lips tightly together into a nearly nonexistent line. That did not stop the laughter from dancing in her eyes, however.
He narrowed his eyes. “It is not a cause for humor.” Nevertheless, he felt an answering smile tug on his lips. They stared at one another for several seconds before simultaneously bursting into laughter.
“You’re right, of course,” she managed between chuckles. “It’s not remotely funny. But did you see that woman’s face?”
Which made him laugh all the harder. “She could not get away fast enough,” he wheezed. “Truly, if you can manage to get me engaged to one of these ladies in two weeks you deserve much more than a paltry one hundred pounds.”
Her laughter cut off as quickly as it had begun. When he glanced her way, her expression was stark.
“Of course,” she mumbled. “We’ve just over a fortnight before the money is due.”
That sobered him as nothing could. “Due to whom?”
Fear flashed through her eyes before she quickly shuttered them. “Why, due to me, of course,” she said. She gave a strained laugh. “Though I suppose we must now cross Miss Peacham off our list of possibilities. Unless you think there’s a chance?”
She was hiding something. He was certain of it. Though, of course, he admitted morosely to himself, weren’t they all?
“No,” he answered quietly, “there’s no chance.”
She nodded, as if checking off some invisible list. Her gaze scanned the crowd, presumably to search for the remaining candidates. Or was it to keep him from seeing something in her eyes?
He mentally shook himself. It was no business of his if she was hiding something. And he’d best remember that.
“You must have some preference in a wife by now,” she said.
Yes, but you’ve refused. The words nearly escaped his lips. By some miracle he held them back. What the devil was wrong with him? By turning him down, she was saving him from what would have surely turned out to be a highly ill-conceived idea. She affected him too much for his heart to remain safe from her indefinitely, after all.
“N-no,” he managed. He cleared his throat. “Any one of them will do, really.”And the quicker the better.Though how he was supposed to court any of them while his every waking thought was spent on Margery he didn’t have a clue.
She must feel the same frustrations he did—or, at least, the same level of frustration. But there was no way on earth she could possibly be frustrated for the same reasons he was, he thought as she blew out an aggravated breath. “You should choose soon. We don’t have much time, after all. Before the month is up, I mean.”
Again that note of latent panic quickly muted. He frowned.
Before he could be tempted to question her on something that was no doubt a private matter, however, she pursed her lips, and it took all his willpower not to focus on the lusciousness of them. “I do believe you should decide by tomorrow morning, before breakfast. That way you might have the entirety of a fortnight to court her and secure her hand. Ah! But it’s nearly time for your set, such as it is, with Miss Emmeline. Let’s go find her, shall we?”
As he followed Margery down the length of the ballroom to where Miss Emmeline conversed with her cousins, he tried his damnedest to focus on his goal. By selecting a woman to court and, with luck, convince to marry him, he would not have to worry about such a thing when he arrived in London.
If, that was, he could rein in his desire for Margery in order to succeed.
