Promises and Primroses
Page 28
He smiled, hoping she would take some of his energy and put it in her pocket. “I hope to find a woman of means to whom I can also give my heart, and so, while I would never have said so much without your invitation, I implore you to take me at my word and know that I am paying you particular attention in hopes that my heart and your heart might somehow connect and find that they cannot live without one another. If that ends up not to be the case, I hope we will continue as friends as we seek our separate happiness.”
Timothy knew he was regarded as a well-known flirt after so many years in London honing his skills in the business of finding a wife. He loved to make a woman smile, but he was mindful of who he asked to dance, how often he danced with any one individual, and, especially, how he sought out a woman’s attention—such as calling on her at her home. His rules kept him from leading women on or becoming too invested in a woman he could not marry. It was wise and fair, but exhausting. He was a man of heart, and yet he could not lead with his in this.
Miss Morrington had watched him closely as he spoke but kept her expression cool. When he finished, silence threatened to flatten the room. Timothy was not very good with silences. He curled his toes toward the floor inside his shoes to give him something to focus on. The big toe on his right foot was rather sore, on account of the too-small boots he’d bought from a distinguished bootmaker. The boots had been commissioned and then returned by a man far wealthier than Timothy because the man felt the buckle too large. Timothy had been able to buy the offendingly buckled boots at a deep discount, though it still emptied his clothing budget for the quarter. Timothy had worn them to the ball last night and been suffering ever since.
Do not speak, he told himself while also trying not to tap his foot. Count to ten forward—then backward. Give her some time. She’ll fill the silence herself eventually—won’t she?
Finally, she cleared her throat.
Praise the heavens!
“I must say I am completely shocked by your honesty, Mr. Mayfield. I did not expect it.”
He grinned, liking that he’d surprised her. “One wonders why you asked, then.”
“Because a man is easiest to read when he is lying.”
Her quick and confident answer brought him up short.
“When a man is lying to me, I can see it in the way he banks his eyes and in the particular tightness about his ears.”
Tight ears? Timothy raised a hand to the side of his head, ever so glad he had not lied.
She continued. “To ask a man hard questions allows me to read straight through him. To have him tell me the truth, however . . .” She leaned back in her chair and cocked her head. Only her soft smile kept him at ease. “Well, I am completely perplexed.”
Timothy leaned forward and smiled again. “You are not the first person to tell me I am rather perplexing.”
Miss Morrington laughed another brash, unfeminine laugh, then she sobered, though the corners of her mouth stayed uplifted, which he took as another victory. “With a little luck, and my cook’s excellent garlic soup, I hope I shall be feeling better in a few days’ time. I hope you will call on me again, Mr. Mayfield. A walk in Hyde Park sounds lovely.”
Inside, Timothy jumped for joy. Truth will out! He was officially tired of the hunt for a wife and was, instead, eager to marry and settle. He was looking forward to trading in the stress of the London seasons in favor of hosting parties and making connections. He hoped that more time with Miss Morrington would confirm their compatibility so he could be through with the marriage mart and on to a family of his own.
“I shall call on you for that walk as soon as I return to London,” he said.
“Return?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Oh, did I not mention that? I am leaving for my uncle’s estate in Norfolk on Monday, you see, and shall be gone the week.” The invitation had arrived a few days ago with a note saying that Uncle Elliott had something to present to Timothy. Timothy hoped it was a horse. Never mind that he did not have the means to keep a horse; perhaps Uncle Elliott would include a stipend for such consideration. Uncle Elliott had financially supported Timothy all his life, if not in luxury, in comfort and generosity that Timothy did not take lightly. It was not Uncle Elliott’s obligation, yet he had taken on the responsibility when Timothy’s parents had not planned accordingly.
Timothy smiled at Miss Morrington. “If you are still under heavy skies when I return, I shall act out another scene for you.” He turned his head slightly and narrowed his eyes at her in mock reprimand. “Though I will expect applause for a second performance.”
She laughed again. He suppressed another wince and reminded himself that a man in need of a fortune could not be too particular.
Josi S. Kilpack is the author of twenty-five novels and one cookbook and a participant in several coauthored projects and anthologies. She is a four-time Whitney Award winner—Sheep’s Clothing (2007), Wedding Cake (2014), and Lord Fenton’s Folly (2015) for Best Romance and Best Novel of the Year—and the Utah Best in State winner for fiction in 2012. She and her husband, Lee, are the parents of four children.
You can find more information about Josi and her writing at josiskilpack.com.