Pursuing Lord Pascal by Anna Campbell Page B

Honestly I don’t know how you resist
Lord Pascal. I think he’s gorgeous.”
    “That’s enough out of you, miss,” Sally said.
“And you’re not to dream of Amy’s beau.”
    Amy laughed. “Oh, let her, if she wants to. I
dreamed of him myself, when I was a giddy girl.”
    Meg’s grin hinted that the young lady gracing
the season’s ballrooms hadn’t completely overtaken the impudent
hoyden of a few months ago. “So you’re childhood sweethearts
reunited?”
    “Not at all. He didn’t know I was alive, but
I had a romantical streak when I was fourteen.”
    “Meg, it’s time you were in bed, instead of
asking rude questions,” Sally said, although her attempts at
sternness were never very convincing.
    “Yes, Aunt.” She paused at the door, and the
humor left her eyes. “And thank you. I know I’m a trial to you, but
I’m grateful for everything you’re doing for me.”
    “Not that much of a trial.” Sally’s
expression softened. “Away with you, mousekin.”
    Amy smiled after Meg as she left. “She’s a
lovely girl.”
    “She is. And I hope she finds happiness. I
like Sir Charles, and he’s been most particular in his attentions
since he arrived in London last week.”
    “He has.” Although in Amy’s opinion, he was
interested in Sally, rather than her pretty niece. She knew Sally
well enough by now not to voice that opinion. Sally believed that
at thirty, she was past the age of romance. “I like him, too.”
    “He’s invited us to the Royal Academy
tomorrow. I do hope Meg doesn’t betray her complete ignorance of
painting. Sir Charles is quite the connoisseur. Did you notice the
Titian in his drawing room?”
    Amy hid a smile. “I did indeed. Luckily you
can talk pictures, if Meg finds herself at sea.” Over supper, Sir
Charles and Sally had enjoyed a lively discussion about Mr.
Turner’s latest works. Meg had been busy, telling Amy and Pascal
about her father’s stables. The chit mightn’t know much about art,
but she could wax eloquent on equine bloodlines.
    Sally rose from her chair near the fire.
“Would you like a brandy?”
    A small glass of brandy was the perfect
accompaniment to these late night chats. “Yes, please.”
    While Sally poured their drinks, a
comfortable silence fell. It still astounded Amy how easily she and
Sally had fallen into friendship. They were both lonely, and she’d
learned to appreciate Sally’s worldly experience and sound common
sense.
    Sally passed Amy a brandy and carried hers
back to her chair. “I’m worried about Morwenna.”
    “I am, too.” Amy sipped her drink. “But to
give her her due, she’s doing better than I thought she would.”
    “Oh, I agree. She puts on a great pretense of
enjoying herself. But under the gaiety, she’s still grieving.”
    Amy settled back and let the liquor and the
fire melt away the night’s tension. The strain of this prolonged
torture of a courtship told on her. With every moment in Pascal’s
company, her control became more frayed. Tonight, he’d looked so
disheartened, she’d nearly flung herself into his arms and begged
him to kiss her.
    But she was painfully aware that his lovers
were always cheaply won, and just as easily forsaken. She couldn’t
bear to become another eager, forgettable woman in a long list of
eager, forgettable women.
    “Sally, she needed every ounce of courage she
possessed to come to London and face the world again. She and
Robert were deeply in love. Give her time. And don’t forget that
she’s missing Kerenza.” Kerenza was at Woodley with Silas and
Caroline and all her Nash cousins. Morwenna knew her daughter was
fine, but that didn’t make the separation easier.
    “I know she is. I just wish she was
happy.”
    “Especially after you’ve tried so hard to
give us a memorable few weeks.”
    Sally waved her glass in a dismissive
gesture. “I’ve loved having you both to stay—and Meg, too.”
    “Your niece is a great success, and her
popularity hasn’t turned