appears, Amesbury."
Cole grinned. “Thank you again for the excellent match.” They shook hands again and Cole went back to his room to bathe and change.
"Are you enjoying yourself, sir?” His valet, Stephens, asked as he assisted.
Stephens was far too outspoken and opinionated, but Cole viewed him as a friend first and a servant second. A former comrade-at-arms, they had saved each other's lives many times. And Stephens proved his loyalty repeatedly when Cole found himself dodging eager debutantes or their overzealous mothers. Or when he wished to arrange a discreet liaison.
Cole grimaced. “Outside of the hunting and fencing matches, the only things I truly enjoyed, the week has been filled with games of all kinds and women with matrimony on their minds. Aunt Livy probably helped plan the menu, commonly known as the guest list. I'm surprised they didn't serve me to the ladies on a platter sautéed in butter."
Stephens chuckled. “Miss Catherine Sinclair would have been the first to take a serving."
"No doubt. Although she did prove herself a worthy partner in whist. Her ability to bluff won us many rounds last evening.” Few women had perfected the art of keeping her face as perfectly impassive as Miss Sinclair. He wondered if the woman was even capable of emotion. “Overall, however, the whole party has been an adventure in escapes from feminine wiles."
He'd briefly considered accepting the lovely young widow Norrington's offer for a liaison last night. Lately, however, even the most skilled and passionate women failed to fill the emptiness that seemed to be devouring him, one bite at a time.
"Thank heavens tomorrow the party will come to a close and we can escape back to the relative safety of Uncle Andrew's estate,” Cole added.
After bathing and changing, and receiving a fortifying grin from Stephens, Cole went downstairs for the next round. Dinner passed as smoothly as could be hoped, but he still welcomed the after-dinner ritual to enjoy port or brandy and manly conversation, sans the ladies.
Cole nursed his brandy outside the circle of men. He had his own opinions but kept them to himself tonight. Anytime Members of Parliament or of the House of Lords began discussing politics, Cole usually kept his ears open and his mouth closed. His father, the fifth Earl Tarrington, always took his responsibility as a member of the House of Lords seriously and never missed a session until his health began to decline.
When Cole assumed the title of Sixth Earl Tarrington, he would do his duty faithfully, and be a man of whom his father would be proud. It was the least he could do considering how he'd disappointed his father in his youth.
The conversation became bawdy as the glasses drained and refilled and drained. Cole only half-listened without comment, staring into his glass, absently watching the liquid swirl. Then the name Palmer jerked his attention back to the men.
"Willard Palmer can't make a business deal to save his life these days,” the marquis said.
The duke frowned. “I met him years ago. He seemed a decent sort then."
"Ever since he inherited his brother's estate, it's been bad luck. One loss after another."
"Too bad. Decent sort,” the duke repeated.
Alicia's face swam before Cole's eyes. He had never obsessed over a woman in this manner. And Alicia Palmer failed to fit the type that normally piqued his interest—unremarkable in many counts and far too innocent.
But she was different. Perhaps there lay the key. He had met so many Catherines that he grew weary of their pretenses.
Alicia's compassion had been refreshing. Her concern for people. Her desire to include and attend everyone with whom she came in contact, not in a calculating way like Catherine Sinclair, but in a way that made them feel important, as if she truly believed they were. Cole had witnessed Mr. de Champs’ chest swell his pleasure in her attentive company at Lord and Lady Sinclair's ball. She had done the same with
Cole grinned. “Thank you again for the excellent match.” They shook hands again and Cole went back to his room to bathe and change.
"Are you enjoying yourself, sir?” His valet, Stephens, asked as he assisted.
Stephens was far too outspoken and opinionated, but Cole viewed him as a friend first and a servant second. A former comrade-at-arms, they had saved each other's lives many times. And Stephens proved his loyalty repeatedly when Cole found himself dodging eager debutantes or their overzealous mothers. Or when he wished to arrange a discreet liaison.
Cole grimaced. “Outside of the hunting and fencing matches, the only things I truly enjoyed, the week has been filled with games of all kinds and women with matrimony on their minds. Aunt Livy probably helped plan the menu, commonly known as the guest list. I'm surprised they didn't serve me to the ladies on a platter sautéed in butter."
Stephens chuckled. “Miss Catherine Sinclair would have been the first to take a serving."
"No doubt. Although she did prove herself a worthy partner in whist. Her ability to bluff won us many rounds last evening.” Few women had perfected the art of keeping her face as perfectly impassive as Miss Sinclair. He wondered if the woman was even capable of emotion. “Overall, however, the whole party has been an adventure in escapes from feminine wiles."
He'd briefly considered accepting the lovely young widow Norrington's offer for a liaison last night. Lately, however, even the most skilled and passionate women failed to fill the emptiness that seemed to be devouring him, one bite at a time.
"Thank heavens tomorrow the party will come to a close and we can escape back to the relative safety of Uncle Andrew's estate,” Cole added.
After bathing and changing, and receiving a fortifying grin from Stephens, Cole went downstairs for the next round. Dinner passed as smoothly as could be hoped, but he still welcomed the after-dinner ritual to enjoy port or brandy and manly conversation, sans the ladies.
Cole nursed his brandy outside the circle of men. He had his own opinions but kept them to himself tonight. Anytime Members of Parliament or of the House of Lords began discussing politics, Cole usually kept his ears open and his mouth closed. His father, the fifth Earl Tarrington, always took his responsibility as a member of the House of Lords seriously and never missed a session until his health began to decline.
When Cole assumed the title of Sixth Earl Tarrington, he would do his duty faithfully, and be a man of whom his father would be proud. It was the least he could do considering how he'd disappointed his father in his youth.
The conversation became bawdy as the glasses drained and refilled and drained. Cole only half-listened without comment, staring into his glass, absently watching the liquid swirl. Then the name Palmer jerked his attention back to the men.
"Willard Palmer can't make a business deal to save his life these days,” the marquis said.
The duke frowned. “I met him years ago. He seemed a decent sort then."
"Ever since he inherited his brother's estate, it's been bad luck. One loss after another."
"Too bad. Decent sort,” the duke repeated.
Alicia's face swam before Cole's eyes. He had never obsessed over a woman in this manner. And Alicia Palmer failed to fit the type that normally piqued his interest—unremarkable in many counts and far too innocent.
But she was different. Perhaps there lay the key. He had met so many Catherines that he grew weary of their pretenses.
Alicia's compassion had been refreshing. Her concern for people. Her desire to include and attend everyone with whom she came in contact, not in a calculating way like Catherine Sinclair, but in a way that made them feel important, as if she truly believed they were. Cole had witnessed Mr. de Champs’ chest swell his pleasure in her attentive company at Lord and Lady Sinclair's ball. She had done the same with
Similar Books
