For Elise by Sarah M. Eden Page B

arrived from the West Indies.
    “We were passing by on our way back from Norwood and thought to ourselves, ‘We haven’t visited with Lord Grenton since his return to Tafford.’” Mrs. Haddington smiled at her daughter. “Didn’t we, dear? Didn’t we say that?” Her gaze returned to Miles. “We said just that.”
    Miss Haddington met Miles’s gaze, an amused twinkle in her eyes. “Mother has missed you terribly, Lord Grenton.”
    “I am rather missable.”
    Miss Haddington laughed lightly. “I don’t believe that sounded quite the way you intended it to.”
    “Mr. Haddington has been quite remiss in calling on you, but I am certain he will soon.” Mrs. Haddington jumped back into the conversation. “Is that Mr. and Mrs. Langley? I had hoped they would visit again.”
    “Indeed, my sister and her husband mean to stay for a few more weeks, at least, before returning to their own home.”
    “We must go bid them a good afternoon.” Mrs. Haddington made straight for the picnic blanket, motioning for her daughter to follow. “Offer her your arm, Lord Grenton,” she said in a scolding tone. “You are a gentleman, after all, and she is a lady. A gentleman always offers his arm. To a lady, that is. A gentleman wouldn’t offer his arm to a gentleman.”
    “I can’t say that is something I’ve seen often.” Miles managed to keep his expression serious.
    “Unless, of course, one of the gentlemen had sustained a wound of some kind and was weak from blood loss,” Mrs. Haddington continued. “Then it would be the gentlemanly thing to do, offering one’s arm.”
    “Perhaps you should feign a desperate injury,” Miles said to Miss Haddington under his breath. “Otherwise, I can make no guarantees.”
    “A lady need not be grievously wounded.” Mrs. Haddington hardly stopped for breath. “She simply needs to be a lady. And my daughter is a lady.”
    “I am aware of that, ma’am,” Miles said.
    Mrs. Haddington’s brows pulled in with confusion. “Then why haven’t you offered her your arm?”
    “You’d best make the offer, Lord Grenton,” Miss Haddington warned him. “Otherwise, this conversation will never end.”
    He held his arm out for her, and she accepted it with a smile. Mrs. Haddington looked the two of them over, then nodded her approval. She moved swiftly toward the picnic blanket, leaving Miles and Miss Haddington to follow in her wake.
    “Forgive Mother,” Miss Haddington said. “She can be very single-minded, especially on such crucial matters as to whom a gentleman offers his arm.”
    “And so she should. If we let matters of such importance slip, what would happen to this country?”
    “We’d be France.” Miss Haddington managed the comment with perfect seriousness, but her smile won out in the next moment.
    They reached the picnic blanket. Mrs. Haddington had already claimed all of Beth’s attention, and Langley was doing an admirable job of appearing pleased to be forced into listening to their conversation.
    “Who is this?” Miss Haddington asked.
    Miles followed her gaze all the way to Elise. Elise. When had she left his side? They’d been walking back to the picnic together when the Haddingtons had arrived. She must have walked away then.
    “This is Mrs. Jones,” Miles said, bringing Miss Haddington to where Elise sat with Anne leaning against her. “And this lovely young lady is her daughter, Miss Jones.”
    Anne looked excessively uncomfortable, pulling in closer to her mother. Elise didn’t quite manage a smile, neither did she look Miss Haddington in the eye.
    “Mrs. Jones”—Heavens, it felt strange calling Elise that, but he did know how to make a proper introduction—“this is Miss Haddington of Ravensworth.”
    Miss Haddington offered a very elegant curtsy. “I am so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jones. Do you live nearby?”
    Elise didn’t answer. Her mouth moved about silently. She clutched her hands tightly in front of her.
    “Mrs. Jones is a dear