“I have no breeding,” he pointed out. “My grandfather worked in the mill all his life.”
She raised a brow at him. “And my grandfather shined his own silver when his butler could no longer do so rather than sack him and find a new butler. Resourcefulness is not a crime, and is highly lacking in the upper classes, I find.”
Mr. Riley grinned at her, outdoing the sun with its splendor. “You call me rare, Miss Wright. But I think you might be somehow even rarer.”
“Oh, I doubt that very much,” she scoffed, averting her eyes to glance around the park. “I’m the same sort of bird that flits around every ballroom in London.”
“If you say so, but I’ve never seen a bird quite like you. Not ever.”
Charlotte felt her cheeks warm and glanced up at him again, smiling with more warmth than she thought she could muster at this hour of the morning, or on this particular walk. “Would you like to accompany Mama and I to Bond Street, Mr. Riley? I should very much like the continued pleasure of your company.”
“It would be my pleasure entirely, Miss Wright. I am quite at your disposal.”
Chapter Thirteen
Balls are the perfect opportunity to meet new people, get better acquainted with those you know, and to experience new things. Mind you behave, however. There is nothing like a ball to start rumors.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 24 January 1820
Two weeks in Miss Palmer’s regular company, and Michael thought he might just be the happiest he had been in four or five years.
What an unusual feeling.
Not that he’d seen her every day, or officially claimed courtship, but he had called on her three days last week and two this week, and were they not attending the same ball this evening, he would have called tomorrow, as well. He’d have to make his suit official soon, or speculation would do the thing for him.
If he did take on a courtship, and he was quite sure he would, he could have been at the Greensley home at this moment waiting to escort them all here. Instead, he was standing by and watching the entrance to the room, waiting for them.
At least Lord Eden provided well, and the supper would prove exquisite when it was time.
Tyrone had begged Michael to come early, though as yet, Michael had not seen his friend to inquire as to why the request had been made. It was most unfair. The musicians were still tuning their instruments, so there was not even dancing as yet to distract him from what seemed to be endless waiting.
He caught sight of Lieutenant Henshaw striding by and smiled. “Henshaw.”
The man turned at his name, then returned his smile with a quick one of his own. “Sandford, good evening. You haven’t seen the Mortons yet, have you?”
“I have not, but we are among the early arrivals, you and I.”
“True, true, I suppose,” Henshaw muttered distractedly, tugging at his pristine cravat. “Waiting is torment.”
Michael nodded in agreement. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
Henshaw looked at him with some interest. “Who are you waiting on?”
“Miss Palmer,” he said without shame, not seeing a need to keep the truth from a friend like Henshaw. “She’s a cousin of Mrs. Greensley.”
“Are you courting her?” Henshaw asked, smile returning.
“Not yet, but…” Michael trailed off with a shrug.
Henshaw now grinned. “Very good, Sandford. About ruddy time you courted somebody proper.”
Michael lifted a brow. “I could say the same for you, Hensh.”
“I know,” Henshaw grumbled as he averted his eyes. “Believe me, I’m doing what I can about that.”
“Are you?” Michael nodded in approval. “Is it who I think it is?”
Henshaw’s thick brows snapped down. “How should I know who you think it is, Sandford?”
Michael pressed his lips together, understanding all too well the irritability that came with being too directly questioned about romantic intentions that were not yet to fruition. “If your intentions are not clear or obvious, Henshaw, you’re going to have to adjust things. Trust me, lack of understanding can hamper everything, and leave you with nothing.”
Henshaw blinked at him, his expression clearing. “Why do I suddenly believe every word you say?”
“Because I know of what I speak.” Michael smiled bitterly, a twisting sensation in his stomach returning after weeks without it.
Silently, Henshaw continued to watch him, then slowly nodded. “Right. I’ll take that into consideration.” He looked around, frowning again. “Why in heaven’s name did Demaris ask us here early? I hope he hasn’t promised Eden we would lead the dancing. I don’t mind dancing, but I do prefer to choose when and where I do so.”
“And with whom,” Michael concurred, eyeing the ladies present. None of them were truly objectionable, but neither were they ladies he would have thought to seek out. “If we can convince him to keep the first dance short, perhaps…”
“You both came. Good.”
They turned as one to see Tyrone approaching, his brother, Lord Eden, just behind him.
“This isn’t good,” Michael muttered to Henshaw.
“No, it is not.”
Tyrone and his brother bowed quickly. “In an attempt to promote dancing this evening,” Eden started, “I would ask the two of you, as well as my brother, to dance the first three dances. After that, I don’t care if you take yourselves off to the card room. My wife is worried there will be no dancing tonight, and I ask you to help me assuage those fears.”
Michael stared at Lord Eden, who looked exactly like Tyrone, only taller and but for the brighter shade of his waistcoat was dressed identically.
He’d have told off Tyrone for doing this, and would have told off Eden, too, however…
“You had to bring Lady Eden into it, didn’t
