The Bridal Season by Connie Brockway Page B

without any appreciable interest, as Lady
Agatha approached him in company with Dr. Beacon and his wife. She greeted Paul
and Atticus, looking about with unfeigned interest.
    “Ah, drat,” Beacon said. “I missed Elliot.”
    “I suspect he’ll be back shortly,” Paul said. “Went off on
some errand of Catherine’s making.”
    Atticus glanced at Lady Agatha. Should he, or shouldn’t he? He
should.
    “Does that a lot, doesn’t he?” Atticus said mildly.
    “All the time,” Paul answered. “Still feels something of the
old tenderness I should imagine,” he added proudly, “and Catherine always goes
out of her way to make sure she shows him a little extra attention. She’s so
tender-hearted.” He glanced at Atticus. “Not that I’m suggesting that Elliot’s
feelings aren’t entirely honorable.”
    “Of course not,” Atticus agreed at once, and noted with satisfaction
the chill expression on Lady Agatha’s face. “It’s fortunate for Elliot that
Catherine doesn’t feel uncomfortable being at the center of an old swain’s as
well as a loving husband’s attention.”
    “She always says it’s important that Elliot feel welcome,”
Paul said.
    “Perhaps she enjoys the attention?” Lady Agatha suggested.
    Paul shrugged. “Maybe.”
    His answer, as well as his obvious unconcern, had the effect
of making Lady Agatha’s eyes flash with annoyance or disapproval. She smiled
brittlely. “Dr. Beacon, isn’t that your lovely sister over there? I would so
like the opportunity to know her better.”
    Somehow Atticus kept from grinning until after Lady Agatha and
Jim Beacon were gone. But it was an effort.
     
    Having gotten Catherine her punch and returned her to her
husband, Elliot was about to join Lady Agatha’s party when he noted Elizabeth
Vance and her father sitting by themselves at a table under an awning. He went
to them at once.
    “Miss Vance, would you and the Colonel mind terribly if I
joined you for lunch? There are some matters about the current Boer situation
that I would like the Colonel’s opinion on.”
    “Of course. Of course, m’boy!” Colonel Vance thumped the empty
chair next to him with his cane. “You’d best go off to some of your women
friends, Elizabeth. Sir Elliot wants my advice. Nothing of interest for you
here, I’m sure.”
    “I’m afraid not,” Elliot agreed apologetically. Elizabeth all
but leapt to her feet and, after making a breathless promise to return soon,
fled.
    Elliot settled in to listen. Though he was usually content to
hear the old man’s tales, today his gaze kept straying to the lawn outside,
where the sun danced between newly minted leaves and women and men strolled
beneath the branches, laughing, chatting, and flirting.
    He was thirty-three years old. At one time he’d been as easy
and careless as those around him, but then obligation had required him to don a
mantle of authority and purpose.
    Bad luck, a horrific miscarriage of military justice, and a
dervish’s blade had aided that transformation. In a zariba seven miles from the
Nile, he’d caught a sword in the leg but, made oblivious to pain by the sheer
fury he’d felt at a dishonorable and spurious piece of injustice he’d stumbled
into the night before, he’d managed to keep his company together. They’d
rewarded him by shipping him home and giving him a knighthood. He’d vowed never
again to presume justice was available to all men, and to henceforth do all in
his power to see that it was.
    Since then, he’d subordinated everything in his life to
fighting to make the legal system a viable and honorable one. Now it looked as
though the care with which he’d led his life and the scrupulousness with which
he performed his legal duties would be rewarded in the premium he had sought.
The Prime Minister himself verified it; come New Year’s Honors, Elliot would be
made a peer.
    He should be elated. He should be taking this opportunity to
prioritize a laundry list of reforms and concerns. But his attention kept
wandering. Lady Agatha sat on a large rug,