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correct in your first statement. You are remiss.”
She wasn’t averse to ringing a peal over his head, that much was certain. He found her righteous attitude delightful in the extreme.
He grinned. “Mea culpa, my dear. I shall endeavor to mend my errant ways and resume my guardian demeanor, eh? So, in that vein, on what topics did the most noble Duke of Sussex bend your ear?”
Obviously that was a safe topic for she smiled back at him, then responded in kind. “We covered a variety of subjects, my lord, from the Royal wedding in May to the British Museum’s June acquisition of the Elgin Marbles.” Her hazel eyes grew wide with childish amazement. “Were you aware that the princely sum of thirty five thousand pounds exchanged hands for the Marbles?”
Again, David was reminded of a delicate fawn, unused to the harsh ways of the world. Miss Bethany Branford was pure and untouched by any type of deceit. He felt himself drawn to her engaging manner, not to mention being smitten by her very pretty face.
In the privacy of his thoughts, he could refer to Bethany by her given name. Perhaps one day, soon he hoped, he would be granted the privilege to use her name in public. He executing a turn rather sharply, duplicating a movement he had noticed Penning execute. The effect was the same: Bethany bumped into his chest.
That brief melding of her bosom to his stoked a fire burning wildly in his heart. He wet his lips, tapped down his desire, then apologized.
The blush on her cheeks changed to crimson. She apologized as well.
He glanced over her head at the surrounding couples, then lowered his voice. “Have you any idea why the Duke wishes to have a word with me?”
“Indeed, I do not, sir.” She raised a troubled gaze at him. “I confess, his interest does worry me a trifle.”
“Never fear, Miss Branford. I cannot imagine Prince Augustus would wish to woo you.”
Perish the thought.
David continued, “After all, the Duke is twice your age. However, if his intention is to pay court, I shall not hesitate to fling cold water upon the proposal.”
She gazed up at him earnestly, her yellowish brown eyes deepening to pure gold. “Thank you, sir. I realize I am foolish, and perhaps I am even badly mistaken in this case. But I do sometimes worry about inappropriate situations.”
“To be truthful and honorable are virtues to be commended, my dear. May I say how pleased I am that you have joined the Greyle household here in London?”
His words were meant to praise, not to cause consternation. But oddly enough, Bethany did indeed look alarmed. When the dance ended and they made their bow and curtsy, she gave a wan smile, then professed a desire to return to his mother’s side.
As David escorted Bethany back to the Countess, he puzzled on the enigma that was his new protégée. Just what the devil had distressed her?
Goodness gracious. This is a sad state of affairs. Whatever am I going to do?
Wringing her gloved hands, Bethany took a step behind her hostess, who was at present busy talking with a few acquaintances and admirers. She moved over to the wall, where a painting of a happy, well-to-do couple captured her attention. Its neoclassical style featured intricate details such as the elegant folds in the woman’s gown and the meticulous arrangement of the lace of the gentleman’s cravat. She took a brief refuge from the party by studying the canvas. Only when she spotted the artist’s signature did she sigh and turn away. This masterpiece had been painted by Jacques Louis David — the famous French artist. Not that she had anything against Jacques Louis David, even though he had been the official painter to Napoleon Bonaparte’s short-lived but destructive reign. David, to her, did not mean a last name, but first, as in David Greyle, the Earl of Ingraham. David, who had just referred to her as “my dear Miss Branford.”
His Miss Branford.
The sound of that endearing phrase had caused her heart to
She wasn’t averse to ringing a peal over his head, that much was certain. He found her righteous attitude delightful in the extreme.
He grinned. “Mea culpa, my dear. I shall endeavor to mend my errant ways and resume my guardian demeanor, eh? So, in that vein, on what topics did the most noble Duke of Sussex bend your ear?”
Obviously that was a safe topic for she smiled back at him, then responded in kind. “We covered a variety of subjects, my lord, from the Royal wedding in May to the British Museum’s June acquisition of the Elgin Marbles.” Her hazel eyes grew wide with childish amazement. “Were you aware that the princely sum of thirty five thousand pounds exchanged hands for the Marbles?”
Again, David was reminded of a delicate fawn, unused to the harsh ways of the world. Miss Bethany Branford was pure and untouched by any type of deceit. He felt himself drawn to her engaging manner, not to mention being smitten by her very pretty face.
In the privacy of his thoughts, he could refer to Bethany by her given name. Perhaps one day, soon he hoped, he would be granted the privilege to use her name in public. He executing a turn rather sharply, duplicating a movement he had noticed Penning execute. The effect was the same: Bethany bumped into his chest.
That brief melding of her bosom to his stoked a fire burning wildly in his heart. He wet his lips, tapped down his desire, then apologized.
The blush on her cheeks changed to crimson. She apologized as well.
He glanced over her head at the surrounding couples, then lowered his voice. “Have you any idea why the Duke wishes to have a word with me?”
“Indeed, I do not, sir.” She raised a troubled gaze at him. “I confess, his interest does worry me a trifle.”
“Never fear, Miss Branford. I cannot imagine Prince Augustus would wish to woo you.”
Perish the thought.
David continued, “After all, the Duke is twice your age. However, if his intention is to pay court, I shall not hesitate to fling cold water upon the proposal.”
She gazed up at him earnestly, her yellowish brown eyes deepening to pure gold. “Thank you, sir. I realize I am foolish, and perhaps I am even badly mistaken in this case. But I do sometimes worry about inappropriate situations.”
“To be truthful and honorable are virtues to be commended, my dear. May I say how pleased I am that you have joined the Greyle household here in London?”
His words were meant to praise, not to cause consternation. But oddly enough, Bethany did indeed look alarmed. When the dance ended and they made their bow and curtsy, she gave a wan smile, then professed a desire to return to his mother’s side.
As David escorted Bethany back to the Countess, he puzzled on the enigma that was his new protégée. Just what the devil had distressed her?
Goodness gracious. This is a sad state of affairs. Whatever am I going to do?
Wringing her gloved hands, Bethany took a step behind her hostess, who was at present busy talking with a few acquaintances and admirers. She moved over to the wall, where a painting of a happy, well-to-do couple captured her attention. Its neoclassical style featured intricate details such as the elegant folds in the woman’s gown and the meticulous arrangement of the lace of the gentleman’s cravat. She took a brief refuge from the party by studying the canvas. Only when she spotted the artist’s signature did she sigh and turn away. This masterpiece had been painted by Jacques Louis David — the famous French artist. Not that she had anything against Jacques Louis David, even though he had been the official painter to Napoleon Bonaparte’s short-lived but destructive reign. David, to her, did not mean a last name, but first, as in David Greyle, the Earl of Ingraham. David, who had just referred to her as “my dear Miss Branford.”
His Miss Branford.
The sound of that endearing phrase had caused her heart to
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