forcefully.
“I wouldn’t recommend walking,” he answered before Valerie could. But at least he moved over a fraction of an inch. “She hasn’t yet been introduced into society. To the strict arbiters of our strict society, it would be considered coarse and unrefined.”
He had a point, Lucy allowed, although it was clear by his tone what he thought of that particular rule of society. “Perhaps you’ll provide us with an introduction to some among your grandmother’s circle of acquaintances,” she prompted him.
“Is your charge interested in securing a husband from among the aged and infirm, then?”
“Oh, no!” Valerie gasped, then quickly averted her face.
“The earl is only teasing, Valerie. He knows I have no intention of letting you be paired with an old man.”
“Ah, so it’s young men she wishes to meet,” he said. “We’re in luck, then, for I believe I see several fine gentlemen of my acquaintance.” He raised a hand to a trio of horsemen who sat their mounts in a grassy area just off the roadway.
He’d planned this, Lucy immediately realized. He’d planned the whole thing, and furthermore, his friends, though young and handsome and dashing, would not be of the acceptable sort—at least not for an earl’s daughter. Lucy wasn’t sure how she knew this, but there was not a doubt in her mind that she was right.
When the three horsemen spied Lord Westcott’s carriage, they disengaged themselves from conversation with a group of women in a slightly worn cabriolet and headed their way.
“Good morning, Westcott,” said the most elegantly dressed of the three, tipping his hat to the ladies. He was a very handsome fellow, Lucy noticed, exquisitely turned out with his neckcloth tied in an elaborate knot, and lace covering half of his hands. A charming and well-practiced rake, she decided.
“Lady Valerie Stanwich, Miss Lucy Drysdale, may I present Mr. Alexander Blackburn—” The rake’s name sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps she’d read something of him in one of the newspapers her brother took.
“Also, Mr. Giles Dameron—” Tall, dark, and handsome, in a rustic and rather appealing sort of way.
“And finally, Mr. Elliot Pierce.” The rogue, Lucy concluded. For Mr. Pierce was every bit as handsome as Mr. Dameron, equally as languid as Mr. Blackburn, and almost as arrogantly dangerous as Ivan Thornton.
The rake, the rustic, and the rogue. They were clearly long-time accomplices of the Gypsy earl.
“We were all at Burford Hall together,” Ivan said, as if to confirm her thoughts.
Burford Hall. Also known as Bastard Hall. Of course!
Lucy pasted an appropriately restrained smile on her face. “We are pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Mr. Blackburn, the rake, reined his horse nearer to Valerie’s side of the phaeton. “How do you find London, Lady Valerie?” He smiled at her, a smile so disingenuous and sincere that Lucy blinked. Perhaps she’d been too hasty in her judgment. Perhaps he was not a rake at all.
“It … It is very … large,” Valerie stammered, blushing to the roots of her fair hair.
Mr. Blackburn shifted on his saddle. If anything, his expression grew more earnest. “I thought so too when first I arrived. But in time I became accustomed to it. Where have you arrived from?”
“From Sussex. Near to Arundel.”
“Arundel,” he said, nodding. “I’ve visited very near there. Done some fishing in the Arun.”
“My brothers fish there often,” Valerie said, gaining a bit of composure.
Well, maybe this wasn’t too bad, Lucy thought, letting out a slow breath. They might only be misters, but this one, at least, was exceedingly well mannered.
“Are you from there as well, Miss Drysdale?”
Lucy met Mr. Pierce’s gaze. The rogue. He affected a bored sort of grace, yet she detected an avidity hidden somewhere beneath it.
They sat in the early afternoon sunshine another few minutes talking to the three gentlemen about this and that. No,
“I wouldn’t recommend walking,” he answered before Valerie could. But at least he moved over a fraction of an inch. “She hasn’t yet been introduced into society. To the strict arbiters of our strict society, it would be considered coarse and unrefined.”
He had a point, Lucy allowed, although it was clear by his tone what he thought of that particular rule of society. “Perhaps you’ll provide us with an introduction to some among your grandmother’s circle of acquaintances,” she prompted him.
“Is your charge interested in securing a husband from among the aged and infirm, then?”
“Oh, no!” Valerie gasped, then quickly averted her face.
“The earl is only teasing, Valerie. He knows I have no intention of letting you be paired with an old man.”
“Ah, so it’s young men she wishes to meet,” he said. “We’re in luck, then, for I believe I see several fine gentlemen of my acquaintance.” He raised a hand to a trio of horsemen who sat their mounts in a grassy area just off the roadway.
He’d planned this, Lucy immediately realized. He’d planned the whole thing, and furthermore, his friends, though young and handsome and dashing, would not be of the acceptable sort—at least not for an earl’s daughter. Lucy wasn’t sure how she knew this, but there was not a doubt in her mind that she was right.
When the three horsemen spied Lord Westcott’s carriage, they disengaged themselves from conversation with a group of women in a slightly worn cabriolet and headed their way.
“Good morning, Westcott,” said the most elegantly dressed of the three, tipping his hat to the ladies. He was a very handsome fellow, Lucy noticed, exquisitely turned out with his neckcloth tied in an elaborate knot, and lace covering half of his hands. A charming and well-practiced rake, she decided.
“Lady Valerie Stanwich, Miss Lucy Drysdale, may I present Mr. Alexander Blackburn—” The rake’s name sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps she’d read something of him in one of the newspapers her brother took.
“Also, Mr. Giles Dameron—” Tall, dark, and handsome, in a rustic and rather appealing sort of way.
“And finally, Mr. Elliot Pierce.” The rogue, Lucy concluded. For Mr. Pierce was every bit as handsome as Mr. Dameron, equally as languid as Mr. Blackburn, and almost as arrogantly dangerous as Ivan Thornton.
The rake, the rustic, and the rogue. They were clearly long-time accomplices of the Gypsy earl.
“We were all at Burford Hall together,” Ivan said, as if to confirm her thoughts.
Burford Hall. Also known as Bastard Hall. Of course!
Lucy pasted an appropriately restrained smile on her face. “We are pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Mr. Blackburn, the rake, reined his horse nearer to Valerie’s side of the phaeton. “How do you find London, Lady Valerie?” He smiled at her, a smile so disingenuous and sincere that Lucy blinked. Perhaps she’d been too hasty in her judgment. Perhaps he was not a rake at all.
“It … It is very … large,” Valerie stammered, blushing to the roots of her fair hair.
Mr. Blackburn shifted on his saddle. If anything, his expression grew more earnest. “I thought so too when first I arrived. But in time I became accustomed to it. Where have you arrived from?”
“From Sussex. Near to Arundel.”
“Arundel,” he said, nodding. “I’ve visited very near there. Done some fishing in the Arun.”
“My brothers fish there often,” Valerie said, gaining a bit of composure.
Well, maybe this wasn’t too bad, Lucy thought, letting out a slow breath. They might only be misters, but this one, at least, was exceedingly well mannered.
“Are you from there as well, Miss Drysdale?”
Lucy met Mr. Pierce’s gaze. The rogue. He affected a bored sort of grace, yet she detected an avidity hidden somewhere beneath it.
They sat in the early afternoon sunshine another few minutes talking to the three gentlemen about this and that. No,
Similar Books
