A Chance Encounter

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Authors: Mary Balogh
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in England and, in fact, very few in Scotland.
    He explained to Elizabeth that, although he was now thirty years old, he had never quite recovered from the strangeness of his upbringing. He found it difficult to relax and behave with the ease of manner he so admired in other men. He found it difficult to make friends, but found himself firmly attached to those he had made.
    Elizabeth could not help allowing curiosity to get the better of her. “How comes it that you are friendly with the Marquess of Hetherington?” she asked. “You and he seem so different from each other.”
    â€œRobert?” he said, looking at her solemnly. “Yes, he is the sort of man I should like to be. He has an ease of manner and a charm that come naturally to him. People invariably warm to his personality. However, there is great depth to his character that you may not know on such short acquaintance, Miss Rossiter. Strangely enough, his upbringing was similar to mine in many ways. And I believe he has suffered in his life. He has a sensitivity to the hurts of others that can have come only from personal experience.”
    Elizabeth hid her skepticism in silence. “Around this next bend we should find ourselves close to the horses and the luncheon,” she said.
    â€œAh,” he remarked, “I had forgotten the others. You are an easy person to talk to, Miss Rossiter. Is it part of your profession to set people to talking so much at their ease?”
    Elizabeth smiled. “Not at all, sir,” she replied cheerfully. “Perhaps it is my plain gray dress that gives you confidence. Maybe you allow a lady’s grand appearance to awe you into believing that she is a threat to you.”
    They had rounded the bend and were now in full view of the others. He looked down at her and laughed. “What a novel idea,” he said. “And I only now noticed that you are dressed plainly. Do you always dress so? You must have a powerful personality, ma’am. One tends not to notice.”
    Elizabeth too laughed, but could not hide a blush at the unexpectedness of his words. “Why, sir, I do believe I have been complimented,” she said, looking up into his face, and across into the tight-lipped, glowering face of the Marquess of Hetherington, who had paused in the process of pouring wine for the company. Elizabeth had enjoyed the walk and the conversation with William Mainwaring, and refused to have her mood spoiled. Joining the group, she placed a meat pasty and a buttered bread roll on a plate, and moved over to join Mrs. Prosser and Anne Claridge, who were exchanging views on the latest fashions.
    As she ate and listened, Elizabeth let her eyes rove around the company. Lucy Worthing and Mr. Dowling, she was amused to see, were sitting together and conversing—or, at least, Lucy was listening to Mr. Dowling talk. The girl was looking almost pretty today with her sky-blue muslin dress that did not make her hair look too yellow or her complexion too pasty. Ferdie, Cecily, and Amelia Norris formed a group with Hetherington, but Elizabeth noticed that Cecily, flushed and slightly disheveled, was talking animatedly to Ferdie, while Hetherington, looking quite genial again, was entertaining his betrothed. He must have been angry to remember that he had invited her, Elizabeth thought, and that was why he had looked so out of sorts a short while before.
    When everyone had eaten his fill and the food was packed away again, Mrs. Prosser got to her feet. “Come, Miss Claridge,” she said, “show me this church of yours on top of the hill. Is it worth looking at?”
    â€œOh, not really,” Anne said, standing up and shaking out her skirts, “but there is a splendid view from the top.”
    â€œIs there? Come, Henry, I need your arm,” his wife called cheerfully.
    â€œMay I come too?” Mr. Mainwaring asked, and offered his arm to Anne Claridge.
    â€œMiss Rossiter, I should

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