A Certain Magic by Mary Balogh

Barry Neyland is a very amiable gentleman.”
    “Oh, agreed,” he said. “I did not imply that over indulging oneself at the table makes one an unpleasant character, you know. Only an overweight and somewhat unhealthy one. I shall come early for you and we will visit some of the galleries.”
    “Will we?” she said. “I will enjoy that.” 
    “Yes,” he said, “and so will I. You cannot imagine the tedium of taking young ladies about, Allie. One must take them to the Tower to delight them with the animals or awe them with a sight of the crown jewels. Or else to Astley’s to see the horses perform. Never to a gallery. It is a pity it is not considered quite the thing for ladies to view the Elgin marbles. I would like to take you there.”
    “Yes,” she said, “I would like to see them.”
    “Because they are reputed to be magnificent sculptures or because so many of them depict naked men?” he asked, turning his head to look at her as he did so. “Allie, you are crimson.”
    “And you are no gentleman,” she said. “Piers, how dare you.”
    “Perhaps it is a good thing I cannot take you to see them after all,” he said. “Doubtless you would be scarlet down to your toes. No, don’t say it. Shall we catch up to your niece and her beau and make ourselves agreeable?”
    All eight of them came together for a few minutes and exchanged admiring comments on the scenery and the magnificent weather. Sir Clayton took Cassandra on his arm for the return stroll, while Alice walked with Mr. King, Henrietta Marks with Jarvis, and Amanda with Mr. Westhaven.
    A whole hour had passed by the time they returned to the carriages and the blankets, and by mutual consent they decided that it was teatime.
    Alice, observing the scene around her, was fascinated to note that the very shy Miss Borden quickly became the focus of almost everyone’s attention. Mr. King, it was true, directed all his gallantry to Amanda, to whom he had been paying determined court since the night of the Partiton ball. And Sir Clayton lavished Alice with compliments and loaded a plate with food for her.
    But Jarvis was plainly smitten with Cassandra and did his best to draw her into conversation. And Piers sat protectively close to her and focused all his attention on her as if to protect her from her own shyness. He looked a little amused, Alice thought. Indeed, he looked exactly as he had always looked with Harriet.
    The foolish man. Despite all his claims that he did not want to commit himself on this relationship, was history about to repeat itself? Would Miss Borden be his bride before the summer was out? It seemed very likely.
    Even Sir Clayton seemed to have eyes for no one but the girl during tea.
    What was it about her? Alice observed her very closely. Abnormally shy girls, however pretty, usually found themselves left to themselves. There was nothing particularly attractive about shyness. And this girl scarcely had the courage to lift her head or her eyes. She was, of course, very pretty with her masses of auburn ringlets, her flawless complexion, and her very shapely figure.
    Was the girl an actress? The idea grew on Alice as tea progressed. She scarcely looked up or spoke, of course, but she communicated quite well enough. A peep from beneath her lashes, a parting of the lips, an almost unobtrusive hand gesture, a slight leaning of the body—toward Piers: all brought an immediate response from one or all of the gentlemen.
    The girl positively oozed sensual appeal, Alice decided before tea was finished. And she felt foolish and guilty at the thought. Was she seeing something that simply was not there just because most of the lures seemed to be directed toward Piers? Was she jealous? It was a mortifying thought.
    Sir Clayton suggested that they walk in the rhododendron gardens after tea. Everyone was willing, the afternoon being still bright and warm. But Cassandra was turned to Mr. Westhaven, looking up at him briefly