him, for you are the true beauty of the family.”
Had she not known Eleanor so well, she would have interpreted her comment as self-pity, but that was not her sister. “How superficial you make it sound, but that aside, I don’t agree with you over Drury’s affection for me. How do you know? Did he say so?”
“To me? No, of course not.” Eleanor drew herself up. “But Roderick told me some time ago the viscount was enamored of you, and I believe it is true.”
“Why?” Almost as soon as she asked it, Cecily regretted it, for the answer was obvious. Because Eleanor watched him.
“I can tell.”
“You can tell he admires my looks? While that is flattering, I suppose, it is hardly a basis for marriage.”
Her sister had the grace to flush. “You have more to recommend you than just your looks. I’m sorry if it seemed I implied otherwise. You are very lovely, but also articulate and poised and demure. I am not surprised that men flock to you. He is only one of your many admirers. You’ve been a brilliant success this season. I was not in mine, and unfortunately I am not surprised at that either. I am neither demure nor poised.”
“Elle.” Impulsively, Cecily rose and went over to sit next to her sister on the bed, taking both her hands. “You are wonderful. Just because you did not find the right man your first season does not mean you were a failure. I count it as a success you did not settle for Lord Flannigan, who, if I recall correctly, was most determined to marry you.”
“Marry my dowry.” Eleanor gave a small, inelegant snort. “His intentions were no secret and I told him I knew well enough where his true interest lay. My marriage portion and my bosom. I don’t believe the man could tell you the color of my eyes to this day, for his gaze was continuously focused below my neck.”
There was no way to stifle a bout of laughter and Cecily didn’t try. “Please tell me you did not accuse his lordship of staring at your bosom.”
Eleanor shrugged and grinned. “I am afraid I did.” “Oh, Elle!” Cecily burst out in mirth again. “I confess I would have loved to be there for that moment.”
“His lordship’s expression was rather priceless. He decided then and there I would not be a suitable wife anyway. I think the words he used were ‘unfashionably candid.’ ”
“I would call it splendidly honest,” Cecily said loyally.
“But you are quite used to me.” Her sister’s fingers curled around hers tighter. Then the moment passed, for Eleanor was not one to wallow in sentiment. She let go and said crisply, “Rest assured, if Earl Savage has developed a penchant for you, I will keep an eye on him.”
And I, Cecily thought, will help you with your penchant for Lord Drury .
It was very dark, a bit cold, and the thin sheets of rain felt good on his bare chest.
This—this—he understood. It wasn’t at all the same, of course. For one thing, it was dank, the streets splashed with noxious mud, and the clatter of Seneca’s hooves rang out through the night, but it still was what he craved.
A wild night ride, the wind in his hair, and if a footpad chose to accost him, Jonathan would welcome the encounter.
Maybe a part of him was barbaric. At least it was action, and in London he was . . . stifled. He wasn’t one to court danger, but neither did he shy away from it. The country estate with its stately elms and lush green park was much more preferable, but even there the river bordering the gardens was wide and slow-moving, pretty but placid, unlike the rushing rivers of his native land. Everything in England, he’d decided, was settled, cultivated, cultured.
Except himself, of course, he thought wryly, pulling up his horse to a more reasonable pace and urging the animal toward the alley where the stables were maintained behind the fashionable town house. How many rich earls went out riding in the middle of a rainy night attired only in their breeches and not bothering to
Had she not known Eleanor so well, she would have interpreted her comment as self-pity, but that was not her sister. “How superficial you make it sound, but that aside, I don’t agree with you over Drury’s affection for me. How do you know? Did he say so?”
“To me? No, of course not.” Eleanor drew herself up. “But Roderick told me some time ago the viscount was enamored of you, and I believe it is true.”
“Why?” Almost as soon as she asked it, Cecily regretted it, for the answer was obvious. Because Eleanor watched him.
“I can tell.”
“You can tell he admires my looks? While that is flattering, I suppose, it is hardly a basis for marriage.”
Her sister had the grace to flush. “You have more to recommend you than just your looks. I’m sorry if it seemed I implied otherwise. You are very lovely, but also articulate and poised and demure. I am not surprised that men flock to you. He is only one of your many admirers. You’ve been a brilliant success this season. I was not in mine, and unfortunately I am not surprised at that either. I am neither demure nor poised.”
“Elle.” Impulsively, Cecily rose and went over to sit next to her sister on the bed, taking both her hands. “You are wonderful. Just because you did not find the right man your first season does not mean you were a failure. I count it as a success you did not settle for Lord Flannigan, who, if I recall correctly, was most determined to marry you.”
“Marry my dowry.” Eleanor gave a small, inelegant snort. “His intentions were no secret and I told him I knew well enough where his true interest lay. My marriage portion and my bosom. I don’t believe the man could tell you the color of my eyes to this day, for his gaze was continuously focused below my neck.”
There was no way to stifle a bout of laughter and Cecily didn’t try. “Please tell me you did not accuse his lordship of staring at your bosom.”
Eleanor shrugged and grinned. “I am afraid I did.” “Oh, Elle!” Cecily burst out in mirth again. “I confess I would have loved to be there for that moment.”
“His lordship’s expression was rather priceless. He decided then and there I would not be a suitable wife anyway. I think the words he used were ‘unfashionably candid.’ ”
“I would call it splendidly honest,” Cecily said loyally.
“But you are quite used to me.” Her sister’s fingers curled around hers tighter. Then the moment passed, for Eleanor was not one to wallow in sentiment. She let go and said crisply, “Rest assured, if Earl Savage has developed a penchant for you, I will keep an eye on him.”
And I, Cecily thought, will help you with your penchant for Lord Drury .
It was very dark, a bit cold, and the thin sheets of rain felt good on his bare chest.
This—this—he understood. It wasn’t at all the same, of course. For one thing, it was dank, the streets splashed with noxious mud, and the clatter of Seneca’s hooves rang out through the night, but it still was what he craved.
A wild night ride, the wind in his hair, and if a footpad chose to accost him, Jonathan would welcome the encounter.
Maybe a part of him was barbaric. At least it was action, and in London he was . . . stifled. He wasn’t one to court danger, but neither did he shy away from it. The country estate with its stately elms and lush green park was much more preferable, but even there the river bordering the gardens was wide and slow-moving, pretty but placid, unlike the rushing rivers of his native land. Everything in England, he’d decided, was settled, cultivated, cultured.
Except himself, of course, he thought wryly, pulling up his horse to a more reasonable pace and urging the animal toward the alley where the stables were maintained behind the fashionable town house. How many rich earls went out riding in the middle of a rainy night attired only in their breeches and not bothering to
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