young daughter. Or perhaps
not so innocent—she was leaning around her father and giving the three of
them a saucy grin.
“Of
course not,” Hil answered smoothly. “The answer to his question was no, I
assure you. He was appalled that anyone would even consider such a thing. We
were just discussing the alarming lack of morals in today’s youth. What is
England coming to these days, I ask you?” Hil pulled Alasdair up beside him.
“Lord Percival, let me introduce you to Mr. Alasdair Sharp, a dear friend from
my school days.”
“How
do you do, my Lord?” Alasdair inquired politely with a small bow. Lord Percival
looked unimpressed, and now his daughter did as well.
“And
this must be your lovely daughter,” Hil said, gesturing at the bored girl.
Lord
Percival guided her forward with a firm but gentle hand. “My eldest daughter,”
he said with pride.
“How
do you do, Lady Margaret?” Hil answered politely. And it was a good thing, too,
because Alasdair had no idea who the chit was.
“How
do you do?” Alasdair said stiffly, at that moment hating everything about
polite society and the manners that had been instilled in him as a child.
Hil
had much more torture planned for him. The evening dragged slowly by as they
made their way around the room greeting every person they passed; some of the
guests Alasdair already knew. At some point Roger abandoned them. Alasdair didn’t
see him in the room, so he must have escaped the proceedings. After greeting
the fifth girl—or maybe she was the sixth—Alasdair finally noticed that
they were all dark-haired girls of approximately the same height, and all were
slim and fit. He was astounded. How had Hil known which girls most closely
resembled his Juliet? Clearly he had paid more attention to the current crop of
young ladies than Alasdair had. Not all of these women were that young,
however, some were older, in their twenties perhaps.
“Hil,”
Alasdair whispered as they left one proud mama and her much-too-young charge,
“Juliet said she was twenty. Why are we bothering with the younger girls?”
“Because
we can’t be certain that she didn’t lie to you. Also, I wasn’t sure of the
exact age of some of these girls, and it would be impolite to ignore them,” Hil
whispered theatrically out of the corner of his mouth. His actions were so
blatant that Alasdair could practically see half the room leaning in their
direction to catch whatever he was whispering.
Much
to Alasdair’s delight and relief, Hil suddenly took a straight path through the
room to the far corner without stopping to greet anyone else on the way. He
smiled widely at a fortyish man and his small, birdlike wife. “How do you do,
Mr. Harte?” Hil positively oozed congeniality. “And the lovely Lady Linville.”
Hil bent down and kissed her hand. “Marriage agrees with you, ma’am.” He turned
to Alasdair. “Doesn’t it? I believe I mentioned that to you the other night
when we saw them at your house, Mr. Sharp.”
His
house? Marriage? He nodded and smiled at the blushing Lady Linville. Oh, yes,
he placed them now. They lived just across the street from him, if he wasn’t
mistaken. He’d spoken to Harte on several occasions. “Why yes, you did, Sir
Hilary. And how do you do this evening, my Lady?”
“How
do you do,” she replied in a sweet voice. “We so enjoyed your reception the
other evening, Mr. Sharp. What a beautiful pearl! Truly
amazing. And it’s been in your family for generations?”
Alasdair
answered through gritted teeth. “Yes, ma’am. It was farmed out of the River Tay
by one of my maternal ancestors over three hundred years ago.”
“How
thrilling to have such an interesting family history,” she said
enthusiastically.
Mr.
Harte smiled indulgently at her. It was clear that theirs was a love match. How nice for them . As soon as the
churlish thought went through his head, Alasdair was chagrined. He’d never
begrudged anyone his or her happiness before.
not so innocent—she was leaning around her father and giving the three of
them a saucy grin.
“Of
course not,” Hil answered smoothly. “The answer to his question was no, I
assure you. He was appalled that anyone would even consider such a thing. We
were just discussing the alarming lack of morals in today’s youth. What is
England coming to these days, I ask you?” Hil pulled Alasdair up beside him.
“Lord Percival, let me introduce you to Mr. Alasdair Sharp, a dear friend from
my school days.”
“How
do you do, my Lord?” Alasdair inquired politely with a small bow. Lord Percival
looked unimpressed, and now his daughter did as well.
“And
this must be your lovely daughter,” Hil said, gesturing at the bored girl.
Lord
Percival guided her forward with a firm but gentle hand. “My eldest daughter,”
he said with pride.
“How
do you do, Lady Margaret?” Hil answered politely. And it was a good thing, too,
because Alasdair had no idea who the chit was.
“How
do you do?” Alasdair said stiffly, at that moment hating everything about
polite society and the manners that had been instilled in him as a child.
Hil
had much more torture planned for him. The evening dragged slowly by as they
made their way around the room greeting every person they passed; some of the
guests Alasdair already knew. At some point Roger abandoned them. Alasdair didn’t
see him in the room, so he must have escaped the proceedings. After greeting
the fifth girl—or maybe she was the sixth—Alasdair finally noticed that
they were all dark-haired girls of approximately the same height, and all were
slim and fit. He was astounded. How had Hil known which girls most closely
resembled his Juliet? Clearly he had paid more attention to the current crop of
young ladies than Alasdair had. Not all of these women were that young,
however, some were older, in their twenties perhaps.
“Hil,”
Alasdair whispered as they left one proud mama and her much-too-young charge,
“Juliet said she was twenty. Why are we bothering with the younger girls?”
“Because
we can’t be certain that she didn’t lie to you. Also, I wasn’t sure of the
exact age of some of these girls, and it would be impolite to ignore them,” Hil
whispered theatrically out of the corner of his mouth. His actions were so
blatant that Alasdair could practically see half the room leaning in their
direction to catch whatever he was whispering.
Much
to Alasdair’s delight and relief, Hil suddenly took a straight path through the
room to the far corner without stopping to greet anyone else on the way. He
smiled widely at a fortyish man and his small, birdlike wife. “How do you do,
Mr. Harte?” Hil positively oozed congeniality. “And the lovely Lady Linville.”
Hil bent down and kissed her hand. “Marriage agrees with you, ma’am.” He turned
to Alasdair. “Doesn’t it? I believe I mentioned that to you the other night
when we saw them at your house, Mr. Sharp.”
His
house? Marriage? He nodded and smiled at the blushing Lady Linville. Oh, yes,
he placed them now. They lived just across the street from him, if he wasn’t
mistaken. He’d spoken to Harte on several occasions. “Why yes, you did, Sir
Hilary. And how do you do this evening, my Lady?”
“How
do you do,” she replied in a sweet voice. “We so enjoyed your reception the
other evening, Mr. Sharp. What a beautiful pearl! Truly
amazing. And it’s been in your family for generations?”
Alasdair
answered through gritted teeth. “Yes, ma’am. It was farmed out of the River Tay
by one of my maternal ancestors over three hundred years ago.”
“How
thrilling to have such an interesting family history,” she said
enthusiastically.
Mr.
Harte smiled indulgently at her. It was clear that theirs was a love match. How nice for them . As soon as the
churlish thought went through his head, Alasdair was chagrined. He’d never
begrudged anyone his or her happiness before.
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