him and they fell quite neatly into step. “That was brilliantly handled, young man.” She looked reluctant to part with the compliment.
He smiled. “What was, my lady? Managing to convince a beautiful woman to dance with me?”
“You are altogether too charming, Asheburton. Flatterywill get you nowhere with me,” she chided, though she flushed with pleasure. She looked over his shoulder, scanning the crowd, most of whom were now staring in fascination at the unprecedented spectacle of the large, powerfully built marquess dancing with a lame old woman. Lachlan had to jerk his head back quickly when she turned her head in order to avoid being smacked by the lime green feather bobbing helplessly in her magenta turban. A smattering of laughter rolled through the watching crowd.
It went unnoticed by Cleo. She continued, “Strategy, however— that will get you an open invitation to visit my nieces.”
“You are gracious, my lady.” He could tell, despite her stalwart effort to hide it, that she was tiring. Luckily the music was drawing to a close.
“Bah!” Cleo made a face. “I am many things, young man, but ‘gracious’ is certainly not one of them.”
Satisfied that they had drawn the attention away from Anthony and Charity, Lachlan smiled and drew the old woman’s hand through his arm, offering his strength and support in a way that wouldn’t be obvious to the crowd of onlookers. As they left the floor, a few people began applauding. Cleo smiled and acknowledged the accolades with a regal nod of her head, first to the left and then to the right. By the time they reached their group, the ovation was deafening.
Lachlan saw Trevor hand Cleo her cane. His friend gave the woman a grin of admiration and a little bow of respect, then he intercepted Charity and Iverson, who were returning from the dance floor as well, largely unnoticed. Smoothly Trevor escorted the young buck away from the others. “Iverson, I’m so glad you’re back. I wondered if I might entrust you with a message for your father.”
The men’s voices faded, and Lachlan watched their retreating backs.
Grace breathed a sigh of relief, tossed Lachlan a grateful smile and turned to the twins. “I think,” she declared, “we should call it a night.”
Eight
Charity , you really shouldn’t lie like that,” admonished Faith quietly from the bed.
“I know,” her sister agreed pleasantly. Her voice was muffled by the pillow she’d pulled over her face to keep out of her eyes the morning sun that slanted in through the window, and she lay on the floor with her feet propped on the seat of a chair, her skirts inching up her calves. “But there’s nobody here except you, me, and Amity.”
“And Gareth, who could walk in at any time, and the servants,” said Faith.
“And Dr. Meadows,” came a male voice from the doorway.
Surprised, Charity peeked from beneath the pillow and then rolled onto her side. She scrambled to her feet, hastily shaking the wrinkles out of her skirt, her legs now decently covered. “Good gracious,” she muttered.
Dr. Matthew Meadows, the young physician Gareth Lloyd had befriended through the frequent injuries he suffered while “helping” renovate his estate, strolled into the room with a smile, his brown eyes twinkling. “Just stopping in to check on my favorite patient,” he announced cheerfully. Winking at Charity he said, “It’s okay, I’m a doctor. I’ve seen my fair share of female ankles.”
Amity laughed. Charity colored, stammered an excuse about reading in the garden, and promptly escaped.
Faith shook her head. “Sweet of you to call me your favoritepatient. Especially since Gareth dragged you from Roth-mere to London to dance attendance on me. I believe that currently makes me your only patient. And I’m doing quite well,” she added.
“I’ll just step out into the garden with Charity,” Amity suggested in a quiet voice. She turned to leave the room.
“No need,” replied
He smiled. “What was, my lady? Managing to convince a beautiful woman to dance with me?”
“You are altogether too charming, Asheburton. Flatterywill get you nowhere with me,” she chided, though she flushed with pleasure. She looked over his shoulder, scanning the crowd, most of whom were now staring in fascination at the unprecedented spectacle of the large, powerfully built marquess dancing with a lame old woman. Lachlan had to jerk his head back quickly when she turned her head in order to avoid being smacked by the lime green feather bobbing helplessly in her magenta turban. A smattering of laughter rolled through the watching crowd.
It went unnoticed by Cleo. She continued, “Strategy, however— that will get you an open invitation to visit my nieces.”
“You are gracious, my lady.” He could tell, despite her stalwart effort to hide it, that she was tiring. Luckily the music was drawing to a close.
“Bah!” Cleo made a face. “I am many things, young man, but ‘gracious’ is certainly not one of them.”
Satisfied that they had drawn the attention away from Anthony and Charity, Lachlan smiled and drew the old woman’s hand through his arm, offering his strength and support in a way that wouldn’t be obvious to the crowd of onlookers. As they left the floor, a few people began applauding. Cleo smiled and acknowledged the accolades with a regal nod of her head, first to the left and then to the right. By the time they reached their group, the ovation was deafening.
Lachlan saw Trevor hand Cleo her cane. His friend gave the woman a grin of admiration and a little bow of respect, then he intercepted Charity and Iverson, who were returning from the dance floor as well, largely unnoticed. Smoothly Trevor escorted the young buck away from the others. “Iverson, I’m so glad you’re back. I wondered if I might entrust you with a message for your father.”
The men’s voices faded, and Lachlan watched their retreating backs.
Grace breathed a sigh of relief, tossed Lachlan a grateful smile and turned to the twins. “I think,” she declared, “we should call it a night.”
Eight
Charity , you really shouldn’t lie like that,” admonished Faith quietly from the bed.
“I know,” her sister agreed pleasantly. Her voice was muffled by the pillow she’d pulled over her face to keep out of her eyes the morning sun that slanted in through the window, and she lay on the floor with her feet propped on the seat of a chair, her skirts inching up her calves. “But there’s nobody here except you, me, and Amity.”
“And Gareth, who could walk in at any time, and the servants,” said Faith.
“And Dr. Meadows,” came a male voice from the doorway.
Surprised, Charity peeked from beneath the pillow and then rolled onto her side. She scrambled to her feet, hastily shaking the wrinkles out of her skirt, her legs now decently covered. “Good gracious,” she muttered.
Dr. Matthew Meadows, the young physician Gareth Lloyd had befriended through the frequent injuries he suffered while “helping” renovate his estate, strolled into the room with a smile, his brown eyes twinkling. “Just stopping in to check on my favorite patient,” he announced cheerfully. Winking at Charity he said, “It’s okay, I’m a doctor. I’ve seen my fair share of female ankles.”
Amity laughed. Charity colored, stammered an excuse about reading in the garden, and promptly escaped.
Faith shook her head. “Sweet of you to call me your favoritepatient. Especially since Gareth dragged you from Roth-mere to London to dance attendance on me. I believe that currently makes me your only patient. And I’m doing quite well,” she added.
“I’ll just step out into the garden with Charity,” Amity suggested in a quiet voice. She turned to leave the room.
“No need,” replied
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