gentlefolk drifted around the room in little groups. The countess was sitting next to the fireplace, talking to their host. Her skin was so pale that it looked translucent. Frosty, almost. Like snow or ice. Stephen loved ices, sweet and cool to the tongue.
He was far too adept a campaigner to approach Lady Godwin immediately. Instead he walked over to greet an old friend, Lord Winnamore, whom he knew well from various skirmishes between the Houses of Lords and Commons.
Winnamore was as amiable as ever. âAnother escapee from matters of business, I see,â he said, greeting him.
âI should be in London,â Stephen admitted. Come to think of it, what was Winnamore doing in the deeps of Wiltshire?
âLife has a way of creating distractions,â Winnamore said. He was watching Lady Arabella.
âThank goodness!â Stephen was startled by the vehemence of his own exclamation. It certainly wasnât as if he ever would consider deserting the House before his term was up. Or even at that point. There was no threat to his reelection, after all.
âThis isnât the sort of party where Iâd have thought to meet you,â Winnamore said, giving him a shrewd glance over his spectacles.
âI am finding it quite enjoyable,â Stephen said, checking to make certain that Lady Godwin was still in the corner. In another moment, he would stroll in that direction.
âEnjoyable, yes. Respectable, no. Have you met Lady Beatrix yet?â Winnamore said cheerfully, looking at the door to the salon. Stephen looked as well. Lady Beatrix was making what she clearly considered a spectacular entrance. Apparently the curls of yesterday had been compliments of a curling iron; today her shining copper hair was straight as a pin. Yesterday, her skin had been sunkissed; tonight it was pale as snow. Yesterday her lips had been ripe as a cherry; tonight they were a pale, languid pink. Even her pert expression of the previous night had been replaced by a faintly melancholy gazeâexcept if one looked very, very closely, mischief brewed.
âThat young woman is a work of art,â Stephen said, not without admiration.
âA lovely child, in fact,â Winnamore said. âShe is a great comfort to Lady Arabella.â
Stephen could think of no reason why Lady Arabella, known far and wide for her three marriages and various other dalliances, would have need of comfort, but he kept prudently silent. Besides, Lady Arabella herself swept up to them that very moment.
âMr. Fairfax-Lacy,â she cried, taking a grip on his elbow, âI must insist that you greet my niece. Dear Esme is not as nimble as she is normally, and so I have appointed myself the duty of bringing sufficient conversationalists to her side.â
It was suddenly quite clear to Stephen why he had been invited to this particular house party. Lady Arabella had selected him as a prospective husband to her niece. Well, there was nothing new in that. Matchmaking mamas had been chasing him for years.
He bowed to Lady Rawlings but sought Lady Godwinâs eyes as he did so. She was just as lovely as he remembered, pure and delicate as aâhe couldnât think. Poetry was hardly his forte. She was blushing again and looking rather adorably shy.
Too shy. A moment later she jumped to her feet like a startled gazelle and fled across the room. Heâd have to go even slower than he had planned. He didnât look over his shoulder at the countess, but sat down next to Lady Rawlings.
For her part, Esme was watching Stephen Fairfax-Lacy with a good deal of interest. Unless she was mistaken (and she was never mistaken when it came to men), the man was attracted to Helene. Marvelous. Poor Helene had suffered so much from the cruelties of her careless husband. A kindly, handsome, respectable man such as Mr. Fairfax-Lacy would do wonders to restore her sense of confidence and allow her to hold her head high before that reprobrate
He was far too adept a campaigner to approach Lady Godwin immediately. Instead he walked over to greet an old friend, Lord Winnamore, whom he knew well from various skirmishes between the Houses of Lords and Commons.
Winnamore was as amiable as ever. âAnother escapee from matters of business, I see,â he said, greeting him.
âI should be in London,â Stephen admitted. Come to think of it, what was Winnamore doing in the deeps of Wiltshire?
âLife has a way of creating distractions,â Winnamore said. He was watching Lady Arabella.
âThank goodness!â Stephen was startled by the vehemence of his own exclamation. It certainly wasnât as if he ever would consider deserting the House before his term was up. Or even at that point. There was no threat to his reelection, after all.
âThis isnât the sort of party where Iâd have thought to meet you,â Winnamore said, giving him a shrewd glance over his spectacles.
âI am finding it quite enjoyable,â Stephen said, checking to make certain that Lady Godwin was still in the corner. In another moment, he would stroll in that direction.
âEnjoyable, yes. Respectable, no. Have you met Lady Beatrix yet?â Winnamore said cheerfully, looking at the door to the salon. Stephen looked as well. Lady Beatrix was making what she clearly considered a spectacular entrance. Apparently the curls of yesterday had been compliments of a curling iron; today her shining copper hair was straight as a pin. Yesterday, her skin had been sunkissed; tonight it was pale as snow. Yesterday her lips had been ripe as a cherry; tonight they were a pale, languid pink. Even her pert expression of the previous night had been replaced by a faintly melancholy gazeâexcept if one looked very, very closely, mischief brewed.
âThat young woman is a work of art,â Stephen said, not without admiration.
âA lovely child, in fact,â Winnamore said. âShe is a great comfort to Lady Arabella.â
Stephen could think of no reason why Lady Arabella, known far and wide for her three marriages and various other dalliances, would have need of comfort, but he kept prudently silent. Besides, Lady Arabella herself swept up to them that very moment.
âMr. Fairfax-Lacy,â she cried, taking a grip on his elbow, âI must insist that you greet my niece. Dear Esme is not as nimble as she is normally, and so I have appointed myself the duty of bringing sufficient conversationalists to her side.â
It was suddenly quite clear to Stephen why he had been invited to this particular house party. Lady Arabella had selected him as a prospective husband to her niece. Well, there was nothing new in that. Matchmaking mamas had been chasing him for years.
He bowed to Lady Rawlings but sought Lady Godwinâs eyes as he did so. She was just as lovely as he remembered, pure and delicate as aâhe couldnât think. Poetry was hardly his forte. She was blushing again and looking rather adorably shy.
Too shy. A moment later she jumped to her feet like a startled gazelle and fled across the room. Heâd have to go even slower than he had planned. He didnât look over his shoulder at the countess, but sat down next to Lady Rawlings.
For her part, Esme was watching Stephen Fairfax-Lacy with a good deal of interest. Unless she was mistaken (and she was never mistaken when it came to men), the man was attracted to Helene. Marvelous. Poor Helene had suffered so much from the cruelties of her careless husband. A kindly, handsome, respectable man such as Mr. Fairfax-Lacy would do wonders to restore her sense of confidence and allow her to hold her head high before that reprobrate
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