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Authors: Sarah M. Eden
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remarkably good listener.”
He heard Athena sigh and watched as her shoulders slumped. Harry held his hand out to indicate she should sit on the sofa. He felt his lungs catch in his chest when she slipped her hand in his as she came to his side. Harry wrapped his fingers around hers and walked with her to the sofa. He breathed in the scent of her, the familiar aroma of violets, as he waited for her to speak. He allowed her to sit before reluctantly releasing her hand and sitting in a nearby chair. As much as he would have preferred to sit beside her on the sofa, he knew he did not have that right. He was pushing the bounds of propriety as it was, being alone with her in the drawing room, never mind that the door was left quite widely ajar.
“It was essentially torturous,” Athena said with a shrug that wasn’t nearly as unconcerned as she probably hoped it to appear.
“With whom did you drive out?” That proved to be the wrong question. Athena pierced him with another look of frustration.
“Mr. Peterbrook,” she replied, words tight and accusatory.
“I can certainly understand your displeasure at spending the length of a drive with him,” Harry answered, not bothering to hide his confusion. “But how is it that I have earned your wrath over Mr. Peterbrook’s obvious lack of address?”
“You introduced him to me,” she replied, her tone suggesting such a connection should have been obvious.
“I also introduced you to Mr. Howard,” Harry pointed out with a chuckle.
“I know,” she replied. “Do you not know any gentlemen who are desirable companions?”
None that you are going to meet. “Perhaps you should tell me precisely what Mr. Peterbrook did that was so distressing so I can be sure to introduce you to gentlemen in the future who are unlikely to commit those same infractions.” They will simply do other obnoxious things.
“Did you know that Mr. Peterbrook owns twenty-three different Weston coats?” Athena asked, her tone of excitement theatrical in its exaggeration. “Five of them are black. Six are blue, but, apparently, vastly different shades of blue. Would you like to know about his footwear?”
“Did you discuss anything other than his wardrobe?” Harry asked.
Finally a smile broke through Athena’s stormy countenance but not broadly enough for that devastating dimple to make an appearance. “He did eventually veer into the myriad compliments paid to him by arbiters of fashion, as well as the precise mixture his valet uses to achieve the enviable shine to the boots that Mr. Peterbrook is, apparently, quite well-known for.”
“Did he discuss anything other than himself?”
“At one point he informed me that my pale blue carriage dress was not overly offensive to his aesthetic sensibilities,” Athena replied, shaking her head in apparent disbelief but still smiling. “Though he could not understand why I had agreed to drive out with him if I did not, in fact, have a green carriage dress as he required.”
“How insufferably pompous.”
“I informed him that I only agreed to drive out with him because I could not think of a way to refuse that would not have been unforgivably rude,” Athena informed him. “And that, had he not asked me in a room full of people whose opinions matter to me, I should have turned him down regardless.”
“You said that to him?” Harry was impressed. He knew Persephone was pluck to the backbone but hadn’t realized Athena had quite so much steel in her.
“For all the good it did.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Either he wasn’t listening or he didn’t understand or simply refused to believe that his invitation had not been eagerly accepted.”
“I would vote for the last possibility.” Harry chuckled. “Peterbrook’s opinion of himself is far too high to admit any kind of rejection.”
“It was a very long carriage ride.” Athena sighed.
An invitation hovered on Harry’s lips. How he would enjoy taking her for a jaunt
He heard Athena sigh and watched as her shoulders slumped. Harry held his hand out to indicate she should sit on the sofa. He felt his lungs catch in his chest when she slipped her hand in his as she came to his side. Harry wrapped his fingers around hers and walked with her to the sofa. He breathed in the scent of her, the familiar aroma of violets, as he waited for her to speak. He allowed her to sit before reluctantly releasing her hand and sitting in a nearby chair. As much as he would have preferred to sit beside her on the sofa, he knew he did not have that right. He was pushing the bounds of propriety as it was, being alone with her in the drawing room, never mind that the door was left quite widely ajar.
“It was essentially torturous,” Athena said with a shrug that wasn’t nearly as unconcerned as she probably hoped it to appear.
“With whom did you drive out?” That proved to be the wrong question. Athena pierced him with another look of frustration.
“Mr. Peterbrook,” she replied, words tight and accusatory.
“I can certainly understand your displeasure at spending the length of a drive with him,” Harry answered, not bothering to hide his confusion. “But how is it that I have earned your wrath over Mr. Peterbrook’s obvious lack of address?”
“You introduced him to me,” she replied, her tone suggesting such a connection should have been obvious.
“I also introduced you to Mr. Howard,” Harry pointed out with a chuckle.
“I know,” she replied. “Do you not know any gentlemen who are desirable companions?”
None that you are going to meet. “Perhaps you should tell me precisely what Mr. Peterbrook did that was so distressing so I can be sure to introduce you to gentlemen in the future who are unlikely to commit those same infractions.” They will simply do other obnoxious things.
“Did you know that Mr. Peterbrook owns twenty-three different Weston coats?” Athena asked, her tone of excitement theatrical in its exaggeration. “Five of them are black. Six are blue, but, apparently, vastly different shades of blue. Would you like to know about his footwear?”
“Did you discuss anything other than his wardrobe?” Harry asked.
Finally a smile broke through Athena’s stormy countenance but not broadly enough for that devastating dimple to make an appearance. “He did eventually veer into the myriad compliments paid to him by arbiters of fashion, as well as the precise mixture his valet uses to achieve the enviable shine to the boots that Mr. Peterbrook is, apparently, quite well-known for.”
“Did he discuss anything other than himself?”
“At one point he informed me that my pale blue carriage dress was not overly offensive to his aesthetic sensibilities,” Athena replied, shaking her head in apparent disbelief but still smiling. “Though he could not understand why I had agreed to drive out with him if I did not, in fact, have a green carriage dress as he required.”
“How insufferably pompous.”
“I informed him that I only agreed to drive out with him because I could not think of a way to refuse that would not have been unforgivably rude,” Athena informed him. “And that, had he not asked me in a room full of people whose opinions matter to me, I should have turned him down regardless.”
“You said that to him?” Harry was impressed. He knew Persephone was pluck to the backbone but hadn’t realized Athena had quite so much steel in her.
“For all the good it did.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Either he wasn’t listening or he didn’t understand or simply refused to believe that his invitation had not been eagerly accepted.”
“I would vote for the last possibility.” Harry chuckled. “Peterbrook’s opinion of himself is far too high to admit any kind of rejection.”
“It was a very long carriage ride.” Athena sighed.
An invitation hovered on Harry’s lips. How he would enjoy taking her for a jaunt
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