The Ideal Bride

She reached Edward; taking his arm, head rising, she swept back into the drawing room.

Leaving Michael alone with Elizabeth; suppressing a grin—Caro was quite amazing—he looked down at her. “I suspect we’d better do as instructed.” Turning her, he started slowly strolling. “Are you enjoying your summer thus far?”

Elizabeth threw him a resigned smile. “It’s not as exciting as London, but now Aunt Caro is here, there’ll be lots more happening. More people to meet, more entertainments to attend.”

“So you enjoy meeting new people?” A healthy attitude for a politician’s wife.

“Oh, yes—well, as long as they’re young people, of course.” Elizabeth pulled a face. “I do find ‘making conversation’ with old fogeys or those one has nothing in common with a trial, but Caro assures me I’ll learn.” She paused, then added, “Although I have to say I’d much rather not have to learn at all.”

She flashed him a brilliant smile. “I’d much rather just enjoy the parties, the balls, the routs and not worry over having to talk to this one or that. I want to enjoy being young, enjoy dancing and riding and driving, and all the rest.”

He blinked.

Leaning on his arm, she gestured widely. “You must remember what it was like—all the fun to be had in the capital.”

She looked up at him, clearly expecting him to smile and nod. After leaving Oxford, he’d spent most of his time as a secretary to important men; he had been in the capital, yet he suspected he’d inhabited a parallel universe to the one she was describing. “Ah… yes, of course.”

He bit back an admission that it had been a long time ago.

She laughed as if he’d been twitting her. Reaching the end of the terrace, they turned and ambled back. She continued telling him of her wonderful months in London, of events and people he didn’t know and had little interest in.

As they neared the doors to the drawing room, he realized she’d shown no interest in him—in his likes, acquaintances, his life.

Inwardly frowning, he glanced at her. She was treating him not just as a family friend, but worse, as an uncle. It hadn’t occurred to her—

“Finally!” Caro emerged through the doors, saw them, and smiled. She glided toward them. “It’s so balmy out here—perfect for a pleasant interlude.”

“Ah, my dear Caro, you read my mind—”

Caro swung back. Ferdinand had followed her onto the terrace; he broke off as he realized there were others present.

She reversed direction, intercepting him. “Mr. Anstruther-Wetherby and Elizabeth have been enjoying a stroll—we were just returning to the drawing room.”

Ferdinand flashed his white smile. “Excelente! They may go in and we can stroll.”

She’d intended to turn him back into the drawing room. Instead, deftly, he turned her. Half turned her—she caught his arm and was about to correct him when she sensed Michael move close.

“Actually, Leponte, I believe that’s not what Mrs. Sutcliffe meant.”

The delivery was urbane, his tone impossible to take exception to, yet steel rang beneath the words.

Mentally rolling her eyes, resisting an urge to pat Michael’s arm and assure him she was perfectly capable of dealing with would-be gigolos like Ferdinand, she shook Ferdinand’s arm, dragging his gaze, belligerently locked with Michael’s, back to her. “Mr. Anstruther-Wetherby is right—there’s no time for a stroll for me. I must get back to my guests.”

Ferdinand’s lips set, but he was forced to accede.

Knowing he would sulk, suddenly perceiving an unexpected opportunity, she swung to Elizabeth; her face momentarily screened from both men, she signaled with her eyes, directing Elizabeth to Ferdinand. “You’re looking refreshed, my dear—perhaps you could help?”

Elizabeth blinked, then summoned an ingenuous smile. “Yes, of course.” Drawing her hand from Michael’s sleeve, she turned her smile on Ferdinand. “Perhaps you could take me to your aunt, sir? I’ve had very little chance to speak with her.”

Ferdinand was too experienced to let his chagrin show; after only the most fleeting hesitation, he smiled his charming smile and with a courtly half-bow, murmured his delight.

Ferdinand reached for Elizabeth’s hand; behind Caro, Michael shifted. It was a tiny movement, but both she and Ferdinand noted it. Ferdinand’s smile took on an edge. Grasping Elizabeth’s hand, he drew her nearer, settling her hand on his sleeve. “I will do more than that, my pretty one. I will stand by your side and…”

Whatever else he planned, Caro didn’t hear as he bent closer to Elizabeth and lowered his voice.

Caro knew Elizabeth—and Edward—far too well to imagine Ferdinand would get any joy there, but Elizabeth had the sense to laugh delightedly as she and Ferdinand reentered the drawing room.

Feeling quite pleased with Elizabeth’s performance, Caro turned to Michael, ignoring the irritation behind his polite mask. He was reasonably adept at hiding his emotions, but she was a diplomatic hostess of long standing, ergo an expert in divining people’s true reactions.

He was—as she’d hoped—not just frustrated, but puzzled, and starting to be wary. She—they—needed him to reassess; she almost crossed her fingers as she reclaimed his arm. “The duke mentioned he’d like to speak with you again.”

Recalled to duty, he accompanied her back into the drawing room.

She ensured he was kept busy, away from Elizabeth. Whether he noticed Ferdinand flirting with Elizabeth, who wisely played the innocent, thus encouraging Ferdinand to even greater efforts, Caro couldn’t be sure; the duke truly had wanted to speak with him. Michael had already made the right impression there; they remained locked in serious discussion for some time. While continuing to patrol her guests—there was never any time during diplomatic entertainments when a hostess could relax—she tried to keep an eye on him, yet toward the end of the evening, she suddenly discovered him gone.

One quick survey of the room informed her Geoffrey was also absent.

“Damn!” Plastering on a smile, she swept up to Edward. “You’re on duty for the next while.” She lowered her voice. “I have to go and haul your irons out of the fire.”

Edward blinked, but he’d stood as her deputy through far worse crises; he nodded and she moved on.

Casting a last glance about the room, reassured there were no other impending disasters threatening, she slipped into the front hall. Catten stood guard there; he told her Geoffrey had taken Michael to his study.

Her heart sank. Surely after all he’d seen of Elizabeth that evening, all the serious questions Elizabeth’s performance ought to have raised in his mind, Michael wasn’t so boneheaded as to persist with an offer?

She couldn’t believe he was that stupid.

Almost running, she hurried to the study. With barely a tap, she opened the door and swept in. “Geoffrey, what…”

With one glance she took in the scene—both men leaning over the desk, poring over some maps spread on its surface. Relief swept her; she hid it behind a disapproving frown. “I know you’re unused to these affairs, but really, this is not the time for”—she gestured at the maps— “constituency matters.”

Geoffrey grinned apologetically. “Not even politics, I’m afraid. There’s a blockage on a tributary to the river. It’s in Eyeworth Wood—I was just showing Michael.”

With a fine show of sisterly exasperation, she linked her arm in Geoffrey’s. “What am I to do with you?” She bent a mock frown on Michael. “You, at least, should have known better.”

He smiled and followed as she led Geoffrey from the room. “But the woods are mine, after all.‘

Her heart no longer beating in her throat, she ushered them back into the drawing room. Elizabeth glanced over and saw them enter; her eyes flared—Caro smiled serenely back. And made sure Michael had no further opportunity to speak with Geoffrey by retaining her hold on her brother’s arm and taking him to talk with General Kleber.

The end of the evening drew near. Gradually, the guests took their leave. The diplomatic contingent, more accustomed to late nights, were the last remaining. They’d gathered in a group in the middle of the room when Ferdinand spoke.