“Forgive me for being obtuse, but exactly what intentions are those?”
“Courtship, marriage. One follows the other. He was clear with his intent to see you again soon.” Prudence gave her a satisfied smile, which said something because she rarely smiled. “As you told him, you are well matched.”
Fiona groaned and dropped her forehead into her hand for a moment. She had said that, but she hadn’t meant it like that. She’d only meant that they shared the fact that it was their first social call in common. Should she have clarified the matter so he didn’t have the wrong idea? Was there a wrong idea? Didn’t she want to be courted by him?
Wiping her fingers across her eyes and down her cheek, she looked over at Prudence, who was no longer smiling. “I was speaking about our newness at social calling.”
“I don’t think he realized that,” Prudence said softly. “Nor did I. If you aren’t interested in courtship, you should tell him as soon as possible.”
“I don’t know what I’m interested in.”
That question plagued her through the day and past dinner, which they had once again eaten without the earl. The question was still uppermost in her mind as she tried to distract herself with maps in the library later that evening.
She’d just immersed herself in the topography of southern Europe when Lord Overton came in. At once, the air changed, filling with a thick tension. Her heart rate picked up speed.
“Good evening, Miss Wingate.”
She straightened in her chair at the table upon which the map was spread. “Good evening, Lord Overton.”
He strolled to the other side of the table. “I apologize for missing dinner again. I was caught up at Westminster.”
“No need to apologize. Speaking of apologies, however, Mrs. Tucket is keen to offer another one to you about the ball the other night.”
He smiled and ran his fingers over the faint bruise on his jaw. “She could have a future as a pugilist if not for her dependence upon the cane.”
“She would argue about the need for the cane, so please don’t tell her that.”
His brow arched. “You think she’d actually want to take up fighting?”
Fiona recalled the way she herded chickens and goats. It wasn’t fighting, but she possessed a temperament that was good at commanding others. Fiona imagined that would be a welcome quality in a fighting match. “I would not be surprised. More importantly, I think she would be frightfully good at it.”
He looked down at the map. “Topography of southern Europe?”
“I am trying to imagine how the French army invaded Portugal. Their path seems difficult.”
“It was.” He moved around the table and stood at the corner, rather near her. His fingertips traced over the Tagus Valley. “Napoleon wanted a shorter route, but it’s more remote and rugged.”
“I close my eyes and try to imagine how it looks.”
“There are drawings, I’m sure. Perhaps those are the books we should look for next.”
He spoke as if they would be together like this for some time. They would not, of course, since they would each likely be wed in the short term.
She tipped her head back to look up at him, only to find his gaze on her instead of the map. He took a few steps to his right—away from her.
“I came to tell you that I’ve changed my mind about the Phoenix Club assembly. We’ll go on Friday.”
She bolted from the chair in surprise. “Why?”
“I heard Lord Gregory accepted his invitation. I thought you might want to attend the ball since he’ll be there.” He focused his attention on the map.
Confusion swept through her. “You keep changing your mind about me. I mean, about things I’m allowed to do.” She added the last in a rush, thinking the first thing she’d said could be interpreted in multiple ways. Perhaps she should take more time to consider her words since she seemed to be doing that often. At least today.
“It seems Lord Gregory is courting you.” He flicked a glance toward her. “You like him, don’t you?”
“I do,” she responded. Had Prudence said something to him? How else would he know about Lord Gregory accepting the invitation?
“Then you must go. Once a gentleman calls on you in London, it’s a signal that the courtship is progressing. If he calls on you again, and you continue to dance together and otherwise spend time in each other’s company, a betrothal will be expected.”
Fiona swallowed. “And if it doesn’t happen?”
“It depends on the situation, but in many cases, the woman will be seen as somehow wanting.”
“The woman, not the man?”
His lips stretched into a brief, humorless smile. “It’s not particularly fair.”
“It’s a wonder anyone is able to make a match. How can you determine if you will suit without spending a great deal of time together? And it seems if you do that, you’re committed. Whether you suit or not.”
“That can happen, I suppose. My mother thought she and my father were suited, but after they married, she realized that was not the case.”
Fiona thought of her own parents and exhaled. “This doesn’t just happen in London, of course. Things might be more relaxed in the country, but there are still expectations. I believe my parents did not suit.” She offered a small, commiserative smile. “Perhaps our parents’ failures have made us more cautious. How are things progressing between you and Miss Goodfellow?”
He looked away from her again. “A bit stalled at the moment.” He pivoted so that his hip was against the edge of the table. “It occurs to me that there will be a waltz at the assembly on Friday—it is always the third dance. You should dance it with Lord Gregory. Do you think you can?”
She wanted to ask why things had stalled with Miss Goodfellow but suspected it was her fault because of what had happened at the club in the garden. Because of what she’d
