more at ease with her betrothed since their excursion to
Hampstead. “However, she assures me he is mostly likely married with six
children.”
Earlywine swallowed his bite of orange. “No, Norland is a
widower. Matchmaking mamas, my own included, despair of him ever entering the
parson’s mousetrap again, though. Not that m’sisters are interested in trying
to attach his interest—they find him much too old. Any gentleman over two score
years they consider ancient.
“Miss Ashwood,” Earlywine continued, turning to the younger
woman, “how did you find Mr. Hunt and the literary set Saturday last?”
“I found them interesting—intelligent and well-spoken, if a
bit eccentric in their manners,” Elisabeth answered. “Except for Mr. Keats, who
said very little but appears to enjoy his food greatly. Mrs. Hunt was very kind
and the Shelleys were personable and appeared very well-informed about a great
many issues.”
“I have heard Shelley is a bit of a crusader,” Earlywine
agreed. “But now I fear that after such stimulating company you will most
likely find the invitation I bring rather dull,” Earlywine added with a twinkle
in his blue eyes. “My mother and sisters wish me to deliver this invitation to my
sister’s come-out ball. She plans to have it early in the Season, before there
are many entertainments,” he finished, handing Lady Parker a cream-colored
envelope.
“I should enjoy it of all things,” Elisabeth protested. “And
shall very much enjoy meeting your sisters.”
“We shall indeed be delighted to attend,” Lady Parker
assured Earlywine. “It will be an excellent place to begin the Season’s social
rounds.”
“Now for my invitation,” Lord Sherbourne said. “Miss
Ashwood, would you and my sister enjoy an excursion tomorrow afternoon to a
delightful bookshop I have discovered?”
“We should very much enjoy such an outing at another time,”
Lady Parker answered. “But I fear tomorrow afternoon is out of the question,
for the Duke of Norland intends to call at that time.”
“I see,” Lord Sherbourne said, and delighted Elisabeth by
turning his head and giving a wink. “It would seem Miss Ashwood is correct and
that you have made a conquest. We shall delay the outing to the bookshop until
the following afternoon.”
“His grace is only making a courtesy call because of our
mishap,” Lady Parker insisted but a delicate rose tinged her cheeks and she
quickly changed the subject to the bookshop and kept it there until the
gentlemen departed ten minutes later.
The next afternoon both Elisabeth and Lady Parker waited in
some agitation for the Duke of Norland to make his promised call. Elisabeth had
never been in the presence, in a formal call, of an actual duke and feared she
might make a faux pas. Lady Parker worried that her years in India might have
caused her to forget small points of etiquette the duke might notice. Both
Elisabeth and Lady Parker had dressed with care, Elisabeth in her new
jonquil-colored day dress and Lady Parker in a deceptively simple gown of a
shimmering fabric that appeared to change from gold to dark peach depending
upon the light.
“His grace the Duke of Norland,” the butler announced with
great dignity as the clock chimed the half hour.
“Your Grace,” Lady Parker said, rising and curtseying to her
noble guest as Elisabeth did likewise.
Elisabeth was impressed anew by the duke’s appearance, which
was in strong contrast to that of the literary set. His morning coat fit so
perfectly it looked as though it had been sewn on, the shirt that showed above
his buff waistcoat was of flawless linen, topped with an impeccably tied
cravat, his trousers fit like gloves and his boots were so shiny the fire’s
very image reflected on them. His graying hair seemed only to add distinction
to his appearance, not age.
“I had to assure myself that you were recovered from your
fall yesterday, Lady Parker,” the duke said, taking a chair at Lady
Hampstead. “However, she assures me he is mostly likely married with six
children.”
Earlywine swallowed his bite of orange. “No, Norland is a
widower. Matchmaking mamas, my own included, despair of him ever entering the
parson’s mousetrap again, though. Not that m’sisters are interested in trying
to attach his interest—they find him much too old. Any gentleman over two score
years they consider ancient.
“Miss Ashwood,” Earlywine continued, turning to the younger
woman, “how did you find Mr. Hunt and the literary set Saturday last?”
“I found them interesting—intelligent and well-spoken, if a
bit eccentric in their manners,” Elisabeth answered. “Except for Mr. Keats, who
said very little but appears to enjoy his food greatly. Mrs. Hunt was very kind
and the Shelleys were personable and appeared very well-informed about a great
many issues.”
“I have heard Shelley is a bit of a crusader,” Earlywine
agreed. “But now I fear that after such stimulating company you will most
likely find the invitation I bring rather dull,” Earlywine added with a twinkle
in his blue eyes. “My mother and sisters wish me to deliver this invitation to my
sister’s come-out ball. She plans to have it early in the Season, before there
are many entertainments,” he finished, handing Lady Parker a cream-colored
envelope.
“I should enjoy it of all things,” Elisabeth protested. “And
shall very much enjoy meeting your sisters.”
“We shall indeed be delighted to attend,” Lady Parker
assured Earlywine. “It will be an excellent place to begin the Season’s social
rounds.”
“Now for my invitation,” Lord Sherbourne said. “Miss
Ashwood, would you and my sister enjoy an excursion tomorrow afternoon to a
delightful bookshop I have discovered?”
“We should very much enjoy such an outing at another time,”
Lady Parker answered. “But I fear tomorrow afternoon is out of the question,
for the Duke of Norland intends to call at that time.”
“I see,” Lord Sherbourne said, and delighted Elisabeth by
turning his head and giving a wink. “It would seem Miss Ashwood is correct and
that you have made a conquest. We shall delay the outing to the bookshop until
the following afternoon.”
“His grace is only making a courtesy call because of our
mishap,” Lady Parker insisted but a delicate rose tinged her cheeks and she
quickly changed the subject to the bookshop and kept it there until the
gentlemen departed ten minutes later.
The next afternoon both Elisabeth and Lady Parker waited in
some agitation for the Duke of Norland to make his promised call. Elisabeth had
never been in the presence, in a formal call, of an actual duke and feared she
might make a faux pas. Lady Parker worried that her years in India might have
caused her to forget small points of etiquette the duke might notice. Both
Elisabeth and Lady Parker had dressed with care, Elisabeth in her new
jonquil-colored day dress and Lady Parker in a deceptively simple gown of a
shimmering fabric that appeared to change from gold to dark peach depending
upon the light.
“His grace the Duke of Norland,” the butler announced with
great dignity as the clock chimed the half hour.
“Your Grace,” Lady Parker said, rising and curtseying to her
noble guest as Elisabeth did likewise.
Elisabeth was impressed anew by the duke’s appearance, which
was in strong contrast to that of the literary set. His morning coat fit so
perfectly it looked as though it had been sewn on, the shirt that showed above
his buff waistcoat was of flawless linen, topped with an impeccably tied
cravat, his trousers fit like gloves and his boots were so shiny the fire’s
very image reflected on them. His graying hair seemed only to add distinction
to his appearance, not age.
“I had to assure myself that you were recovered from your
fall yesterday, Lady Parker,” the duke said, taking a chair at Lady
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